#i’m sick and insane and worst of all desperate

[catastrxblues]

“we accept the love we think we deserve” drives me insane, drags my sanity to the moon, through hell, and to saturn and back, and alters everything inside me on a molecular level. i just can’t stop thinking about it

[lubdubology]

Til The Sun Turns Black

SYNOPSIS: Your soul is bound to his and you're destined to follow him across the multiverse. When the TVA finds you and sends you to the Void, you feel your chance of finding him has slipped through your fingers. But what you find there is more than you bargained for.

PAIRING: Worst!Wolverine x fem!reader

WC: 13.1 k I apologize for nothing

WARNINGS: smut 18+, mdni, mentions of drinking, angst, peril, some fluff, implied age gap (I guess?), mental trauma, miscommunication, Wade being Wade, dirty talk, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, cowgirl, missionary, cock warming, sex with feelings, unprotected p in v

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love on Soft Edges! I was not expecting that kind of response when I posted that story, so thank you <3. I had the idea for this story in my head since after I first saw the movie. I had no idea my one random runaway thought would turn into this. Also, this story would not have been finished if it weren't for @joelsgoldrush. She let me tease her for WEEKS with this and act as the ultimate sounding board. And she's overall just a delightful human being and I'm so glad I've found her.

The TVA agent sits staring at you, an odd and uncomfortable smile on his face. Like he isn’t quite sure he knows how to smile but had seen it once on TV.  You also don’t think he’s blinked in the past several minutes. It makes your eyes water just thinking about it. 

“I don’t understand why I’m here.”

“Ah, yes, well—“ the agent clears his throat and smoothes a hand down his chest. “You’re a threat to the multiverse.”

You squint your eyes at him and wonder if you’re lucid dreaming. Or trapped in some bizarre fever dream, but you can’t remember being sick. “The…multiverse? As in, more than one universe?”

He nods once. “Precisely.”

It’s your turn to stare as absolutely none of this is making sense. The morning had started off normal—wake up, shower, coffee at your favorite local corner store. You had barely finished your latte when you were apprehended and taken to this bland room by a man who must own insane stock in eyedrops. 

“You see, we’ve been watching you for quite some time,” he continues, oblivious of your growing confusion. “A handful of reincarnations, actually. And we believe we’ve finally pinned it down.”

His words sound insane. 

You were a low level mutant at best. You’ve been able to deeply sense and influence emotions in others since you were six—a standard empath if there ever was one. But reincarnation?

“Reincarnations? I’m sorry but—”

You feel it coming then, that all too familiar prickle of deja vu creeping up your spine and setting deep in your brain. The room begins to soften, the corners blurring and you feel disjointed, separate from the you sitting in the chair.

“Ah, see. We’ve pinned it down.”

The world tilts on its axis and your mind explodes into brilliance, the memories of hundreds of alternate versions of yourself firing down your synapses, leaving you as raw and exposed as a fresh wound. The pain is all consuming as you gasp for air and desperately try to quell the throbbing in your skull. 

Your hands grip the edge of the table, desperate to clutch at something solid to root you in reality as the kaleidoscope of memories swirl before your eyes, colliding and merging with one another. All the timelines converging down to a single point of existence within your mind. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve experienced this process, the return of your memories—the return of your consciousness—was always accompanied by a torturous sensory overload. 

“You see? You have extensive knowledge of the multiverse. And that kind of knowledge is coveted and dangerous.”

Your vision blurs as the memories keep slamming into you and you can’t help the primal scream that rips from your lungs, the pain in your throat a welcome distraction from the torture in your head. And then, amid the chaos, a single figure emerges in crisp focus, a face you’ve seen thousands of times.

“Logan.” His name comes out in a whisper, your voice trembling.

You know he’s not actually in front of you and instead a mirage, a figment of your overloaded neurons, but his presence calms you. 

“Yes, Logan. You two are quite fond of each other.” The agent stands and you squint up at him, wanting to be anywhere else as you regain your memories. “But never mind him. We can’t have you traipsing around with all that knowledge in your head.”

“No, no, no, please. Please just let me find him,” you beg, hating the desperation laced in your voice. 

The last thing you see before being sent out of existence is his creepy, uncanny smile. 

+++

The Void was bullshit. 

It had been a month since you were unceremoniously dumped here. 

Maybe. 

You weren’t really sure.  

Time had no meaning, each day seeming to stretch on for eons and simultaneously in the blink of an eye. And for every single one of those moments you’d been focused on one of two things: finding a way out and not dying. 

You quickly learned you had a better chance at survival if you stuck to the outskirts and avoided others. So you squirreled yourself away, sheltering in an abandoned cabin and hoping beyond hope you could figure out a way out of the desolate cesspool you found yourself in. 

Figure out a way back to him. 

Back home. 

+++

You don’t venture out unless you have to. 

The Void is full of phantom emotions left behind by its previous inhabitants and the cacophony overwhelms you. Rage, terror and despair so thickly envelope every surface you feel like you’re choking. It’s beginning to wear so harshly on your nerves you wonder if you might actually go insane here.

There was a tension growing in the Void. You’d heard whispers of unrest within the factions, Cassandra hungry for something to sink her teeth into. The undercurrent of rage has increased in the last couple of days and it’s enough to set your teeth on edge.

Stuffing a backpack with a few essentials in case you get stranded, you ready yourself for a supply run. The thought of leaving the perceived safety of your cabin has little appeal, but you’ve been putting it off for far too long. There was a small cache only a few miles from your cabin that other survivors kept stocked with extra provincials. You were hoping for something good, anything other can canned food or cereal. Or Spam. 

Tightening the straps on your backpack, you take one last glance around before stepping out into the forest. It’s eerily quiet, no birds or animals chattering to fill the silence, just the crunch of your shoes against fallen leaves. The Void has always felt oppressive to you, the air just a little too heavy, but there’s something lingering today that makes you feel on edge. Your skin prickles with anticipation and you pat your belt for the knife you’ve stashed there. 

Just in case. 

You’re half a mile away from the cache when you feel it—the inky slick of anger. It catches on the air and wafts towards you in waves. You slow your steps as you approach the road and come to a halt when the battered van comes into view. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. 

You’d recognize those claw marks anywhere. 

Your heart races as your eyes trace the deep, jagged cuts gouged into the metal and the large swathes of blood coating the ground and what you can see of the interior of the van. Instinctively your hand tightens around the hilt of your knife and you crouch down low behind a fallen log. You scan the area for any signs of movement and find none, but you know Logan is stealthier than you and wouldn’t give up his location willingly. 

The van door creaks open on its battered hinges and you inhale sharply as Logan stumbles out of the vehicle covered in dried blood and sweat and more knife wounds and bullet holes than you can count. 

The sight of him ignites a spark of longing that blooms in your chest and makes you physically ache. You can feel him. Your lips remember the hungered warmth of his mouth against yours, the way he’d nip at your bottom lip so you’d open up for him. Your skin remembers the calloused rasp of his hands and not just the greedy grabs when he needed to claim you, but the light brushes of his fingertips against your palm as he held your hand, just to remind himself that you were real. Your nose remembers his scent, woodsy and clean, like the earth after rain. 

Shaking your head, you push down the memories and peer back over the log. A slight breeze wafts through the air and you watch as he sniffs, his head turning in your direction. 

“Fuck,” you curse lowly, trying to crouch further out of eyesight. 

You hear the metallic snikt of his claws and your pulse quickens. There’s no point in hiding—he knows you’re there. You take a slow, steady breath before attempting to focus waves of calm in his direction, hoping to ease some of the anger wound around him. 

His eyes lock onto yours, sharp and predatory and he shakes his head, trying to keep you out. “Who the fuck’re you?” 

You draw back your power and raise your hands in surrender as you slowly rise to your feet. You toss out your name and silently hope for a spark of recognition. But he doesn’t know you. Not yet. 

“It’s not safe out here alone,” you start, moving out of your hiding place. You walk towards him, his eyes following your every move. “There’s a cache just up ahead—” 

The atmosphere shifts without warning, the anger you’d felt previously now melting into thick, cloying fear and desperation. You can taste the ozone and the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end as electricity sizzles across the sky. Glancing up, you see the dark, swirling mass of Alioth just beginning to form. 

You look at Logan, panic racing along your nerves. “I promise I’ll explain everything to you later, but I know you, Logan, and right now I need you to trust me.” 

Alioth’s presence is getting stronger and drawing closer, and every drop of tension and rage swirling within is beginning to weigh down on you, threatening to suffocate you. 

Logan’s eyes narrow, but there’s a slight twitch in his jaw and you know he’s considering your words. His claws retract, but his muscles remain tense, coiled and ready to attack. You grab for his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin and the hard muscle beneath your fingers. “We have to go. Now.”

For a moment, you think he might resist. But then with a low curse, he follows you, his stride matching yours as you lead him towards the cache. The trees blur by, the wind picking up and beginning to toss leaves and loose branches into the air. 

You’re operating on pure adrenaline and your heart pounds in your chest as you run, Alioth gaining speed and distance faster than either of you can move. Each gasp of air burns your lungs and your muscles ache with the effort of your sprint. 

Still a quarter of a mile away from the cache, you know you won’t be able to outrun Alioth. The storm has consumed the sky, the sun diminished to twilight, as the thunder and groans loom ever closer. You turn towards Logan and yell, “It’s too close, we’re not gonna make it!”

Logan’s eyes flash with anger as you stop and turn towards the oncoming destruction. He grabs for your wrist, pulling you almost nose to nose. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he growls, chest heaving with the effort to breathe. “We can’t stop!”

His proximity briefly disarms you, his fierce gaze igniting something deep within you, but you don’t have time to dwell on those emotions. You take a deep breath in an attempt to steady your nerves. “I’m gonna try and calm it down.”

“What are you going to do, think happy thoughts at it?” he asks, his tone biting and sarcastic. 

You know every cell in his body is begging to fight, aching to release his claws and tear Alioth apart with his bare hands. But this isn’t something brute strength can subdue. 

“Just trust me,” you plead, your eyes searching his for some indication that he believes you. “Please.”

His stare is hard, but eventually his eyes soften and he loosens his grip on your wrist. “Fine.”

Tearing your gaze from him, you turn back towards the storm, now a full blown maelstrom of anger and destruction hellbent on consuming you both whole. You exhale slowly, pushing your own emotions of fear and panic as far down as you can. Instead, you turn inward and concentrate on every feeling of peace, calm and stillness you’ve ever experienced and project it outwards. Waves of soothing energy pour from you, an almost ghostly aura emanating from you as your power continues to grow. Alioth continues to surge towards you, the wind now flattening trees to the ground and lifting debris high into the air. 

The fight is excruciating, every cell in your body shaking with effort as you continue to project outwards, the sphere of your influence growing. When the two opposing masses collide, you’re almost knocked off your feet by the force. You’re vaguely aware of Logan beside you, claws unsheathing as he steps closer into your protective shield. 

For a brief moment, you feel the power of the storm ebb before it seems to press into you harder. Your knees begin to buckle and your stance slips. “I…I don’t know if I can hold it!” you gasp. 

Logan doesn’t run but instead moves closer, giving you one solitary nod. You can feel Logan’s eyes on you, feel the doubt swirling behind them and yet he stays besides you, ready to fight. 

His silent encouragement is enough. 

You are not dying in the fucking Void. 

Gritting your teeth, you continue to push. A guttural scream rips from your throat as black spots dot your vision and blood drips from your nose. You dig down, channeling every last drop of your energy into a final wave, extending yourself deep within the core of the storm. 

The black of the storm begins to retreat and the wind begins to calm. As the first few beams of sunlight filter in through the treetops, your vision fades completely and the world goes black. 

The last thing you feel is a pair of strong arms wrapping around you before your mind goes blissfully blank and unconsciousness claims you. 

+++

You wake up in the cache. 

Dust motes dance in the sunlight streaming in through the broken windows. The light is soft, definitely not the early morning glow from before you left the comfort of your cabin and you wonder how long you were out. With a groan, you try to sit up. Your body is stiff, every muscle in your body aching with the effort you took to banish Alioth. Wincing, you swing your legs out of the makeshift bed, the effort taking your breath away and you can feel the sickly creep of nausea climb up your throat. 

A low voice cuts through the haze. “Take it easy.”

Logan. 

You blink, trying to adjust your eyes to the light and find him sitting on the floor, one leg pulled up to his chest as a bottle of whiskey hangs between his fingers. He takes a long pull and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“How long was I out?” you ask, your voice hoarse. 

Logan doesn’t answer immediately. He reaches over at a box beside him and then rolls a water bottle towards your feet before he finally mutters, “A day.” 

You accept the bottle with a nod of thanks. Taking a slow sip, you close your eyes as the liquid soothes your throat even as your body protests the movement. You’ve never used your powers to that degree before. Fuck, you didn’t even know you could. A perverse sense of pride licks at the edge of your exhaustion. 

Lowering the bottle, you breathe deeply in an attempt to settle the nausea rolling in the pit of your stomach. You glance at Logan and find him watching you, his eyes sharp, calculating. 

“You owe me some answers. You said you knew me.”

You meet his gaze, the weight of his words pressing down on you. After hundreds of encounters with different Logans, it was never easy explaining to him what you were. For a long time, you didn’t even have a name for it. All you knew was that your consciousness, all your memories, everything that you are moves across different universes and inevitably crosses paths with Logan. It always felt like an invisible string, guiding your soul to his. 

“I’m a temporal nomad.”

Logan’s eyes narrow as he glares at you. “A temporal what?” His tone is laced with skepticism. 

You take another sip of water, giving yourself time to gather your thoughts and push away the throbbing at your temples. “A temporal nomad. I don’t die, not in the way you think, anyway.”

Logan doesn’t move, but you see his grip tighten on the bottle in his hand, his knuckles going white. “You tellin’ me you’re immortal?”

“No, not immortal,” you reply, exhaling slowly. “When I die, my consciousness moves. I reincarnate in a different universe. Eventually I regain everything—my experiences, my memories, my feelings. It’s why—” you pause and take a deep, steadying breath. “It’s why I always find you.”

Your words hit their mark and Logan’s eyes flash with something you can’t quite decipher—shock, disbelief, maybe some anger. He sits up straighter, tipping the whiskey bottle to his lips without breaking eye contact. “You always find me?” he asks, his voice a low rumble. “We’ve met before?”

“I’ve lost count of how many time, actually,” you admit softly. “But in every reality, every universe, I find you. And we’re not just friends, Logan.”

Your words linger in the air between you and your heart pounds loudly in your chest. Logan stands suddenly, the now empty whiskey bottle clattering to the ground. He runs a hand through his hair before scrubbing it down his face, his jaw clenched as he paces within the small space. A mirthless chuckle escapes his lips. “This smells like bullshit, sweetheart.”

Your heart aches at his use of the word sweetheart. It’s one he’s always preferred for you, usually spoken with reverence, like a prayer falling from his lips. Except now it’s casual and cold, something with a sharp edge instead of softness. 

“I know how crazy it sounds. Believe me, Logan, it took me several lifetimes to wrap my mind around it.” You stand, your legs wobbly with the effort and you wince against the pull in your spent muscles. “But I know you.”

His expression hardens. “Yeah? Well, I don’t know you. And if you really knew me, you’d know to stay the fuck away from people like me.” Logan’s pacing grows more hurried, his hands clenching into fists. 

“I can’t,” you say softly, taking a tentative step closer towards him. “And I don’t want to. While I might not know the Logan in front of me or the nuances that make you different from the others, I know you.”

His nostrils flare and he lets out a low growl. “Stop.”

“I know the way you fight,” you continue, ignoring his warning. “I know the way you carry your pain as if no one else can possibly shoulder that weight. I know—”

“Stop!”

“—how you push people away to protect them, but that deep down you hope someone will push back. You may carry a lot of self loathing, Logan, but even you know you’re not heartless.” 

Logan’s fist slams into the wall behind him, the sound reverberating in the small room. He stands there, chest heaving, his knuckles bleeding from where they made contact with the rough wooden planks. You watch as the raw skin knits itself back together, his head hanging low. 

His jaw clenches as he wipes the blood from his hands, his breathing still ragged and posture rigid, itching for a fight. He glances over at you, his expression softer but still rough. 

“We’re done here,” he growls, but his voice soft, more broken than angry. 

Logan turns without another word and all you can do is watch him leave.

+++

You spend the rest of the morning dozing in bursts of fitful sleep, your confrontation with Logan taking its emotional toll. Your eyes burn with unshed tears and for the first time in your life, you feel as if you’re destined to wander this universe alone. 

But you can’t think about it. 

Not now. 

Ignoring the ache in your limbs, you pack up what supplies you can and ready yourself for the walk back to your cabin. The sun is a couple of hours from setting, the world bathed in golden light, when you set out. Walking down the steps, you pause at the distant crunch of boots on the gravel. You feel your pulse thrum in your chest as the sound gets closer and then he steps into view, his eyes locking onto yours. 

Logan. 

The sight of him standing there fills you with a rush of conflicting emotions. Relief, angry, anxiety and you’re not sure if you trust yourself to speak first. He looks the same—tired, disheveled, but steady and strong all the same. Neither of you moves, unspoken words hanging between you.

“I shouldn’t’ve left,” he says finally. 

For a moment you say nothing. Because it’s exactly what you want to hear from him. Except, because you’re beyond exhausted, mentally, physically and emotionally, you say, “No, you fucking shouldn’t have.” 

There’s definitely more bite in your tone than you intended, but the release of some of your pent up anger feels so good you can’t bring yourself to care. 

Logan’s eyes narrow as you move past him and keep walking. “Wait, so I come back here to apologize,” he begins, following close behind you, “and now you’re gonna just walk away?”

“You know, you never even thanked me for saving your ass,” you say, side stepping a downed log. “Just started demanding answers and then tucked tail and ran when you didn’t like what I had to say.”

He grabs your wrist and you stumble into his grasp, your breath hitching in your throat as you stand almost chest to chest. “I didn’t fucking ask for any of this!”

His anger bleeds into you, curling around your skin where his fingers press into your pulse point. You feel your nostrils flare and you’re itching for something to hit as you stare up at him, his jaw clenched. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest and you know you need to reign in your emotions or you’ll ignite the fuse between you. 

“You think I did?” you ask, pulling your arm from his grasp. Your voice is calmer, but just as sharp. “You think I want to relive the grief of mourning you over and over while also finding something new to love about you? You think I wanted to be banished to the Void all because my soul just can’t die when I do?”

Logan’s expression softens and he scrubs a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look. I’ve had a shitty coupla days here. And you’re saying a lot of shit I don’t understand.”

He seems weary, then, and any remaining anger you harbor towards him dies in your veins. You take a deep breath in and blow it out slowly. “You don’t have to understand right now. Just—just trust me. Please?”

You hate how your voice breaks just a little.

Logan nods then, the barest tilt of his head, but it’s enough.

He continues to follow you through the woods back towards the cabin and for a while neither of you speak. It should feel awkward, especially now, but it doesn’t. You’re so used to his brand of stubbornness and reluctance to see what’s right in his face that this is the most at home you’ve felt since you got here. 

“So,” you start after a few minutes of silence, “how did you end up here?”

Logan huffs. “Some asshole in red spandex dragged me here and I said I need to help save his universe.”

“And can you?”

His step falters and you pause to look a him, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the trees. “I couldn’t save mine.” The weight of his words linger, heavy with a burden only he alone has been shouldering. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he brushes past you and keeps walking. 

“Wanna talk about it?” you ask, catching up with him.

Logan growls. “No.”

“Alright, maybe later then,” you reply and he simply ignores you and keeps on walking. “Where’s this asshole friend of yours?”

“I left him tied up in the van.”

You had long passed the spot where you found Logan by the beat up van and the road was deserted. Based on the subtle smirk on his face, you figure Logan already knows that. Whatever his relationship is with the stranger, he seems somewhat happy to be rid of him and you don’t push him further. Although, you can’t help but wonder what happened to the van and whose hands it fell into. 

Logan’s gait slows as the cabin comes into view through the trees. He follows behind you as you clear the space, checking for any stragglers that may have come along while you were gone. Pushing open the door, you watch as he looks around, taking in the small space. 

“You’ve been living here?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it living, but sure,” you comment, throwing your backpack on the table as you sit down. You can’t help the groan that escapes your lips as your muscles relax. “You can stay here if you want. I didn’t just let you follow me for your sparkling personality, you know.”

Logan actually laughs at that as he sits down on the small couch. His face lightens up, eyes crinkling just a bit at the corners, and for the first time since you found him, he seems unburdened. A blossom of hope grows in your chest and you grasp onto it, holding tight to the one bit of light you’ve had in this month of darkness. 

“Thank you,” he says softly. 

You know he means for more than the offer to stay and you return his smile with one of your own. “You’re welcome.”

As the sun starts to dip below the horizon, you bring out some extra blankets and a couple of pillows and help Logan turn the couch into a makeshift bed. You turn to leave when you hear him ask, “You really find me in every universe?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds terrible.”

You give him a small smile as you lean against the doorframe to the bedroom. “Oh, it’s not all that bad. I get to fall in love with you all over again.”

+++

You wake in the middle of the night to the sound of low, panicked growls coming from across the room.

You quietly slip from the bed and tiptoe towards the couch. Logan writhes beneath the sheets, pain etched across his face as he wrestles the demons in his sleeping mind. Taking a deep breath, you center yourself and focus every fiber of your power in his direction, hoping the waves of calm can break through whatever battle he’s fighting deep in the recesses of his mind.

Logan growls deep in his throat, the sound guttural and raw, his claws unsheathing and tearing at the sheets beneath him in agitation. A fine sheen of sweat beads along his brow and pieces of hair are plastered against his damp forehead.

“Logan,” you say softly, trying to break through the fog of his nightmare. “You’re safe, Logan.”

Your powers are waning, the stress of fighting off Alioth having left you depleted. You push down the ache, the tug in your brain demanding that you draw back, and instead kneel down in front of him, trailing your fingers across his palm and over the pulse point in his wrist. He jerks at your touch, his claws coming close to your skin, but the contact is enough and you feel his pulse slow beneath your fingertips.

You continue to speak in hushed tones, your voice barely above a whisper. “There you go, Logan. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Logan’s breathing is ragged, his eyes squeezed shut. You can feel the tension in his body, his muscles rigid with the need for release. You keep your fingers against his wrist, your touch steady and calming, as you bring up your other hand to smooth the lines along his brow.

“There you go,” you continue to murmur, “Focus on my voice. Focus on my calm.”

Gradually, his growls subside and his breathing begins to even out as the nightmare loses its grip over him. His muscles lose their tension and relax and the frantic movements of his limbs subsides. With one final deep breath, he stills, his claws retracting and he settles back into a peaceful sleep.

You sit and watch him for a minute, taking in all of his features and simply admiring him for the first time since your last life with him. This Logan is different—they all are in their own way—but this one a little more than the others. He seems wearier, more worn down, his usual scowl lines etched deep. There’s an exhaustion in his eyes, too, you haven’t seen before and you wonder if this Logan actually ever rests. 

As you stand, you feel his fingers circle loosely around your wrist and give a small tug. You look down to where he’s touching you, his skin hot against yours, and you glance up to find him staring at you through half lidded eyes. 

“Stay.” It comes out in a low whisper and as you open your mouth to protest, he adds, “Please.”

You could never deny him in any universe.

The couch is barely wider than he is, yet he shifts to make a sliver of space for you to slot yourself into. It should be awkward, the way you press yourself between the couch and the solid warmth of his frame, but it’s not. You hitch your leg over his hip, forcing your legs to tangle, as you rest your head against his chest. His heartbeat is strong and comforting beneath your ear and you find yourself quickly relaxing into his touch.

As you fall asleep, you feel his arm curl around you, tucking protectively against your ribs.

+++

When morning breaks, you’re alone. The warmth of his body is gone and you find yourself shivering. Pushing to sit, you wrap a blanket around yourself before standing up. 

The cabin is empty.

You try and ignore the sliver of panic that threatens to slip its way down your spine. 

Opening the front door, you pause when you find him sitting on the dilapidated porch, staring absently out at the trees. He glances up at you and watches as you sit down beside him. You hug the blanket closer around your shoulders and sit with him in silence.

You don’t mention last night.

“So,” you start, “what’s the plan?”

Logan raises his eyebrow. “You planning on stickin’ with me?”

“If you let me,” you reply with a smile.

You listen as Logan explains the events of the past couple of days, including Wade’s abduction of him from his own universe and how they both became to be bloodied and battered in the van. Your ears perk up when he mentions Paradox and returning to Wade’s universe. 

“You think he can actually get back?” you ask, willing yourself to not hold onto too much hope. 

Logan huffs. “Probably not.” 

“And yet you’re out here trying to think of a way to find him,” you say. “Why?”

A frown tugs at Logan’s mouth and he looks down at his hands. Eventually, he reaches into the pocket of his suit and pulls out a crumpled Polaroid. He tilts it towards you and you look down at the group or smiling people. “He’s got something to go home to,” he says, thumbing the edge of the photo. “I got nothin’.”

There’s something soft in his gaze as he looks down at the photo, some lingering hope he’s too afraid to put words to. 

“I’m sure you have something, Logan,” you say quietly. 

His expression hardens then, jaw tightening, as he slips the photo back in his pocket. “Had. Past tense.” Logan stands then and looks down at you. “Get ready. We’re leaving in five.” 

+++

You get ready quickly, changing your clothes and splashing water on your face before making sure your pack was sufficiently stocked. You were hoping you wouldn’t be needing it for much longer, but you didn’t want to express that thought out loud. Despite Logan wishing to go back to find Wade, you knew he wasn’t convinced this would end well.

Logan’s already started down the path as you jog down the cabin steps, swinging your pack up onto your shoulders. Catching up with him, you hand him the Pop-Tart you pulled out earlier. “Breakfast? They’re unfrosted, because this is the Void, but it’s something.”

He looks down at you, a strange expression on his face, but he accepts your offer. “Thanks,” he says, taking a bite.

“So, where exactly were you headed when you both decided to maul each other silly?” you ask, keeping pace with him as you walk through the woods.

“Johnny had mentioned a resistance out in the Borderlands,” Logan answers, swallowing the bite of Pop-Tart. “Figured we might find some people who could help us get control over Cassandra.” 

You nod. “You’re not far from the Borderlands. Maybe four or so miles from he cache. I haven’t ventured out that far, but I’ve heard there’s a few outposts where others have hunkered down.”

“Then that’s where we go.”

You walk in comfortable silence, leaving Logan to his thoughts as you travel further away from safety and into the unknown. You stop at the cache briefly, pausing only snag a few water bottles before moving on. 

A couple of miles past the cache, Logan suddenly stops, sniffing the air. His posture goes rigid, on alert as he slowly moves forward, beckoning you to follow him. A few yards away, the beat up van comes into view, parked alongside a lodging that looks as if it was built into the very earth itself. 

Logan’s arm darts out, stopping you. “Stay close,” he commands quietly, stepping cautiously closer towards the structure.

You follow behind him, every sense on alert as you step inside. The place is quiet, but then you hear it—the soft rustle of snoring. And then Logan’s soft, “Ah, fuck me.”

Peering over his shoulder, you find a sleeping Wade spread eagle on the bed. Logan side steps the bed, ignoring the sleeping man, and begins rummaging through the place. Finding a bottle of whiskey, he groans in delight, twisting the cap off and taking a long pull. 

“Really Logan?”

He quirks an eyebrow at you, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “What else would you like me to be doing?” he asks, biting. 

“You came all this way to find him and now you’re gonna just drink?” you ask in disbelief. It gnaws at you, his indifference. You can feel little frissons of indignation licking at your skin and you have to tamp down your emotions before they bleed into him. 

Logan shrugs. “He’s asleep. I ain’t draggin’ him anywhere.”

You cross your arms, glaring at Logan in frustration. “I didn’t follow you here to watch you stand around and get drunk. Wake him up.”

He gives you a sidelong glance, his brow furrowing. You don’t relent, your stare pointed as he takes another long pull from the bottle. Muttering to himself, Logan makes his way over to the bed and gives it one swift, forceful kick. 

Wade jolts awake with a loud, exaggerated snort. He looks between you and Logan, his eyes finally settling on you. “Who’re you?” he asks, looking around as if expecting an answer. “When did the script get rewritten?”

You look at him quizzically, your eyebrow raised. “Who are you talking to?”

Wade huffs. “The audience,“ he says, gesturing towards the wall.

“Does he do this often?” you ask Logan in a whisper.

“Hasn’t stopped since he fucking dragged me here,” Logan replies. 

Your attention is diverted as Wade suddenly rolls from he bed, crossing the room and two large strides. He unsheathes one of his katanas, pressing himself against the wall and then he’s pinned on the ground as a woman pulls a blade of her own. After a moment, she lets Wade up and two more people follow into the room behind her. 

Logan eyes each one with suspicion as introductions are made and you can feel the tension growing within him as he continues to drink.

You jump as Gambit uses one of his playing cards to burst the bottle of whiskey in Logan’s hands. Logan ignores your pleading look and Wade’s admonishment as he grabs another bottle with a soft, “Boo boo boo.”

When Laura enters, you feel Logan’s interest pique, something heavy weighing on him. They both look towards one another, taking each other in and you don’t miss the recognition in Laura’s eyes.

“Do you know her?” you ask Logan, sliding closer to him.

Logan shakes his head. “No. But Wade’s Logan does.” He takes another long drink from the bottle, eyes still trained on her.

Wade continues to talk with the group, recapping their time in the Void and how they managed to escape Cassandra’s lair. Logan punctuates the conversation with vitriolic quips of his own, drinking more as Wade tries to get the group to form a team.

You try to send your power Logan’s way, trying to bleed into him some calm, but he shakes his shoulders and brushes you off. “Don’t fucking bother, sweetheart.”

“I can help you, Logan.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for it.”

As Wade rallies the group into a cohesive unit, gaining their support in taking down Cassandra, Logan huffs a bitter laugh. “You’re all fucking dead.”

“Oh, my god, read the room,” Wade chides. 

+++

Logan storms off, one bottle of whiskey fisted in each hand. You want to follow after him, but Wade stops you. “Let him go, cupcake. Peanut’s in a fragile state and you’re too pretty to become mincemeat.”

You shoot a glare at him and brush his hand away from your shoulder. “No, he only seems to sink his claws into you,” you bite back, but the anger leeches from your voice. 

“Spicy,” Wade comments, “I like you. The script editor worked overtime on you, I can tell.”

“Yeah, well the jury’s still out over here,” you say, but you can’t help the twitch of a smile tugging at your lips. 

You glance over at the door and feel Wade sidle up beside you. “Seriously, cupcake. Chasing after him is like trying to catch a raccoon with rabies. Might be fun, but it’s not worth the bite.”

“Oh yeah?” you ask, peering over at him, “And how long have you known him?”

Wade pretends to look down at his wrist and taps a non-existent watch. “Four days, six hours and thirty-two minutes,” he says with a smirk, “but I don’t really like to put a timestamp on friendship."

With a groan, you plop down on the bed and rub at your temples. “Is everything a joke with you?”

“Mostly,” he chirps with a grin. He leans back against the wall and crosses his arms as he watches you. “But I have been known to press pause occasionally.” Wade regards you for a moment, a slight tilt to his head. “Honey badger does it for you, huh?”

Sighing, you lay back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. “I have followed Logan through millennia, Wade. I can’t remember a time anymore where I haven’t loved him.”

“His mutant dick that good, huh?”

You half laugh, half snort and shoot him a pointed look. “Not everything is about sex, Wade.”

“Agree to disagree,” he says with a shrug. “We’ve all got emotional baggage, mine is definitely over the free to fly limit, but that guy? Literal mountains. Centuries worth, even.”

“Exactly,” you say, sitting up. “I’ve helped him carry more than you can imagine. Logan may push people away, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need someone to stay.”

Wade cocks his head, considering your words and his expression softens. “You know running after him isn’t going to fix him.”

“I’m not trying to fix him,” you reply. “He just needs to know someone is there for him.” 

“Well, it’s your funeral, cupcake,” he says with a sigh. “I promise I’ll give a really moving eulogy. But, I do think if anyone is gonna convince tall, dark and brooding out there to join us, it’s you.”

You give him a soft smile as you stand. “Thanks, Wade.”

“And just so you know,” he calls after you, “I’m open and willing to being your mutant dick rebound.”

You roll your eyes and walk out the door.

+++

You step outside and see Logan sitting by himself in front of a fire not too far from the lodging. Walking quietly, you stop when you see Laura approach him and sit along side him. You’re close enough that you can hear their words—hear Logan tell her about the suit, about how he found the X-Men, his friends, dead. 

The anger, the loathing, this Logan carries comes into focus and you can’t help but wonder how long he’s lived with this weight upon his shoulders. Suffering alone with only the bottom of a bottle to quiet the thoughts that scream in his mind.

As Laura eventually leaves, she catches your eye and gives you a small nod.

You feel a strange kinship with her. She too has memories of a Logan who no longer exists and who is radically different from the one she has now. You wonder what she’s thinking and have half a mind to follow after her when you hear Logan call out, “I know you’re there.”

You turn back towards where he remains sitting in front of the fire, the whiskey bottle now more than half gone. Closing the gap between you, you sit down alongside him and watch as he continues to stare down into the fading fire.

“How much did you hear?” he asks, taking a large swig from the bottle. 

“Enough,” you answer simply.

Logan grunts and takes a long pull from the bottle, his lips glistening as his swallows get sloppy. “Well, now you know. I’m the worst Logan,” he almost spits, his tone dark and bitter. “You drew the short straw with me, sweetheart.”

“You know I don’t think that,” you say softly. 

Logan doesn’t respond and instead finishes the rest of the whiskey, tossing the bottle somewhere behind him. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he looks over at you. “You actually gonna join them tomorrow?”

“Are you?”

“It’s a fucking suicide mission,” he answers. “You want to walk up to your death, be my guest.”

“If you’re so convinced this is a suicide mission, why don’t you want to go?” you counter, his ire beginning to bleed into the space between you and creep uncomfortably along your skin. “You afraid you might come face to face with actual death and realize that’s not really what you want?” 

Logan’s gaze flicks up to your face, his eyes dark, dangerous. “You’re fucking pushin’ it.”

“Good! Someone fucking should be!” you exclaim, standing from the fallen log. Maybe Wade was right—maybe this was futile. In every universe Logan could be a stubborn ass, but this one was particularly obstinate. “Do you really believe you’re so unredeemable, Logan? That you’re just a vile mutant who doesn’t deserve sympathy after his friends were brutally murdered?”

You can feel his rage boiling just under the surface of the thin veneer of calm. His eyes pierce into you, pinning you in place as he stands to his full height, his fists clenched tightly. 

“You don’t know shit about me, sweetheart,” he growls. 

Anger simmers in your veins, threatening to burn you from the inside out. “Oh fuck you, Logan.”

He takes a step closer, his eyes narrowing as his lips curl into a cruel smile. “Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Me sinking into your cunt while you picture whatever version of me you think I am.” His voice is a low rumble, adding to the tension threatening to suffocate you. 

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, and it isn’t desire that courses through you, but rage. Your skin prickles and his vitriol ignites something deep within you, something hotter and brighter than you’ve ever felt before. 

“After all this time and everything I’ve told you, you honestly believe that’s all I want from you? You’re a fucking pathetic asshole,” you snap, your voice sharp and laced with venom. 

Logan’s expression darkens, the smirk slipping from his face as his jaw clenches. “You got some balls sayin’ that shit to me,” he spits. 

A small part of you is terrified of him, afraid that he might actually snap. Might actually unsheathe his claws and send you onto your next life without ever having truly lived this one. But you know him, you know him. His pain and rage isn’t towards you, but himself. 

You risk a step closer to him, narrowing the space between you and you can feel the heat radiating off of him, mingling with your own fury. “Yeah, well at least one of us has a pair.”

Logan doesn’t have time to react before you channel your powers towards him, unleashing an explosive burst of energy that sends him staggering back. And then you smother him, smother him in thousands of years of memories, thousands of years of every single feeling you had ever felt for him in every universe you’ve known him. 

The weight of your emotional onslaught brings him to his knees, but you keep pushing, switching from your feelings for him to his feelings for you. All the affection, all the love, all the comfort the two of you shared in every version of your coupling across space and time floods his mind. 

You watch as his expression melts from anger into one of overwhelming vulnerability and pain. His hands, still clenched into fists, tremble beneath the weight of your power surging through him. He looks up at you then, his eyes pleading and your resolve breaks. Tears burn in your eyes and trail down your cheeks, wetting your lips as a scream rips from your lungs.  

Your hold on Logan dissipates as you reign your emotions back under control. You stagger on your feet as your power diminishes, your chest heaving with ragged breaths and broken sobs. You can’t look at him, not yet. If you do, you might actually break. So you do something that you never thought you would do—you leave.

+++

Night in the Void is cool, almost bordering on uncomfortable like everything else in this godforsaken place, but for once it doesn’t bother you. You gaze up at the sky, the haze of distant stars and planets blurring together the more you try and focus on just one. 

You’ve always loved looking at the stars. There was a comfort in knowing you could look up at the sky and see the same constellations in every universe, that there was always one constant among all the variables. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting before you hear the crunch of his boots on the earth, dried leaves and twigs snapping under his heel. Logan joins you on the ground, sitting with a heavy sigh. The maelstrom of emotions swirling within him bleeds into the space between you and you can feel it, thick and heavy and suffocating. 

You risk a glance at him and he looks…defeated. His eyes are red-rimmed and raw and you see something in those hazel eyes you rarely see—fear. Not fear at you, although your guilt would rather have you believe that, but fear of himself, fear of feeling what you’ve shown him. Logan’s breath is slow, controlled, but you can hear the slight tremor in it. 

“I promised myself I would never use my powers on you” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know what it feels like to experience that onslaught. It feels like drowning.” Your voice cracks and you fight to keep the guilt burning in your chest from consuming you whole. “And that was just a fraction of what we’ve felt across lifetimes, Logan.” 

Logan stays silent but gazes at your face, eyes flicking across your features, drinking you in. The scrutiny makes you shiver. Before you isn’t The Wolverine, the X-Man people in his universe loathe, but a man left raw and vulnerable. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says slowly, his voice rough as the words are pulled from him. “You shouldn’t have shown me that.”

You flinch, the weight of his words are a punch to your gut. “I know,” you whisper, wiping tears from your eyes. “I know and I’m sorry, I—”

Logan cuts you off with a shake of his head, his eyes now locked onto yours. “I already knew, sweetheart,”he murmurs, his voice low. “You feel like—you feel like home.” 

Your heart stutters in your chest and for a moment you can’t breathe. The words hang between you, heavy and raw, the sound of them something you’ve been craving to hear. 

“I am your home,” you reply softly. 

Logan shifts beside you, closing the space between you as he slips his hand behind your neck and pulls you in. His mouth crashes to yours, his kiss urgent, rough and desperate. 

You reach for him, gripping his shoulders as you kiss him back, the Void slipping away. There’s only the heat of his mouth, the rough scrape of his beard against your skin, the way his other hand tugs at your waist in an attempt to pull you closer. 

It’s messy and intense and you don’t want it to end. Logan kisses you like a man starved, like you’re his last breath of air. 

A whimper falls from your lips as he finally breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. You’re both breathless, his nose softly nudging yours. 

“Please come with us tomorrow,” you whisper against his skin. “Let me take you home.”

He nods once and that’s all you need. 

+++

The morning comes quicker than anyone would like. 

Nervous energy bleeds through the group, everyone knowing they’re on the precipice of life or death, that this may be the last day they ever inhale air into their lungs or feel the warmth of the sun on their skin.

Logan’s quiet, already tucking into Gambit’s liquor, as you sit down beside him. He looks down at you briefly, taking a long long pull before offering you the bottle. You take it from him and take a swig of your own, the amber liquid burning a path down your throat. 

“What are you thinking?” you ask, handing him back the bottle.

He stares down at his feet, swirling the liquid around in the glass. “I honestly don’t even fuckin’ know.”

You reach for his hand and give him a comforting squeeze. He stares down at you for a moment and then drags his gaze up to your face. “Whatever happens Logan, I’ll be right there with you.”

Final preparations complete, everyone piles into the van, you tucking alongside Logan in the hatchback. The ride is mostly quiet, punctuated only with the few occasional quips by Wade just to ease the tension. You brace yourself, gripping Logan’s calf as Blade sends a rocket launcher through Cassandra’s front gate and Elektra floors it through the explosion. 

The others leave the van first, forming a line of defense. You look up at Logan and lean forward to press the faintest of kisses against his lips. His fingers curl around your neck and pull you closer, deepening it just enough to taste your mouth. 

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, pulling back. “Stay by me.”

You swallow hard, loathe to let him go, wanting to stay in the perceived safety of the van, but you simply nod and follow him to join the others.

Fighting erupts all around you and you stick as close to Logan’s back as you can. It’s a symphony of chaos—rage, fear and determination all swirling heavily in the air. You feel your power thrum underneath your fingertips as you channel those emotions back towards whoever Logan is fighting, hoping to disarm them—even if temporarily—with their own vitriol in an attempt to give him an advantage. 

The air burns in your lungs as you move through the fight, your mind spinning as you gain distance towards Cassandra’s lair. You can see the others move around you—Elektra and Blade slicing down enemies with their blades; Gambit disarming others with his explosively charged playing cards; Laura fighting in a style all her own, yet so much like Logan’s; and Wade cutting down others like he’s having fun.

A clear path opens up to the ramp leading up to Cassandra and the others swarm behind you, allowing yourself, Wade and Logan to break free from the melee. Logan looks back at you just long enough for you to see the fear in his eyes. You try and remain stoic, even though your mind is racing with all he the ways this could go wrong, and give him a small nod of encouragement. 

You stop short in front of Cassandra as she sits sipping tea, seemingly disinterested in the battle happening just outside her stronghold. “You two escaping I could live with, but coming back willingly…” she trails off, “Boys are so silly.” Her eyes dart towards you. “And you brought a friend!”

“I just need to get home,” Wade says, his tone serious. 

“I’m afraid that’s not an option.”

Cassandra flicks Wade aside effortlessly and Logan’s instantly on alert, claws extended at his side. You attempt to direct your powers at her, trying to defuse the anger simmering below her surface. She rolls her neck and glances at you, intrigue in her eyes. 

“Oh, aren’t you interesting,” she says, effortlessly flicking your powers aside. “I wonder what treats you have hiding in that mind of yours.”

Cassandra steps closer to you, her calculating stare flicking over your face. She lifts one hand up to you and from behind her, Logan growls and moves to attack. You watch, powerless, as she pins Logan to the ground with his own claws. 

She tsks and looks down at him, “That’s enough out of you.”

And then, she’s in your mind, every nerve ending in your body on fire, ready to consume you whole. 

You’re standing in a library, Cassandra at your side. Shelves extend as far as the eye can see, fading into an infinite distance. You walk aimlessly along the shelves, pausing at the entrance of a room simply titled “Logan”. 

“Oh, now this is something,” you hear Cassandra say from beside you. “This is quite the collection you have.”

Your fingers reach out and touch the spines, the briefest flickers of memories emanating from their covers. “I’ve known him for so long,” you murmur. “Been with him through so much.”

You pause in front of one book, the urge to open it nearly overwhelming. Pulling it from the shelf, the pages flutter open and you gasp, the memories of that life flooding your brain. 

You and Logan were married in this life. He worked a simple job, construction. There were no X-men, no missions, no danger. He kept his mutation a secret, showing only you when the memories got too rough, too unmanageable. You were his anchor. You had two kids—girls. And oh, how he loved them. Both of them wrapped effortlessly around his heart from before they were even born.

Tears spring to your eyes as the warmth of those memories flood through you. “I loved that life,” you whisper, putting the book back on the shelf.

“And who wouldn’t?” Cassandra agrees, placing her hand on your shoulder. “So effortless his love for you. So different from now.”

You glance over at her, confusion drawn on your face. False empathy tugs at Cassandra’s sympathetic smile. “Are you even sure he cares for you now? This Logan is so broken, more broken and unloveable than all these other Logans, hm?”

Shaking your head, you try to resist her efforts to batter you, to convince you your soul’s purpose is not worth it. Not worth him. “That’s not true. They’re all worthy. All capable and deserving of love,” you say, your fingers trailing along another spine. “Even this one. Especially this one.”

Cassandra’s face contorts then and…

She’s wrenched from your mind and you fall to your knees, blinking up as you see Wade holding Cassandra from behind, one hand holding Jaggernaut’s helmet to her head. 

Your mind still spins as Logan and Wade confront her, their conversation a jumble in your mind. But you don’t miss her saying either they kill her, or she kills them. Finding the strength to stand, you rise and place your hand on Wade’s arm.

“If I stay,” you start, focusing only on Cassandra and ignoring the press of Logan’s gaze into your skin, “Will you let them go?”

Logan reaches for you and you pull your gaze from Cassandra long enough to press your palm against this chest. You meet his eyes, silently pleading with him to let you continue. 

“Will you?” you repeat, unable to keep the pleading out of your tone.

Cassandra laughs bitterly. “You love him that much? To sacrifice yourself to save him? That Logan, out of all of them?”

You nod, feeling the tears burn in your eyes. “I love him that much,” you reply softly.

Logan grabs your hand then, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t,” he chokes out, voice thick with unspoken emotion, “Don’t do this.”

You smile softly as you reach up and cup his cheek, his beard rough against your palm. You don’t miss the way he briefly nuzzles into your touch, eyes fluttering shut as he sighs. “I love you, Logan. In all my lives, in this one and in the next one, too.” The first tear slips down your cheek as you look up at him. “I promise I’ll find you again, Logan. I always do.”

You press a kiss to his mouth, soft and gentle. It lingers for a moment, a desperate, bittersweet exchange as Logan tries to memorize the feel of you. His hands grip your waist, clutching almost hard enough to bruise, but you relish the pain. 

Wade stands beside you both, uncharacteristically silent, his hands still holding Cassandra in place. His usual banter is gone, the weight of the moment not lost on him. “This is the worst fucking idea anyone has ever had,” he mutters, but his tone is soft. “And I’ve had some pretty terrible ideas.”

Cassandra regards you with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “If I let them go, you’ll stay here with me in the Void. Be my ally.”

You nod, “Yes.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrow, calculating, weighing her options. Finally she sighs, “Fine. But you know…no one will remember this little sacrifice of yours. The next Logan won’t even know you.”

Logan growls and you squeeze his hand in gentle reassurance. “It’s okay,” you whisper, your voice finally breaking. “I’ll remember enough for the both of us.”

You step away from Logan, your heart shattering with every step. Wade lets go of Cassandra and you feel the weight of your decision settle heavily against your shoulders. 

Cassandra pulls something from her pocket, slipping it onto her fingers. Before you, a portal opens up, just outside the boundaries of the room. Outside, the raging storm that is Alioth grows near and in that moment, you realize Cassandra was playing a game of her own.

“I figure,” she says, straightening the lapels of her jacket, “that they have approximately four seconds before they’re through.”

Your eyes flick to Logan and you memorize every detail, every emotion written across his face. With one final nod, he tears his gaze from you and he runs towards the portal, Wade alongside him.

And then, darkness consumes all.

+++

You’re unsure how long you’ve been out. The last thing you remember was Alioth screaming towards you, giving you barely enough time to cocoon yourself from his rage.

Cassandra is gone.

Wade is gone.

And Logan—Logan is gone.

You open your eyes and find Remy standing above you. He offers you his hand and helps you to stand. “C’mon, chère,” he says, nodding towards the open portal behind him, “Let’s go home.”

You’re not sure where home is any more, not without Logan, but you don’t have the strength to argue. From the moment you wound up here in the Void, you’ve been looking for a way out. Now that you have one, you know you need to take it. 

Accepting Remy’s hand, you join him through the portal.

You stumble into a familiar room and are greeted warmly by a smiling TVA agent. She’s unlike the first TVA agent you met, her presence comforting as she says your name. “We heard you’ve had quite the adventure.” She looks over towards Remy. “Mr. LeBeau, if you’ll follow this agent here.”

Remy leaves with he other agent, turning towards you with a wink. “Enjoy your man for me, yeah?”

Your heart flutters in your chest and you look towards the agent, trying to suppress the hope you feel in your chest. She smiles and rests a comforting hand on your shoulder. From her pocket she pulls out a small device, pressing a few buttons on the pad. Before you a different portal opens and she gestures towards it.

“Welcome home.”

+++

You stand in front of the apartment door and hesitate before knocking. Your nerves flutter uncomfortably in your belly even though it’s been less than two days since you last saw Logan in the Void. But you’re out now—you both are—and the fear nags at you that maybe this isn’t what he wants. That you aren’t what he wants. 

You stuff that thought down with a shake of your head. Raising your hand, you rap against the door three times and let out a shaky breath. When he opens the door, you feel as if the air has left your lungs and you forget to breathe. Your heart aches at the sight of him. 

Logan stops short, his face falling into one of pure disbelief and all he can do is stare at you.

“Is that my stripper?” you hear Wade call from farther into the apartment. Logan continues to stare at you as Wade pops up behind him, his face lighting up in surprise. “Oh, hey cupcake! Didn’t expect to—“

“Get out,” Logan growls, turning his head slightly in Wade’s direction, his eyes never leaving yours. 

From over Logan’s shoulder, Wade wiggles his eyebrows. “Ah, looking for some afternoon delight?” he coos, slinging his arm over Logan’s shoulder and patting his chest. “This guy has been jerkin’ it constan—“

You hear the sknit of Logan’s claws as they unsheathe into Wade’s thighs. “Ah, fuck! Fuck!” Wade curses. “You’re supposed to be penetrating her, not me!”

“Get. Out,” Logan repeats, retracting his claws. 

“Fine.” Wade pushes past Logan’s frame, limping slightly as his wounds heal themselves. “You’re lucky Blind Al’s already out playing Bingo. Or selling herself for blow. I don’t actually know her schedule,” he comments as he walks down the hallway. “Glad you’re home, cupcake.”

Logan barely waits until Wade is out of sight before tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling you towards him. Your gasp dies on your lips as he drags you inside, shutting the door with his foot and pushing you up against the rough wood. Then his mouth is on yours and it’s warm and wet and wonderful. 

His hands cup your face, fingers moving to tangle in your hair and you feel him everywhere. You whine as he nips lightly at your chin before trailing his lips back up your jaw, licking into your mouth as he kisses you deep. 

Your fingers scramble for purchase, fisting themselves into the fabric of his button-down flannel. 

There’s a desperation and urgency bleeding from him, as if he can’t drink you in fast enough, or hard enough, or long enough to satiate the longing that’s within him. And you’re feeling it too, an ache growing deeper in your belly, a need to be consumed by him fully and you whine into his mouth because he’s not nearly close enough to you.

A thigh slips between your legs as he kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat, a moan falling from your lips as you greedily seek friction. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Logan husks against your shoulder, pulling your hips harder against his clothed thigh. 

Your hands cup the sides of his face, your fingers scratching lightly against his beard. You force him to look at you, his pupils blown wide. “I always come to you,” you say softly. “I always come home.”

He kisses you softly then, his mouth slow over yours and he drops his thigh from between your leg. You whine at the loss and he pulls back. “C’mere,” he says, grabbing your hand and leading you further into he apartment. “I’m not fucking you for the first time against a door.”

You follow him to the bedroom, your chest heaving with ragged breaths and you can feel the prickle of anticipation along your spine as he turns back to look at you. His eyes never leave yours as he shrugs off the flannel and pulls his t-shirt over his head. Your eyes trace the lines of his chest, the strong definition of his muscles, following the line of hair that leads to the top of his jeans. As you bite your lip, you hear his chuckle, “My eyes are up here.”

“Mmm, yeah they are,” you start, tugging your shirt off and shimmying your pants over your hips, “but the view down there is nice, too.”

Logan reaches for you, his large hands skimming over your hips, over the flesh of your ass and under your thighs, lifting you up and forcing your to wrap your legs around his waist. With an easy flick of his fingers, he’s unclasped your bra and you toss it aside with the rest of your clothes. 

Kneeling on the bed, he lays you down, kissing his way down your stomach, his nose nuzzling along the top of your panties. “Do you have any fucking idea how sweet you smell?” His mouth is hot against your skin and he laughs as you tilt your hips up towards him. “You want me to fuck you with my tongue? Lap at you until you’re seeing stars?”

Molten desire shoots down your spine and you can feel the slick between your thighs. God, the mouth on him was going to be the death of you. 

You prop yourself up onto your elbows and look down at him. “Just fucking touch me already,” you whine, and you hate how desperate you sound. “Haven’t we waited long enough?”

He presses a wet, open mouthed kiss to your inner thigh before dragging his nose along the center of your clothed cunt. You inhale sharply as he kisses over your clit before trailing his fingers along your hip bones and pulling the fabric down. His warm hands palm along your thighs and he opens you up, staring down at you with hunger in his eyes. And then his mouth is on you, his tongue licking a hot stripe through your folds before sucking your clit into his mouth. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moan as his mouth continues to lap at you, pleasure tingling low in your belly and spreading through your limbs.

Logan hums. “Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted, sweetheart.” His tongue dips down, collecting the arousal at your entrance. “I could die happy between these thighs.”

You trail your hands down over your chest, briefly palming each breast before you continue down and sink your fingers into Logan’s hair. His groan rumbles through you and you don’t miss the way his hips start to rut against the mattress, seeking friction. 

His mouth and tongue continue to move over you, long, slow licks punctuated by gentle sucks and flicks over your clit and you can’t stop the grind of your hips against his face. You feel his smirk against you as one thick finger finally sinks inside your walls, nudging that spot deep inside that makes you squirm.

Another finger slips inside you and a low whine spills from your lips. 

“You’re beautiful like this, you know that,” he says, voice rough, thumb replacing his tongue against your clit as his fingers continue pumping. “All blissed out and needy and desperate to come on my fingers.”

His words zip through you as he fuck you with his hand and you bite your lip. “C’mon,” he purrs, “let me hear all those pretty sounds you make.”

Soft whimpers spill from your throat as he continues to work you, that pull in your lower belly growing stronger and stronger. His hand never stilling, he kisses his way up your body, pulling a nipple into his mouth and then you’re coming, cunt clenching around his fingers. 

Logan licks into your mouth to steal your cries as he continues to work you through your orgasm. Your thighs clamp around his forearm, the pleasure overwhelming. 

He finally stills, pulling his fingers from you and you whimper at the loss. You watch through half lidded eyes as he licks his fingers clean of your slick and you feel that flame reignite in your belly. 

“Take your pants off,” you demand, breathless, pushing at his chest. 

Logan laughs, but allows you to push him onto his back. “You always so bossy after you come?”

You fumble at his belt, undoing his buckle and unzipping his jeans before shoving them down his hips. “Make me do it again and find out,” you taunt as his cock springs free.

He kicks his pants the rest of the way off and you sit back on your heels and admire him for a moment. Your eyes trail from his broad shoulders, down the contours of his chest and follow that line of hair down his stomach to between his thighs, where his cock stands, thick and ready. 

“I will never get tired of looking at you,” you sigh, raking your nails down his thighs, deliberately not touching him where you know he wants it the most. “You’re so beautiful, Logan.”

Whatever response he has, dies in his throat as you finally wrap your hand around his cock, giving him one long, firm stroke. He’s hot and heavy and you’re aching to feel him inside you. But not yet. Leaning down, your eyes meet his and you trace your tongue along the underside of his cock, tasting the salt on his skin.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Logan curses, unable to stop the thrust of his hips, chasing your mouth. 

You wrap your lips around the head, swirling your tongue over the slit and collecting the precum there before taking as much of him in your mouth as you can. Logan hisses through his teeth, fingers winding their way into your hair to help guide your movements. 

“You’re so warm and wet, sweetheart,” he groans. “But I don’t want to come in your mouth.”

You give him one last stroke as you release him from your mouth and climb up to sit on his thighs. Logan pulls you forward by your hips and you gasp as your cunt slides across his cock. 

“Line me up,” he instructs and you obey without hesitation. 

Gripping him in your hand, you guide him to your entrance, notching him inside before slowly sinking down atop him. A sob chokes in your throat at the thick feel of him inside you, stretching you, making you feel complete. Your entire existence boils down to where he’s joined with you and you relish the burn.

His hands are everywhere as you start to move, caressing your thighs, your hips, up to your breasts and back down, tracing a map on your skin only his fingers can read. Praise falls from his lips in an almost nonstop litany, telling you how wet you are, how tight, how warm, how good you’re making him feel.

“Do you want to know how you make me feel?” you ask, breathless. You look down at him through half lidded eyes and find him just as flushed and wanton as you. “How you’ve always made me feel?”

You continue to rock back and forth on his cock, slow, deliberate movements that leave you wanting, needing more. Logan shifts his hips and finds the leverage to fuck up into you, the deep drag of his cock against your walls making you throw your head back and moan. 

“Fuck,” he growls, his fingers sinking deeper into the flesh of your hips, pulling you somehow impossibly closer. “Show me, sweetheart.” 

You brace your hands against his chest, raking your fingers through the damp hair there, feeling his heart beat beneath your palms. Leaning down, you capture his mouth with yours, the kiss sloppy as he continues to thrust up into you. You move your hands up his neck, your fingers collecting the sweat along his jaw and then, “Feel, Logan.”

It starts slow, an almost faint heat spreading from your fingertips as they ghost over his skin, your power beginning to pulse in time with your heartbeat. Logan gasps and his rhythm falters as the first wave of emotion hits him. You slow, too, your hips barely moving as you run your fingers down from his jaw, over the column of his throat and back to his chest. 

Your palms rest against his ribs as you continue to pour into him all the love and passion he’s ever shown you over centuries. Logan stares up at you in reverence, his face soft as he runs his hands up your sides, over your breasts. He tugs you down towards him, his mouth hovering over yours.

“Do you feel, Logan,” you ask, your breath hot against his lips. “Do you feel how much you love you have in you?”

He draws your bottom lip into his mouth, biting softly once, before capturing your mouth fully, kissing you deep. You hum as his tongue swipes against yours and his fingers tangle in your hair. 

A gasp pulls from your throat as Logan wraps his arms around you and flips your position, forcing your legs around his waist as he begins to thrust into you again in earnest. You feel him deep in this position, each thrust of his cock against your walls hitting that perfect spot inside of you. 

“It’s too much,” he groans into your skin. “Never…never felt like this.”

You rake your nails along his back, relishing in the growl that falls from this throat. “It always feels like this,” you gasp, drawing your power back. 

His arms slide under your shoulders, anchoring you in place as his hips continue to thrust into you. It’s lewd almost, the slapping of skin against skin and the wet noises from where you’re joined. His breath is hot and damp against your skin where his mouth hovers over the pulse point in your neck. 

Your fingers snake into the short strands of hair at the back of his neck and your other hand slips in between your bodies, reaching for your clit. 

“That’s it,” he moans, “use those fingers to get yourself off on my cock.”

You can feel where he’s sliding thickly into your cunt, the wiry hairs at the base of his cock damp with your arousal, and you begin to rub in time with his thrusts. Pleasure zips along your spine, every cell in your body afire at his touch. You feel that telltale tug low in your belly and you know you’re not going to last much longer. 

He slides his hands down from your shoulders, following the curve of your spine, forcing you to arch your back. Taking the opportunity before him, he swirls his tongue over one nipple, then the other as he palms the flesh of your hips in his hands, angling your hips further up into his. A keening whine falls from your lips as he somehow thrusts deeper into you, making your legs shake. 

Logan nudges your hand away from your clit, replacing your fingers with his own as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. His eyes are focused on the sight of his cock thrusting into you and the slick smeared across your thighs. 

“Logan,” you gasp, “I’m so close.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he rasps, dragging his gaze up to your face, “I got you. Takin’ me so well, so tight. Gonna spend the rest of my life tellin’ you how fucking good you are.”

His words tip you over the edge, your orgasm rolling through you as you spasm down on his cock, his name falling from your lips. He fucks you through your orgasm, each thrust of his hips sending aftershocks of pleasure along your limbs as he chases his own release. Logan’s thrusts grow erratic and you reach for him, grasping at his forearms, pulling him down to you. 

“Come for me, Logan,” you murmur in his ear. “I wanna feel you come.”

With one final thrust, he comes with a groan, forehead pressed against yours as he spills himself deep within you. You can feel cock spasm as he lazily thrusts through his orgasm, using your body to wring out the last of his pleasure. You hold him close, pressing open mouthed kisses to his jaw as he finally stills within you. 

Careful not to crush you, Logan pulls you to him as he rolls onto his side. He doesn’t pull out, tugging your leg over his hip to keep you close and full. 

You smile up at him, brushing the damp hair away from his forehead. He sighs at your touch, a content sound that tugs at your heart. 

“You really love me in every universe?” he asks softly, brushing his nose against yours. 

“Yes.”

“Even this one?”

“Especially this one.” 

You don’t know what the rest of this life holds, but you do know one thing—wherever he goes, you’ll be right there with him. 

[emchant3d]

part 2 of runaway bride stevie! modern au, exes to lovers, transfem stevie harrington pt 1

Eddie Munson is not having a good day.

His phone died last night so his alarm didn’t go off, his bassist is sick so their gig tonight has to be canceled, and his last three Uber rides have stiffed him on a tip.

He accepts a request from some dude named Scott with a terrible comb-over in his profile picture and gives himself two seconds to bang his forehead into his steering wheel in frustration with a closed-mouth scream. Then he dials it back so he doesn’t seem absolutely fucking insane. He can see the suit he’s about to escort to some fucking meeting even though he’d rather be doing any-fucking-thing else, and he pastes a fake smile on to greet him. He’s gearing up to fall into the usual routine of this godforsaken job, but then it all goes a little sideways.

There’s movement from the corner of his eye, and then a blur of a body is slamming into poor Scott from behind, shoulder checking him and almost sending him careening onto the sidewalk. The dude pinwheels his arms like a cartoon character, suit jacket puffing up around his shoulders awkwardly, expression so baffled it makes Eddie snort despite himself.

“Oh, shit,” he mumbles, and he’s reaching for his seatbelt to see if the guy needs any help - he looks like he might break a hip if he hits the ground - but then a whirlwind of white fabric swoops into his backseat and a loud, desperate voice yells "DRIVE!" in his ear, and he sort of just thinks 'sure, why the fuck not,' and slams his foot on the gas.

The car fishtails a bit and the tires squeal as he swerves into traffic, horns honking after him, and he picks a direction at random, going way too fast for this area of town.

His heart is pounding in his chest, worst case scenarios running through his head. He’s going to get car jacked. He’s going to go to jail for being an unwitting getaway driver. But there isn’t any more yelling from the back seat, just heavy, panicked breathing, and he settles into traffic and slows down to a more normal speed before he cuts his eyes up to the rearview mirror.

Time stops.

It’s Stevie.

He can’t believe he didn’t recognize her the second he saw her, but in his defense, it's not like he was expecting to see his ex-girlfriend in a goddamn wedding dress running like she stole something today.

Pure panic wraps tight around his throat as he takes her in - is she hurt? In danger? Nothing good could have had her sprinting away from her own wedding, but it seems like she’s just shaken up.

His heart calms a bit once her tears dry and they get properly on the road.

And shit, it’s so unfair, because she's just as breathtaking as she was the day they split. She looks just as sad, too, which is certainly not how a woman like Stevie Harrington should look on her wedding day. But seeing her in a gown like that - Jesus Christ. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest. It’s like something out of a fantasy, seeing her in the exact kind of dress she used to whisper to him about wanting, the kind of dress he’d once promised to marry her in. Of course, they fell apart before he could even get a ring on her finger, but it still sends his stomach swooping to see the future they’d spoken about come to life.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he can’t help but ask, glancing over his shoulder at her.

“Yeah,” she says, voice high and a little squeaky. “Yeah, I’m totally fine. Just in my ex-boyfriend's car after I left my fiance at the altar, it’s all fine, it’s chill.”

“Okay,” he says haltingly, delicately, because Stevie Harrington is not the kind of person who says it’s chill, “it’s just that, you know, all of that sounds decidedly not chill.”

“This is so chill. It’s the chillest I’ve ever been, actually - hold on–” she says, and next thing he knows a swirl of silk is blocking his view and he sputters a bit as the train of her dress smacks him in the face, but she’s clambering gracelessly from the back seat and over the console to plop down on the passenger side with a loud huff and a cloud of perfume.

It’s different from what she used to wear. She used to smell spicy and warm, with notes of amber and cinnamon. He’d kiss the little spots in her wrists where she’d spritz it on, trace the veins beneath the tan skin with his nose to keep the scent of her with him.

Now she smells like vanilla and something floral, airy and light. Like he stepped into a bakery. It’s not bad, of course it’s not bad, but it’s…different. Not her.

Or not his version of her, anyway.

This is someone else’s Stevie now, and she smells like fucking cookies instead of home.

Instead of commenting on it, he just tells her to put on her seat belt, and she looks at him like he’s an idiot.

“And wrinkle this dress?” she says, her nose curling a little, and God she’s such a bitch and he’s missed it so much.

“I hate to break it to you,” he tells her, “but some wrinkles are not the worst damage that thing has seen today.” There are small grey splotches on the bodice where her makeup dripped as she cried earlier, and the hemline has some muddy staining from her mad dash on the sidewalk. It’s not ruined, but it’ll have to be cleaned, and a couple of wrinkles will be the easiest thing to get out of the formerly pristine fabric.

He glances over at her in time to see her run her hands over the skirt of the dress, smoothing it out over her thighs. It shifts, the leg slit parting to show her skin, teasing at the hint of a crease where her thigh and stomach meet, and Eddie rips his gaze away to stare at the road instead.

“Probably for the best, anyway,” he says, and he feels her eyes latch onto his profile.

“And why’s that?” she asks, and he smirks.

“Well, pure white? C’mon, Stevie, we both know that’s a lie.” He flashes her a wicked grin and she makes an outraged sound, but a small smile is teasing at her mouth even as her cheeks flush.

She kicks off her heels - red bottoms, because of fucking course they are - and slouches in the seat. She pushes herself up, adjusting in the pile of silk and corsetry she’s been strapped into, and he sees the absolute mountain of a rock on her hand, and manages to bite his tongue about it being the gaudiest thing he’s ever seen.

"So who was the lucky guy?" Eddie asks before he can stop himself, and the glare Stevie gives him could cut glass. “Or lucky woman. Person? Far be it from me to deny you your bisexual rights.”

He probably sounds like a jealous asshole, but he can't help it. He's the getaway driver for his one that got away on her fucking wedding day, and he feels like he deserves to ask a few questions.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel as the silence lingers, but eventually, Stevie just groans, letting her head fall back against the headrest dramatically.

"Don't laugh," she demands, and Eddie shakes his head.

"Scout's honor," he promises, and he swears a wry little grin teases at her lips.

“You were never a scout. You would have been kicked out for inciting a riot.”

“Hey, I just ensured we all earned our arson badges, okay? I did every one of those kids a favor.” Stevie scoffs, and it almost sounds fond.

Then she says, “Tommy,” and he almost swerves into oncoming traffic.

"HAGAN?" he says, louder than he means to, and her hand flies up to grab the oh-shit bar.

“Eddie, Jesus!” she says, glaring at him, and he shakes his head, focusing back on the road.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, but fucking - really? “Really?” He can’t help himself. “Tommy Hagan?”

“Yes, really, Tommy Hagan,” she says hotly, like she’s defensive, like she didn’t just leave the schmuck at the fucking altar.

“Well that explains the ring, at least.” She reaches over, smacking at his arm, which, thanks to the aforementioned ring, is probably going to bruise. “Hey, ow!” He glares at her, taking a hand off the wheel to rub his bicep. “Watch it, that thing’s a weapon.”

“Then stop sassing me about it,” she snaps, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms and her face falls into that adorable bitchy little pout he’s always fucking loved, and he looks away again.

He can’t help but glance back over at her left hand. The ring is…certainly something. Giant, square, one big diamond surrounded by other, smaller diamonds, with even more diamonds on the band. It looks heavy and cumbersome and like she’s going to smack it into every wall and door and get it caught in her hair and seriously, he’s pretty sure he’s already got a knot forming on his arm where the thing hit him.

It looks like Tommy walked into the priciest jewelry store he could find and asked for the most expensive ring they had.

It looks like a status symbol.

It doesn’t look like her.

“Apologies, highness,” he says, shaking himself free of his thoughts. It’s not fair to hold her to those standards. He hasn’t spoken to her in years. He can’t know what kind of person she is now.

But there’s still a bone-deep knowing that overtakes him at the feeling of the woman next to him. A sense of deja vu so strong it threatens to knock him over.

A different car, a different time, a different circumstance, but the same person. The same love.

He’d picked a direction at random, but as the streets become more familiar, he realizes he’s heading towards his place. It’s as good as any, he figures, and he shifts lanes, reaching to tap on his phone and shutting down his Uber account.

“You know, I almost expected you’d still be driving that beat up old van,” Stevie says suddenly, and he crows a laugh.

“Ah, Van Halen, you served me well until you almost blew up on the highway,” he says fondly. “Lost her about a year ago. It was tragic. I held a funeral.” She laughs again, shaking her head.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she says, turning that pretty smile his way, and his heart does a somersault.

“That was a very impressive move back there, by the way,” he tells her, “that shoulder check of that old defenseless businessman?” He whistles. “Haven’t seen anybody move that quick to steal an old man’s ride before, really, it should have been documented.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” she says, but there’s a laugh in her voice, and she brings up her hands to press to her pink cheeks. He can’t help but keep digging.

“No, seriously! And sprinting like that in heels? And in that dress? What’s that thing weigh, like twenty pounds?”

“It’s a dress, not a suit of armor,” she tells him, but her smile is growing, making her eyes crinkle.

“Just saying, it was pretty metal,” he shrugs, and she snorts.

“Well, you would know,” she says, and he ignores the way his face flushes in response. She gives a little sigh, wiping below her eye and frowning at the smear of black on her fingers.

“Here,” he says, reaching across her. His arm brushes her leg as he opens the glove box and he’s so fucking normal about it. He pulls out a few fast food napkins, holding them out to her. “No makeup wipes in here, but that’ll help with the worst of it.”

“Thanks,” she says, and she flips the visor down, tapping a napkin to her tongue to wet it before wiping at the mascara tracks running down her face. “God,” she groans, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn smear, “I look like a raccoon.”

“A very cute raccoon,” he says before he can stop himself. Jesus, Munson, dial it back. “Like the raccoon that’s about to get the best trash in the bin, she doesn’t even have to ask for it.” Stop talking. “The other raccoons are just gonna give it to her, on account of how cute she is.” He’s gonna throw himself into traffic.

“Did you just call me a raccoon on my wedding day,” she asks. Fine, commit to the bit.

“You called yourself a raccoon on your wedding day. I was just agreeing with you,” he replies, keeping his eyes fixed to the road.

Her eyes are on him - he can feel her stare burning into the side of his face, and his cheeks are going pink and blotchy and God, he’s an idiot–

And then she laughs. Not her polite little contained laugh, either, no, this is that loud, wide mouthed laugh that she hates, that makes her shoulders shake and her head fall back. It’s squeaky and hearty and a little obnoxious and he’s always been so obsessed with getting her to let it out, and he can’t help the smug beaming little smile he gives at the sound.

“You’re such an ass,” she says through her laugh, and Eddie can’t help but laugh with her even if it’s at his own expense, because at least she doesn’t look so goddamn sad anymore.

When they finally reach his apartment complex she’s a little more subdued, but the look on her face isn’t totally heartbreaking, and he’ll take what he can get. He comes around to the passenger side to open her door for her and helps her gather the dramatic skirt of her dress to keep it off the pavement as they head towards the stairs, and he knows he looks like an insane person as he carts a bride down the hall, but he just smiles at his nosy neighbors and lets this cement his reputation as the weird as fuck off-putting metalhead he knows they all think of him as.

He feels a little self conscious as he opens the apartment door for her, sweeping an arm dramatically to allow her to enter first. For the first time since she swept into his car, he wonders if this is a good idea. But it’s too late now – Stevie’s giving him a little smile and stepping into his home, and part of him knows this was inevitable. She may not have called him, but he was always going to come if she needed him.

He follows her inside and tries to calm the pounding of his heart, watching her take in his space, struck all over again by her beauty and the impossibility of her standing here, and silently prays he isn’t going to fuck it up all over again.

this was almost even longer, but I figure 2.5k is enough for a part 2! no tag lists, sorry, but part 3 will be here at some point. thank you to everyone who's had a kind word to say about this au these two are very near and dear to me 💕

[rockscanfly]

Noshir Dalal’s response to my prompt “Please record Charles roasting Dutch post-refinery/Eagle Flies’ death”

Please please go throw money at @noshirdalal over at his newly established cameo. He’s such a talented and dedicated artist who really brought Charles to life and I love everything about this insane five minute monologue he made in response to my joke prompt. The pathos. The catharsis.

This is the only thing I’m going to be able to think about the rest of the week. I have so many questions. Starting with, of course: What did Charles do to his father, and what were the circumstances where Charles told Dutch about it, when that’s not something even Arthur seems to know?

(image ID and audio transcript below the cut)

[Video ID: Noshir Dalal, in the voice of Charles Smith. He is performing with head and shoulders in frame, periodically looking at the camera as if to address Dutch Van der Lin. There is a stone fireplace in the background

End ID]

[begin transcript]

He’s dead.

Eagle Flies, the boy that you rallied to glorious war who died taking a bullet for the man that you called son and then abandoned, is dead.

Relax, Dutch, I’m not here to hurt you. And if I was, you really think your pistols would save you from me?

I’m—I’m here to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry I—I didn’t see it sooner. I was so caught up in Arthur and how sick he is…that I didn’t see the sickness in you.

And you are sick, Dutch. And from that sickness, there is no medicine. How else do I explain it? Your willingness to turn your back on the most loyal man you have ever known. The welcoming of a snake hissing in your ear, how desperately eager you are to hear the worst lies about the people that love you?

That man will be your ruin, Dutch. He is no Hosea. He has you desperately scrambling after a paper crown but you’re paying for it with your kingdom. You will die with nothing and no one.

I leave in the morning. Rains Falls needs my help, and I will try, try, to undo some of the damage that you have done.

But before I go I hope that you will hear me. Arthur, the man that you left to die, is angry. Angry at himself because he doesn’t understand what he’s done to make you turn away from him. And through it all he stands with you, Dutch. He can’t bring himself to do it, because he loves you like a father.

But you know what I did to my father. So just imagine what I could do to you.

[end transcript]

[hana-bobo-finch]

Assorted pikmin headcanons that I might end up deleting bc I definitely haven’t already posted enough today

• Most Hocotatians can’t grow facial hair. Those who can are greatly envied (even if it’s just a few scraggly hairs like the president)

• Hocotate is mostly desert. Because of this, hocotatians generally don’t need as much water as others.

• Yonny is. Extremely in love with dingo. But he still tries to be a good wingman when dingo’s trying to talk to shepherd cause even if he’s insane he’s a good friend

• Louie tries to zone out when olimar’s telling him “stories” (which are more just olimar’s train of thought) but ends up subconsciously retaining it all. He remembers more about olimar than olimar himself.

• Collin actually has social anxiety despite being the comms guy, ironically the only way he’s found that he can calm himself is to never stop talking. So he yaps. A lot.

• Yonny’s tried to tell dingo before that his disliking of dogs probably stems from some form of ptsd from the time he thought he was being attacked during a rescue. Dingo just bragged about it because he thought having trauma made him sound more “badass.” It did not. He was very confused when he got sympathy and not admiration.

• Olimar gets frustrated with Louie very easily, but keeps it hidden because Louie gets chastised by the other employees and the president a lot and olimar wants to be the one to help him instead of just yelling at him.

• Hocotate freight, despite being tasked with large shipping jobs, is a rather small company with barely any employees. There’s pretty much no experience needed other than a basic pilot’s license to get a job there because the president is so desperate for workers

• Louie doesn’t even have a pilot license. He only managed to get hired because his nana convinced the president to hire him because of his family’s lineage of renowned pilots.

• His nana didn’t even ask Louie before getting him hired. He was looking to get a fry cook job at a restaurant nearby to save up for culinary school. He just went with it because he didn’t want to disappoint her

• Collin is aroace. He doesn’t know it, he just thinks he’s “too busy” for sex and romance (am I just saying that bc I’m projecting onto him nooooo I would neeever do that)

• Koppaites generally age physically slower than most. Giyans? What’s it called uhh. People from giya tend to physically age faster. They both have roughly the same life expectancy, though

• it’s a common practice on most civilized planets for the people to dye their hair, as they all share the trait of usually greying quickly. Only hocotatians don’t do this, as they over time have developed hair that retains its color longer—although they have less of it

• Louie hates space travel. He gets motion sickness easily. Olimar, on the other hand, loves it, and likes to do tricks with his ship when flying like spinning around. Somehow that’s never been the cause of a crash, the worst that’s happened was just louie feeling sick

• dingo has low iron levels. I have nothing more to add it is just definitely true

• whenever Louie’s on pnf-404 by himself, he survives the creatures by just ignoring them. Turns out a lot of them aren’t inherently violent or have a taste for hocotatian. The ones that do attack can be defeated easily by giving them poisonous plants

• Many of the planets are more of dwarf planets, if even that. Only hocotate, koppai, Giya, and pnf 404 are larger. Most of them are tiny and in the same solar system, making them almost more akin to different countries or continents than entirely different planets

that is all for my yapping goodbye

[astupidweeb69]

Unrequited (Yandere! Ticci Toby x Reader) Part 8

Links to Previous Chapters: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Next Chapter: Part 9

Author’s Note: I know this chapter is a lot shorter than my previous one's but, I figured it was better than nothing. I might end up rewriting this to make it longer or something.

Cross-posted on my Ao3 account, which I update more frequently.

Warnings: Swearing. Some threats of violence. (1,276 words)

___________________________________________________________

“I love you, (Y/N).”

He said it so genuinely, like there was nothing wrong with the situation. Like he hadn’t taken you from your home, stalked you, tormented you, fucking bashed your head in with a baton. He said the words as if he was just a regular school boy confessing to his crush.

It made you sick to your stomach.

“Well? Are you guh-going to say something?”

He sounded impatient, as if you were the one in the wrong somehow. You looked up from the ground, his dark eyes and expression turning colder each second that passed.

“You’re insane.”

Wrong answer.

Toby’s face dropped, and with a heavy tension in the air, he raised his arm, his hand closing into a fist.

You prepared for the worst.

Then, Toby took a sharp breath, holding it for a moment, and exhaled. Slowly lowering his hand again. Trying to muster up the strength to not lash out, most likely.

“I’ll give you some time to warm up to me. I wuh-won’t hurt you.” He paused, thinking. “I’ll tuh-try not to.”

He didn’t sound very convincing.

You decided to hold your tongue for the time being. At least until you came up with a game plan to get out of this fucking place.

Toby sat down on the couch next to you, still pissed off. The sudden shift in weight causing you to look over at him. It was hard not to notice just how big he was. Tall and lanky, but at this distance it was obvious he did some kind of exercise. He’d be hard to take down on your own, and you’d need some kind of weapon that could immediately incapacitate him. He couldn’t feel pain. You knew that now.

“See suh-somethin’ you luh-like?”

Your thoughts were interrupted, noticing the wide grin stretched across Toby’s face as he looked you over. You had been staring.

Albeit, you were trying to figure out how to kick his ass, but you had been staring nonetheless.

Frowning, you decided it was best to stay silent, choosing to just shake your head ‘no’.

Toby sighed. The noise making you jump a little. “There’s nothing you can do now.” He put his arm around you, your body tensing as you were pulled into him. “And that’s okay.”

The ends of fingers started playing with your hair.

“It isn’t.”

Your voice came out quieter than you’d had hoped. But soon rose from desperation, sadness, anger or a combination of the three.

“It isn’t okay. I have a life, I have fucking friends who care about me, you can’t just tell me it’s okay. God! How could a person be so selfish?!”

“Because I can.” Toby hissed. “Fuh-for once I can be selfish. I finally found suh-something that I want. So I’m going to get it. Even if I have to drag you back here kicking and screaming over and over again.”

His words sunk in, like a rock falling into a bottomless pit.

“You’ll have to.”

Toby laughed cruelly at your response, not phased at all by your determination. He leaned forward in his seat, playing and picking with the skin on his hands. His nose scrunched in a smile, and he turned his head to you, putting a hand on your knee. “That’s fine. I duh-don’t mind a cat and muh-mouse chase every once in a while.”

____________________________________________________________

You felt numb. Your brain buzzing, probably the after effects from the head injury Toby gave you. All the energy you had was focused on the fireplace on the other side of the room. You could hear your captor behind you in the kitchen, rummaging through cupboards. After a couple of failed attempts to get you to speak, he resorted to pacing the cabin, occasionally glaring at you. Muttering phrases and curses under his breath. He finally stopped when your stomach started growling, quickly making his way to the fridge to find you something to eat. Of course, you didn’t ask him to. You decided you weren’t going to ask him for anything.

But there was one thing that had started to bug you, well, other than the whole kidnapping thing.

Scanning the room more intently, you noticed two hatchets that hung by the front door. One with a bright orange handle, and the other dull and wooden. They looked well used, and if it wasn’t your paranoia just seeing things, there were definitely specks of red on the handles and on the holster they hanged from.

It made you wonder what Toby did in his free time.

Sure, you had asked him before if he was going to kill you. And he had alluded to murdering people in his fits of rage. And although you never saw any evidence of it, bloody fucking axes on the wall seemed like pretty solid proof.

You moved closer to get a better look at them.

“Hey. Yuh-your food.”

A bowl of cold soup was shoved in front of your face.

Toby stood next to you frowning, trying to figure out what you were looking so intensely at.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I was - um….. Nothing?” You stammer back.

He placed the bowl into your hand and walked over to the wall, lifting the leather holster off the hooks. The blades of the hatchets swung as he carried them over, before sitting down on a musty chair across from you.

“You like em’?” Toby asked, a hint of tease in his voice, like he was trying to be playful.

“Not really” You shot back.

“Aw, yuh-you’re hurting my feelings.”

Toby took the orange one out of the holster, tossing it back and forth in his hands with ease. He looked up at you for a moment and smirked, before l lifting the handle behind his head, and throwing it forward. It missed your head by a few inches, but you still ducked instinctively. The blade connected on the other side of the wall with a loud ‘THUNK’, the force knocking some empty bottles off the window sill and shattering on the floor.

“What the fuck!”

He cackled at your reaction, throwing his head back in the chair. After a few moments he collected himself.

“Duh-don’t worry, I have good aim.”

You stared at him dumbfounded. "Why do you have those?”

He glanced over at the hatchet embedded in the wall and then back to you. “Firewood.” Was his curt response.

You didn’t believe him.

A small buzzing sound came from Toby’s pocket, startling you both for a moment. He furrowed his brows, before taking out his phone, and glanced down at the screen. He grimaced, reading through something.

“F-fuck.”

If you were wanting an explanation, you weren’t going to get one. Because he got up from his chair and angrily stormed through his home, saying nothing, and grabbing items to get ready for something. He stopped in front of you with a small plastic bag.

Zip ties.

Of course he would tie you up.

“Get up.”

You rose to your feet hesitantly, not liking his tone at all. Something in those texts must have set him off. His hand quickly grabbed your wrist, practically dragging you back to his bedroom where you had first woken up in this hell hole. He threw you onto the bed, and placed your wrist against a metal pole on his bed frame, securing the zip tie to your hands so you couldn’t move. Toby grinned once he was done.

“There. Suh-so you don’t get any ideas while I’m guh-gone.”

Before he left the house, you heard him call out.

“I’ll be back soon!”

[snowball-doie]

cringey wattpad tropes or not, i'm just desperate for more content ahahahah i'll literally read anything you post about it

Bahahahaha OKAY BUCKLE UP PUPS! *cracks knuckles* We’re taking a Time Machine back to 2012!! Back to my roots, yippeee!!!

(i finished writing this like 9 hours later... it's giving "my mom sold me to one direction" pffttt but once you read it. you'll prob realize why this ISNT canon and also that im insane)

So this is in the future only slightly ‘cause TY and Jaehyun are in the military….. Also I’ve never mentioned this before I dont think? But canonically, a few weeks or so after Reyna’s born, she gets really really sick one night when she’s sleeping in Jungwoo’s room, and he panics and they take her to the hospital. She’s fine after spending a few days in the NICU. That’ll be mentioned / made important here 🫡

You know how busy the boys have been, solo schedules, group schedules, working themselves to the bone before another inevitable enlistment. They’re never all home together anymore. That’s hard for Ahri. She’s so used to having 8 men terrorizing their home, giving her a hard time, giving her so much love, never letting the house get quiet… But it’s been eerily silent without them, especially while they’ve been doing concerts as only 6 members in Korea, and they’re about to hop over to Japan for a few more shows— And Yuta’s not even around in between those because he’s busy with an encore to his own solo stage; and Hyuck and Mark are busy with Dream content!! Hmph… She misses having them around. She doesn’t like forcing herself to get quiet to an empty, quiet home.

The boys are gone again for a few days this time- Johnny, Doyoung, and Jungwoo doing some kind of press tour in the Southern part of Korea, a couple hours outside of Seoul; Yuta’s in Japan, and the Dreamies are all the way in Taipei for their own press tour… It’s been a while since Taeyong or Jaehyun have called. Nowadays, the WayV boys are the only ones still in the country, so they’re on stand by if Ahri or Reyna should need anything.

“Okay, baby, we have to get up early, so I’m gonna call it a night,” John tells Ahri, the two of them FaceTiming just before bed. Reyna’s already sound asleep in her bed in Johnny and Ahri’s room.

Ahri nods and lays in bed, plugging her phone in while wishing goodnight to Johnny, and Doyoung who fell asleep on John’s lap about twenty minutes ago. The house is quiet again after their call ends. Reyna’s snoring quietly. Ahri’s exhausted from work and keeping up with a baby alone, she falls asleep fairly quickly, tangled up in Johnny’s sheets, shoving her face into his pillow just to remember what his cologne smells like.

Reyna’s always been a fussy baby. She’s infamous for waking up every hour or so throughout the night in need of something, no matter how big she gets, or when she should have outgrown the habit according to doctors. She’s been a handful, much like some of her dads……. So Ahri’s body naturally wakes her up sometimes to check on Reyna to check on her— Especially since silence was Ahri’s worst fear after the hospital visit earlier in the year. Usually if she wakes up and Reyna doesn’t need anything, she’ll just pace around for a bit until Reyna does wake up, whining for food or crying about a nightmare… But Ahri stops when she leans over in bed to find that Reyna’s crib is empty. The fuck? She wasn’t an escape artist like Hyuck thought she’d be. Sure, she tried a few times when she was smaller to climb out of her crib, but she sucked at it, so she always gave up before just crying for one of her dads to pick her up. Reyna never escapes her crib. So Ahri turns on the lamp and starts to look around, checking under the bed, going into the bathroom. Nothing. So she ventures further, checking all of the boys’ rooms, under their beds, in the bathrooms, in closets, in drawers. Nothing. So she runs downstairs. On the couch, under the couch, under the table, behind the floor lamp, under the kitchen table, hiding between chairs, in the kitchen cabinets— Hell, even in the damn fridge! Ahri checks every single inch of the house and there’s no sign of Reyna. She doesn’t understand. She checks for a few more minutes, calling out for Reyna, cooing that it’s time to get back into bed… But nothing.

Panic strikes as soon as the reality settles in. And rather than call the boys who are hours away from helping, or the cops who would probably laugh at Ahri for being an overdramatic, hysterical mother the second Reyna would crawl out of some hidden crevice of the house, Ahri rushes to call the WayV boys who show up within minutes once they hear what’s happened. They’re half asleep, albeit, but they’re there, trying to calm Ahri down, splitting up to check the house again. Maybe there’s somewhere Ahri missed. Maybe Reyna’s just damn good at playing hide and seek. There’s a reasonable explanation for this, according to Kun who’s hugging Ahri and rubbing her back to calm down her growing panic attack. The boys come back one by one with no baby in hand….. They checked everywhere. They’ve done everything they can think of. The house is turned over, it’s a mess, and there’s no sign of Reyna. The police are the next solution.

Honestly, life is a whirlwind around Ahri as she sits in the living room, Ten beside her, rubbing circles on her back while a police officer stands in front of her, asking questions, while his partner checks the rest of the house with the WayV boys who try to explain that they already checked!

“And what’s the purpose of your stay in this house?”

Ahri doesn’t know how to answer that.

“Her husband lives here,” Ten replies on her behalf, like the quick thinker he is.

“And who’s her husband?”

Ten does all the answering while Ahri stares at the ground, trying to think of all the places Reyna could be. The yard? No, the boys would have seen her, or maybe even the cops? She couldn’t have even gotten out of the house. Yeah, okay, maybe Ahri was so tired that she forgot to set the house alarm, so she wouldn’t have known if the front door opened, but how the hell was an infant meant to unlock the door, open it, and make a grand escape? It wasn’t fucking possible!

“Yeah, she’s not here, hyung,” the other cop says after returning to the living room.

“Miss, do you know of anyone who’d want to take your daughter?”

“Take?” someone questions, but Ahri doesn’t know who because her ears start to ring and her breathing stops.

Ahri just sits in silence for a while as the boys go back and forth with the police, doing their best to help while also not trying to get anyone in trouble by revealing too much. After all, the police know who lives there. They know who used to live there too, the famous Taeyong and Jaehyun… They know who they’re dealing with. One slip up and everything’s over. But they can’t lie completely or else they’re of no help to the cops either. It’s a dangerous game to play, a slippery slope they have to navigate together while Ahri silently considers the worst.

“Ahr, look at me,” someone coos gently, pressing their palms to her cheeks. She looks up to find Doyoung on his knees in front of her, his eyes filled with worry, his face red from crying. “You okay?”

The boys are in Busan, there’s no way Doyoung was actually in front of her. No way. It’d only been a few minutes since she woke up and called the boys over for help.

“Ahr, talk to me.”

And then the couch cushion to her left sinks in under the weight of Jungwoo who is even more of a mess than Doyoung.

“How’re you here?” she croaks.

Doyoung sighs and slumps before explaining that Winwin called the second she called them, and the boys got on the first flight out of Busan. Ahri doesn’t believe it. That still two hours away at best, with an hour long flight, and getting to and from the airports…

“Baby, the cops have already been here almost two hours,” Jungwoo whispers.

Ahri looks around slowly. There’s more police now, swarming her home, investigating the little details of their private lives, like the family photos on the mantle beneath the TV, or the baby toys scattered around that make their way into evidence bags, or the dead security camera in the corner that faces the front door and the entirety of the living room— Johnny promised weeks ago that he was going to charge it… Doyoung offered to do it for him, but Johnny kept insisting that he’d get around to it eventually… Johnny’s standing in the entryway, the door propped open to accommodate the flow of traffic in and out of the house while he talks to an officer who’s jotting down notes and asking more questions. John looks… put together. While Doyoung looks like he cried the whole way home and tried to be presentable before looking at Ahri, and Jungwoo is crying at her side, clinging to her desperately… Johnny is standing tall, his head held high, not a single thing wavering about while he answered the tough questions, like why his girlfriend is seen kissing his group mates in framed pictures around the house.

“Where’s Reyna?” Ahri asks Doyoung.

Jungwoo presses his forehead against her shoulder and cries some more while Doyoung replies that he doesn’t know. The cops are looking. But they don’t know. They’ll know soon, though, he promises, she’ll be back home before Ahri knows it, and everything’s gonna be okay again. Yuta’s even on his way from Japan, and Mark and Haechan are trying to see if they can sneak out of their duties in Taipei to come home.

“I need to go look for her,” Ahri insists, pushing herself up to her feet. Doyoung and Jungwoo panic, both of them trying to sit her back down, telling her that she needs to relax or she’s going to hurt the baby. “I’m fine.” But Doyoung’s hands are glued over her baby bump as he has her sit back on the couch. “She’s probably just down the street or something. She’s been trying to push herself up to her feet recently—“

“Wait, she has?” Jungwoo questions.

“Maybe she took her first steps then wandered out.”

“Ahr, let the cops look for her, you need to relax,” Doyoung says adamantly.

But she’s up again on her feet, trying to make her way out of the house. Johnny’s attention is caught, and he’s what suddenly stands between Ahri and freedom through the front door. He’s saying the same thing Doyoung is. The baby this, the baby that. The cops are looking, Yuta’s on a war path on his way home from Japan, someone’s gonna find Reyna, but Ahri needs to sit down.

“Baby, you’re pale—“ Johnny puts a hand on her forehead. “Shit, Ahri—“

The boys have a tendency to be overdramatic when it comes to Ahri. Well, at least that’s what Ahri says. They feel like they’re completely in the right for having her taken to the fucking HOSPITAL after she passed out. She’s fine. It’s just the stress and exhaustion, and it doesn’t help that she is pregnant, like they tried to remind her of when she wouldn’t just sit down like that asked! Johnny’s giving her that look. The silent judging one that says if they weren’t in a hospital, and she hadn’t just woken up, and there wasn’t other things to worry about like finding their daughter, and she wasn’t pregnant, Ahri was in so, so, so much trouble. They flew back from Busan in the middle of the night to look for Reyna. How could Ahri get them all worked up and worried like this? But then he gives her another look, a softer one that’s filled with relief as he inches closer to her, his torso practically lying on the hospital bed as he kisses her knuckles. He’s just relieved she’s okay.

“Yuta’s almost here,” he says quietly, trying to keep her docile. “Mark and Hyuck are on a flight home.”

“Reyna?”

“They’re still looking. They checked the camera we have facing her crib… Someone was in the house while you’re sleeping—“

Ahri moves to push herself out of bed, but Johnny’s stronger than she is, and he has the upper hand, so it’s easy for him to just. Push her by the shoulders back onto the bed. Gently, of course. And she lays there, giving him a look that says she wants to be useful, she wants to do something, not just sit around and wait for someone else to find their daughter. But for the sake of not giving her any bad ideas, Johnny doesn’t give into her adorable eyes.

“Let me grab the others.”

He leaves her side for just a moment to open the door, and immediately a group of boys are flooding in. Doyoung, Jungwoo— And then a wave of relief washes over Ahri when she sees both Taeyong and Jaehyun, wearing civilian clothing.

“How?” she croaks as they both lean down to hug her.

“Emergency leave,” Jae replies, his hand on her baby bump. “I listed you as my next of kin, so they notified me when you were admitted. My commanding officer… I think he put the pieces together…”

And as he leans down to kiss Ahri’s belly, she looks at Taeyong.

“I have extraordinary performance leave of absence rewards saved up, because I was going to use them later to Reyna’s birthday.”

No one says anything to that. Instead, Ahri sits up comfortably, even though the boys look displeased. Overdramatic. So the police checked one of the only working cameras in the house— Because Ahri charged it before the boys left so that they could check on Reyna whenever they were gone and missing her— and someone walked through their home… Quietly went past Ahri to get Reyna, and walked out? How? Why? The alarm wasn’t set… No one else was in the house… And they picked the front door lock easily. Still doesn’t answer why, though. None of the boys have an explanation. The cops don’t either.

“A sasaeng?” Ahri breathes out the forbidden word.

To them, saying that is similar to the weight of “Voldemort” in Harry Potter. They never talk about sasaengs, never care about them, never make it seem like their actions will change a thing. Sure, sasaengs were the reason Ahri could never go out in public with the boys, and no one could ever know about Reyna. But that was a given from the first day Johnny asked out Ahri… Sasaengs did plenty of things to the boys since then, but they never let that impact their relationship. Ever. Maybe they should worry about them more… Fear them, even. Someone broke into their home and took their daughter. That doesn’t just happen. How could a random person know that the boys lived there but weren’t there, and why would they take Reyna without bothering Ahri? It doesn’t make any sense.

“She needs her medicine soon,” Ahri continues when no one says anything. “The prescription on the counter, it was still there when I was looking for… She needs it every twelve hours…”

The boys slump into their own chairs, hiding their faces in their hands while considering all the possibilities.

“It’s going on six hours since you noticed she was gone,” Johnny says. “The police aren’t going to do anything ‘til they have a lead, but maybe we can rush them along if they know we’re racing against the clock…” He bites his lip— A bad habit he has behind closed doors when he’s anxious. “Sasaengs are detectives too, right? They can find anyone.”

Taeyong shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

“It’d rush things along.”

“No.”

“It would just be me… I’ll do it alone—“

“No.”

“What are we even talking about?” Jungwoo questions.

And before Johnny and Taeyong can continue to duke it out, the door opens again, a frantic Yuta running in to kiss Ahri before turning to Johnny.

“Who do I have to hit?”

Johnny gestures for Yuta to sit and cool off. He only just got back, he doesn’t know that for hours they’ve been sitting around, waiting helplessly for the police to do something, all of the boys left to ponder what they’re going to do to the asshole who took their daughter once they get their hands on him. Yuta seems on the side of torture. Johnny’s not…. against the thought… But he’s the one who has to keep them together, so he tosses up his idea again, but rather than leaving it as a potential solution, he’s adamant he’s going to go through with it.

“I’ll take to the police. They might set up a press conference, or I’ll do it at the company. Either way… We just need the fans to know what’s going on.”

“What do you not get when I say no?” Taeyong argues. “It’s a bad idea. It’ll ruin you, Ahri and Reyna won’t be anonymous anymore, you put Reyna at risk even more—“

Yuta takes a seat on Ahri’s bed rather than in a chair like the others. “What the fuck did I miss?”

“He wants to hold a press conference to ask for help finding Reyna.”

“Wait, like… Tell everyone about us?” Jungwoo’s eyes go wide.

“No, no,” Johnny insists. “Just me and Ahri. Listen, it’s inevitable, don’t you think? My name’s on Reyna’s birth certificate, the damn marriage license with Ahri so that she doesn’t have to lift a finger, so that we can take care of her. Every doctor we’ve seen knows I’m her dad. They sign her paperwork with my name all over it. Nurses see us in these hallways every few weeks for check ups… Everyone at the company knows about me and Ahri, they know about Reyna. What do you think is gonna happen when she gets old enough for school and we have to put her in day care? All those fancy private schools are going to ask to know who her father is, and they’re going to interview me and Ahri, and do background checks. People are going to find out. Either someone’ll leak it to the press, or we get ahead of it, I take the shame and blame, and instead of asking for their forgiveness, we ask for their help. All those girls out there who love us and have their ways of finding people will take pity on us, and help us find Reyna. If they want to keep shaming me for having a family after that, then… We deal with it then. But for now, if I do this, we find Reyna, and no one has to find out about all of us. All the doctors, nurses, and teachers will just think that my group mates are supportive and help me and my wife out with the kid. Right?”

Taeyong shakes his head still, refusing to look at Johnny. Because he’s right. A baby makes it next to impossible to stay a secret forever, but if they can change the narrative, and if it’ll help Reyna, then how can they not try?

“What if the other sasaengs get upset too and try to do something to Ahri or Reyna again?” Jaehyun asks.

“The cameras weren’t charged, hyung,” Doyoung says flatly. “And the alarm wasn’t on… and the lock is old… We did everything wrong, and that’s our fault. Whatever happens, we don’t let it happen again.”

Yuta shifts slightly to face Johnny. “What about your career, hyung?”

“I don’t care. I want her back.”

Taeyong’s less than happy about it, but after that, Johnny goes to talk to the police again to see if they’ll let him hold a press conference. Parents do it all the time when their child goes missing. They use the news to ask for help searching for a suspect and their kid, so why couldn’t they do the same? Being idols doesn’t mean they can’t ask for their daughter back.

Ok blah blah Aurora is skipping a bit cuz I'm over this part and want to move the plot along yada yada-- anyhow. I'm gonna go back to summarizing for a second. Bear w/ me plz <3

So Johnny goes through with it, making a heartfelt plea in front of the police station, facing the cameras, a letter in his hands. Ahri hardly ever sees Johnny waver. But when she and the rest of the boys watching on the TV see him shaking like a leaf, it sends a shiver down her spine. He's always so stoic... But not now... Not as he reveals that he's legally married to a woman he really loves, and the cameras start clicking more and more as he reveals that he has a family, a beautiful baby girl who went missing in the night. His plea for help, for their baby to come home because she needs her meds breaks Taeyong. Mark and Haechan get to the hospital just after the press conference, the two of them in shambles. Hyuck hardly keeps it together while cuddling in bed with Ahri, and Mark crumbles the second the others take turns hugging him.

"There's no updates," Johnny says after he gets back to the hospital. He sees Mark sitting in the corner, and the two of them meet to hug. Hyuck doesn't even try to get out of the hospital bed. "The police said they'll call me if there's anything else..."

They wait. A long time. Most of them didn't sleep the night before, and even with their anxieties over the situation and how they are trying so hard not to fall asleep, but it's next to impossible at some point to keep their eyes open... Hyuck falls asleep first, then Jungwoo, Doyoung, but then the fluttering eyes stop there. Johnny's sitting with his phone charging in his lap, staring at the dark screen, waiting for it to light up at any moment with news. Jaehyun and Taeyong are talking quietly, and Mark is picking at his lips while staring at the closed door, hoping that someone'll run in with Reyna, saying that she's home and she's safe, that whoever took her somehow got her meds for whatever impossible reason... When Johnny's phone does ring, the whole room wakes up, listening for what's going to be said on the other side after Johnny turns on the speaker. It's not the news they were hoping for. Not the news they wanted.

Side note from Aurora again: I think someone asked me before if Mark ever finds out that he's Reyna's dad. Canonically, no. But here we go.

Well, bringing it public worked, but not in the way anyone expected-- A demand was made, a simple one. Money? No. Did they have some kind of blackmail? Kind of. What was it? They want Johnny to be honest about who Reyna's dad is, and the truth about their relationship. The boys are petrified. What? Why? They don't even know who her dad is, so what does it matter? How does the person who has her even know about them, about how Johnny might not be Reyna's biological dad? What would this person get out of it?

"I'll call you back," is all Johnny says before he hangs up on the officer calling.

"How would we even know the truth?" Jaehyun asks. With their second kid, they know who the dad is, they know Jaehyun is the one responsible for that-- But with Reyna, they promised that they would never know the truth in order to be fair.

"She had a bunch of tests done when she was in the hospital this year, you remember?" Johnny sniffles, staring at the ground in shame. "I had them run a DNA test, just in case she was sick with something hereditary, I don't know, okay, I was panicking, and as her dad, I didn't need to do anything but ask the nurse to just... do it..."

"Fuck, Johnny," Yuta curses angrily.

"None of you even noticed when I took your used coffee cups or toothbrushes for the samples."

"Jesus," Jae whispers.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do, and I didn't think it would matter!"

"Who knows?" Ahri asks.

"Anyone in this hospital, and then anyone they could have told, and so on."

The reality was crashing down on them. Fuck. Shit.

"We didn't know why she was sick! I was scared!"

"You can't just go behind our backs like that, though!" Jungwoo cries.

Taeyong stands and paces for a moment, catching everyone's attention, drawing the room to silence again before he speaks, "So who is it?" Johnny gulps. "You know the truth, and they're demanding we say something, so it can't be you or else no one would care. So who is it?"

Johnny bites his lip momentarily. "Mark."

Everyone's gaze shifts to the second youngest who goes pale, his eyes wide, his breath stopping within an instant like it had been knocked out of him by Johnny himself. Mark. Out of all of them, the one who was most nervous about having Reyna, the one who doubted himself the most, but also the most worried about her when she got sick was Mark, and all along, Johnny knew the truth.

"We can't tell anyone," Haechan immediately insists. "If we do, it'll be over. Everything. He's been working for all of this for too long, harder than most of us, giving up more than all of us combined-- If Mark's name is dragged into this, it's over. Our groups, his album, his career. We can't."

"We could lie," Doyoung offers.

"And if the person who has Reyna knows we're lying, then what?" Taeyong bites rudely, still pacing and shaking his head. "It's over."

"We can wait for the police to catch a lead," Jaehyun says.

"And if that takes too long, then what? She's already past when she needed to take her meds... If we wait longer..." Taeyong chokes on a sob that he swallows after a deep breath.

Mark finally lets out a shaky breath while leaning backwards, his head hitting the wall behind him with defeat. "We have to do it."

"Even if we don't say who her dad is, and even if we lie, they're still demanding we tell the truth about our relationship," Johnny adds.

"They have no proof, though," Ahri says, letting out a defeated scoff. "They're probably just guessing, or trying to make you say something they don't know is true in order to ruin your careers and reputations. There's no proof! So why do we have to listen to them?"

"The pictures in the house, Ahr," Johnny says. "They were in our home, you think they didn't gather evidence about our lives first, digging for something else to blackmail us with?"

"Okay, the pictures show us hugging and kissing. So what?"

"Idols have been burned for worse," Haechan croaks.

Silence again for a minute.

"I'll do it," Mark finally says more confidently as he sits up straight. "I'll do it just to get her back."

"Mark--" Hyuck tries to protest.

"I can't speak for the rest of you, so I'm not going to, but I just want Reyna back safe, and if that means giving up our glory days, then... fine... I'll gladly give up the spotlight for her."

Taeyong sits again. "Me too. All they know, and all there's proof of is that we've all had a relationship with Ahri, and that's not against any laws, especially if we don't fess up to a timeline or that we're all... You know..."

They can't be that honest. Even if they wanted to, admitting the reality would land Taeyong and Jae in jail, and the others would face too many concequences to count. It was true, there were pictures in the house of their family, but it was mostly just them standing around while Ahri posed as she held Reyna in her arms. Others were of her kissing one of the boys, or one of them kissing her cheek. There is no timeline for anyone to form out of those images, and the hope is that those pictures will never make it to the public anyhow. So... the best thing to do is say that they all dated Ahri, and that Mark is Reyna's dad. It meets the demands, and it saves their skin for the most part. Their careers were going to be over, but Mark seems certain that he doesn't care, and Taeyong's right behind him.

"Okay," Yuta agrees.

Jaehyun, Johnny, Doyoung, and Jungwoo are all nodding. There's just one odd man out, one person who's frozen in place, shaking like a chihuahua in Ahri's arms. Haechan. Being an idol is all he's ever known-- All most of them have ever known, but it's his life, it's where his family is, and being on stage is what he was born to do. Giving it all up in an instant is terrifying.

"Do we all have to say it?" he asks quietly.

Johnny shakes his head. "I can do the talking, and maybe Mark'll have to, too, but you won't."

Haechan gulps. "Do I have to stand in front of the cameras?"

"We have to apologize, Hyuck," Doyoung replies shyly.

Because of the shame of what they've done, they all have to get up there and apologize to the fans-- Even though they shouldn't have to, and the whole situation is so stupid and unfair to them! They aren't hurting anyone. They were happy living a quiet life with Ahri and Reyna behind closed doors while still going out and performing for the fans who love them so much. Apologizing feels wrong... But it's necessary, unfortunately.

Hyuck nods with a deep breath then turns to hide against Ahri who holds him and tells him that it's going to be alright while Johnny and Mark get up to call the police back, to set it all up.

"I'm so sorry," Ahri says.

No one blames her. It's not her fault they fell in love with her, and it's not her fault that they all agreed to dating each other. It's not her fault that this happened to them, that some fucked up person decided to intrude on their personal lives. She doesn't have to apologize anymore than they do... But like them, she feels like she has to.

Ok Aurora's back to check in on how we're doing. Do we need a drink? I got vodka in the cabinets. I can get soju or something if you need to get through the rest of this. How about some snacks? Maybe a anti-delulu pill? No? We good? Okay. Let's run it. We're gonna be switching to the boys' POV now wowowweewow (I'm going crazy)

Ahri doesnt watch the news when the boys leave for the press conference. She can't bear to see what's going to happen, even though it's the boys who have to endure the worst while she lays uselessly in a hospital bed as the reason that all of this is happening in the first place. If she never met Johnny, this wouldn't have happened. If she didn't have that threesome with Yuta, she and Johnny never would have talked about being in a polyamorous relationship. If she'd stopped eye-fucking Taeyong, Doyoung never would've gotten drunk and confessed his feelings for Ahri, and then Taeyong wouldn't have asked her out too........ If she didn't wear that short blue skirt on her birthday, then Reyna wouldn't have been born, and another babby wouldn't be on the way, and none of this would be happening. Their careers would be in tact. They wouldn't have to constantly worry about getting caught with Ahri or Reyna, or being seen being intimate with each other. It doesn't matter what the boys say, Ahri knows that all of this is her fault, and she just can't bear to watch it all crumble for that reason.

When the press conference is over, the media's trying to ask all kinds of questions while the boys are corralling each other off-stage. They had it set up at the company this time, the big logo behind them, some of their friends watching from the office windows, gossiping about what was going on. Johnny did most of the talking, like he promised. They admitted to the relationship with Ahri, and he said that his daughter isn't his, but actually Mark's. He didn't offer up any more details than necessary, and they refused to answer questions or make more comments. They are all so good about keeping their shit together in front of the cameras, even Haechan who is shaking uncontrollably and reaching to hold Mark's hand while they bow after after apologizing-- But the second they're inside and building and heading upstairs, perhaps for the last time before the company decides to kick them to the curb, he breaks. Haechan feels like he's being suffocated in the confines of the elevator. The second the doors open, he runs out and rushes to the locker room they always used after practices when they needed to shower... The boys follow. Haechan's already peeling off his clothes, running hot water and dipping under the shower head while crying, hoping the warm water will stop his shivers, and that the water will cover up his tears. But nothing helps. He holds onto the wall to balance himself while trying to control his breathing.

"I've got you," Taeyong coos, taking off his jacket to keep it try before reaching to keep Hyuck on his feet.

Yuta closes the locker room door behind all eight of them, then sits on the floor, his back against the door so no one can get in. Mark silently navigates his way to another shower in the far back corner, and without even taking off his shoes or stripping out of his clothes, he turns on the water and falls to his knees, facing away from the room so no one can see his face. Doyoung, Jungwoo, Jaehyun, and Johnny gather around the benches where they used to set their bags down while they changed clothes or stripped before showering. Now it's used for all of them sit in silence except for Johnny. He stands, his back pressed against a wall full of unused lockers.

They're all trying to think of something funny to say to lighten the mood, but nothing comes out. Not while Mark is isolating himself in the corner and Haechan's having a panic attack. Now all there's left to do is wait. Wait for news about Reyna... Wait for the public reaction to their scandal... Are they going to be shunned forever, forced out of the industry, never to show their faces in public again... Or will the fans be split on the situation, allowing the company to keep the boys on but at least put them on hiatus for a bit until things die down... And what about Mark and Haechan participating in Dream? Will the fans call for their removal or will no one give two fucks?

"Should we go talk to the police?" Doyoung asks.

The police were downstairs, still talking to the media, not about the boys' relationship with Ahri or the scandal itself, but asking for more help finding Reyna, trying to get information about who took her.

"Let's just... sit here for a bit..." Jaehyun responded. "Nothing matters in here..."

Once Yuta would move out of the doorway and they'd step outside, reality would hit again. They would have to face the consequences of their actions, apologize some more, explain themselves to questioning executives, talk to police officers who were practically useless trying to find Reyna. But in that locker room, the eight of them were just... them. The same locker room where they used to snap towels at each other, or where Johnny would find a way to turn off the hot water so all of them jumped into freezing showers unexpectedly, or where some of them kissed for the first time because there was no one around and it was guaranteed that there were no cameras watching them. In the locker room, Taeyong could take care of Haechan without worrying about someone catching onto why he was actually doing it. Inside, Yuta could guard the door to protect the others while they grieved what should have been the most successful years of their lives-- Despite their shitty company who never did them any favors. Inside, Jungwoo could start to sob as he worried about Reyna. Afterall, he was the one who had her in his room when she got sick, and he spent every day since then worried to death that something else would happen to her. He kept track of her meds, he made sure she ate enough of Johnny and Doyoung's cooking, he made sure that none of the boys were in contact with her after traveling abroad because that's what the doctor ordered. His worst fear was having her get sick all over again. And while this was worse nightmare than that, the anxiety of thinking about what was happening to her without her meds made it impossible for Jungwoo to think straight.

Minutes later, Johnny's phone rings. He frantically answers it with a worried croak, "Ahri?" that catches everyone's attention except for the three boys in the shower room. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, J. I have her."

"What?"

"I have her. Reyna. She's fine. She's here with me, she's safe, she's healthy, she not sick. I have her back."

Johnny suddenly slides down the lockers before sitting on the floor with a loud thud that leaves the rest of the boys even more concerned. "How?"

"I don't know," she says. "I was asleep after you guys left, and I just woke up, and there she was, in a hospital crib next to my bed, asleep and babbling happily."

"Someone just... left her there?"

"I guess? I don't know."

The ever so stoic Johnny falls apart, sobbing into his free hand while still holding his phone up to his ear. It worked. They took a gamble giving into the demands, giving up everything they've built together, but it worked.

"Ahr has Reyna," he announces to the boys with a cry.

Jaehyun lets out a sigh of relief into his hand as he leans forward. Doyoung's able to cry again after trying to hold back in front of Ahri ever since they got back from Busan. Jungwoo's crying more, but he has enough in him to ask if she's okay. Yeah, she's okay. She's the happy baby they know and love.

Yuta abandons his post at the door to go to the shower room, kicking off his shoes before walking over to Mark who's still drenched in his own clothes beneath the freezing cold water that makes Yuta hiss when he reaches out to caress Mark's back lovingly. Mark jolts when he's touched. He looks up, eyes red and puffy, obvious tears streaming down his face despite his attempt to hide them in the shower. Yuta turns off the water. He crouches down besides Mark and pats him on the head.

"Ahri has Reyna back."

Mark's lower lip trembles, then he grabs Yuta's shirt and starts to cry against him.

Taeyong turns off the water and helps Hyuck out of the shower finally now that he's calmed down and isn't shaking so much anymore. The good news comes as an overwhelming relief to all of them. Hyuck gladly accepts help getting dried off and put back into his clothing because he knows that the sooner they're ready to leave, the faster they can go back to the hospital to see Ahri and Reyna. Mark's a bit slower. It takes him a few minutes to be convinced by Yuta to be lifted to his feet as he's still crying, and when they walk into the locker area where the rest of the boys are, Doyoung's already supplied one of the stupid company merch T-shirts and a pair of gym shorts that are always in the locker rooms for whenever one of the boys stupidly forgets to bring practice clothes with them. Usually that only happens to the trainees... Still, the extra supply of clothes helps them in the long run because they manage to peel Mark out of his sopping wet clothes and into dry ones.

"I'm gonna talk to the police before we leave for the hospital," Johnny says, already off the phone with Ahri since nurses wanted to check on Reyna. As he weaves his way through the group, he gently holds the back of Hyuck's neck and presses a kiss to his temple, then continues on towards the door.

alright, squad, let's take a breather... *pops an anti-delulu pill* that'll kick-in in about 30 min, so let's finish this puppy

Later, when the boys arrive at the hotel, Johnny's first mission is to see with his own eyes that Reyna is in fact there, alive, and okay, before he finds the doctor and starts asking about how the hell someone walked through the hospital with their daughter in a hospital cradle, dropped her off in Ahri's room, and walked out without being seen. No one knows. The police are checking cameras, trying to figure out who's responsible, and how and why this all happened... But no one knows anything. And that irritates Johnny. How's he supposed to keep his family safe when they don't even know who or what he's supposed to be keeping them safe from?

The other boys rush Ahri's hospital room like a fucking stampede. Everyone's trying to be the first to see her, all of them asking a million questions that Ahri has few answers to. Yes, Reyna's healthy. The doctors can't find anything wrong with her... It's almost like she did take her meds, which is odd, because they're prescriptions, and they're in the house still, according to the police who went to check earlier. No, she's not upset. Hell, Reyna doesn't even know what the fuck is going on. The second she's in Taeyong's arms, she's giggling and reaching to poke the little divot spot under his eye. She's not exactly happy to be in Jaehyun's arms, which is the only unusual thing, but they realize once she tries to reach up for his now non-existent long hair that she's just pissed his hair is still so short. Like mother, like daughter.

"Can I?" Mark chirps up, stepping forward between Taeyong and Jaehyun.

Their smiles falter slightly at the realization of what this means to him now, after everything, but Jaehyun willingly surrenders her to Mark who accepts her with a heavy, scared sigh. As she settles in his arms, Reyna coos happily again. And then she hiccups. She whines uncomfortably, squirming around in his arms, trying to get comfortable as she hiccups again... But Mark's giggling at her.

"Welcome home... Our little Reyna..."

Back then, when she was born, Mark held her in his arms, and he was giggling and cooing at her the same way when the name "Reyna" accidentally slipped out of his mouth. He hadn't meant to name her. He figured that should've been left up to Ahri, or Johnny, or someone else, but never him. It just happened so suddenly. "My Reyna," that was what he said back then. But now, after everything, she was their Reyna.

good job, squad, we survived! hope you enjoyed this non-canon retelling of a dream i had about poly!ilichil x ahri lol

[obsessedwithceleste]

I love you, I’m sorry

Theodore Nott x reader

Summary: you were the best, but you were the worst, as sick as it sounds, I loved you first.

word count:

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

It was the perfect plan really. Or it had seemed like it at the time. When fueled by frustration, love, and desperation, what could go wrong? Theo had loved you for as long as he could remember and he wasn’t afraid to admit that. To himself at least. But to you, well, that was a bit more challenging.

Coming from a pure blood family, a sacred 28 family no less, Theodore’s fate had been sealed long before he was even born. Destined to marry another rich, pure blood heiress, have children, and secure the Nott legacy another generation. All ridiculous nonsense if you asked Theodore. What was the point of tradition anyway? Pretty much everyone who cared was already dead, so what did it matter?

Unfortunately for Theo, his father was not dead and had been trying to find a suitable match for what felt like years at this point. Names of witches that Theo couldn’t even match a face to had been floated by, but Theo had spoiled each and every potential match and his father had been growing increasingly more agitated by the day.

That’s when it had struck him. Kill two birds with one stone. Get his father off his back and gain the perfect opportunity to win over the witch of his dreams. Was it a bit short sighted? Sure. But he wasn’t left with many options at this point and this was as good a plan as any.

“Please principessa, you know what my father’s like. And it would only be a few months.” Theo begged, following close behind you as you make your way through the labyrinth that is the Hogwarts library.

“I am not going to pretend to date you for a few months Theodore. That’s insane! Besides, no one would believe it anyway. We’ve known each other for how long? No one is going to buy the idea of us just now deciding to date. Especially not your father,” you sigh, plucking another book off the shelf.

You had known Theodore practically your whole life. The two of you had been best friends since before you could walk. Your earliest memories involved waddling around the gardens of his family’s manor as your mothers watched on in thrilled bliss. There was simply no way the two of you would be fooling anyone.

“Well that’s just it isn’t it? Father has been hounding me to court you for ages, he’ll be too relieved to care,” Theo replies, an air of desperation creeping into his voice.

“You’re being so ridiculous right now Theodore, this easily makes it on the list of your top ten stupidest ideas.”

“You keep a list?”

“It’s alphabetized.”

Theo has the nerve to look offended.

“Please principessa? I know your family has been on you too. This will buy us both a little time at least,” Theo protests.

In all fairness, the boy was right. Your family had been bothering you for months now, asking if you’d found a special someone. You didn’t want to admit it, but you had been secretly hoping over the years that one of your closest friends would develop some sort of interest in you. Cedric Diggory was the only person you’d known for almost as long as you’d known Theodore. You’d always had a soft spot for the boy’s kind and thoughtful demeanor, but it had yet to really go anywhere.

“Come on Principessa, when have you ever not sprung at the chance to go along with one of my stupid ideas? Is there some bloke I don’t know about?” Theo jokes, sending a teasing jab your way.

When he’s met with silence however, his heart clenches as he feels himself freeze. Only for a moment though before jumping back into the fray.

“Been holding out on me amore? Who is it? Do I know him?” Theo asks, burning with questions. And jealousy.

“I’m not even dignifying these questions Theodore,” you reply, trying your best to deflect.

“Oh come on now. It’s even more perfect now isn’t it? What bloke isn’t moved by a little jealousy eh? Please principessa. Just a few months, my father is off my back, and you’ll be able to fall into the arms of whatever bloke strikes your fancy because he’ll be dying to heal your broken heart.”

[pisupsala]

Any Way The Wind Blows | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Summary | There’s a sudden shift in the mood.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings | swearing, explicit smut / 18+ only

Words | 2k

Note | Can be read as part of One For The History Books (takes place post-epilogue) but also works as a standalone.

Library

It’s sometime past midnight when Bradley and you finally make your way out of the Hard Deck. The party is winding down, with the majority of guests already gone. You offered to drive yourself back to the hotel (bars are decidedly less fun when you’re the only one not drinking), so Bradley could stay longer with his TOPGUN buddies and take an Uber back, but he wouldn’t have it.

“I’m taking you home.” His tone leaves no room for arguments. The truth is, you’ve barely had a moment of calm to yourselves in the past half year, and this trip finally gives you a weekend off together. 

“I will drive, however.” You scoff. Bradley is not drunk, but definitely not sober enough to drive. He hums under his breath, drumming his fingers against your palm happily. You swear this man is a walking song poured into 6-foot something of muscle and sun-kissed skin, wrapped in a Navy uniform.

“Yes, ma’am.” Bradley jokes as he leads you to the car. The moment you want to turn to the driver’s side, Bradley pulls you with him to the other side, shielded from the entrance of the bar. 

There’s a chill in the summer air, giving you goosebumps as Bradley corners you against the side of the car. His finger is gently trailing down the side of your face, down your neck to your collarbone. Your breath shudders.

“This seems familiar.” You chuckle softly as you look up at him through your lashes.

Bradley grins in response.

“Back then, you didn’t have this yet.” He grabs your left hand, pressing a kiss on your knuckles, just above where your engagement ring and wedding band sit. His other hand ghosts over your breasts, traveling down, before resting his palm over your lower stomach, on the barely-there bump. “Or this.” 

“A lot has changed since then.” You admit, tilting your head up, a too-innocent smile on your face. “Are you excited to be a daddy, lieutenant commander?”

Bradley groans, burying his face in your neck. “Don’t say it like that, darlin’.” 

In the past weeks, you’ve been sick. Like, throwing up on the daily from the smallest things: food smells, just food in general, god, even coffee had you barfing your guts out. Your joints ached like you were coming down with the worst flu, and you practically sleepwalked through some days because you were so tired. Now that the morning sickness in all its forms has finally been clearing up in the past few days, it’s been making place for something else.  

In short, you’ve suddenly been getting overwhelmingly, insanely, blindly fucking horny. 

And right now, you’re about to make that Bradley’s problem.

“What?” You squeeze his biceps as you try your hardest not to laugh. Regaining your composure, you softly yet purposefully murmur: “Daddy?”

Bradley suddenly moves so quickly, it knocks the breath out of you, pinning your left wrist against the car, pressing his thigh between your legs. You can barely reach the ground on your tiptoes as he pushes your body up against the car, his other hand splayed against your rib cage, steadying you. Giggling, you lick your lips in anticipation.

“You are playing with fire, sweetheart.” He warns you, voice dangerously low, face only inches from yours. 

Blinking slowly, you look Bradley straight in the eye. His pupils are blown, and the corner of his mouth twitches. He is wound so tightly—you can feel his growing need against your leg.  This is working so much better than you anticipated.

“But I want you…” You moan softly, dragging your nails over his back, rolling your hips. You are absolutely, desperately burning for Bradley.

“I’m not going to be able to stop,” He breathes, desperately trying to hold on to his last vestiges of sanity, eyes roaming around the mercifully empty lot. “Not if you continue like this.”

“Don’t stop…” You pause, brushing your lips against his. “Daddy.” 

Bradley kisses you so hard, your head knocks painfully against the car window. You don’t care, kissing him back with the same vigor, wrapping yourself around him. Your dress is scandalously bunching up around your hips, the chilly ocean breeze caressing your overheated skin. Your free hand tugs helplessly at Bradley’s belt, needing him closer, grinding your hips against his.

Bradley’s hand sneaks up your dress, effortlessly pushing your lace panties to the side.

“Fuck - so wet already.” There’s nothing sweet or gentle about how his fingers plunge into you, but it’s exactly what you need. “I didn’t know my sweet wife could be so fucking filthy.” He hisses in your ear.

You moan in response.

“Be quiet.” Bradley commands sternly, sending another jolt of desire down to your core. You bite your lip, to stop yourself from making more noise. Finally, you manage to undo his belt and unbutton his pants, roughly pulling his shirt up.

Your fingers skim over the warm skin of Bradley’s stomach, his muscles tensing under your touch, the fine hair of his treasure trail guiding your path down. You dip your hand into his waistband, palming his cock over his underwear. He’s so hard for you already.

Bradley squeezes his eyes shut. He must be dreaming. Or a lot drunker than he realizes. But you, who still gets embarrassed singing in front of him at home, who prefers to not ever be at the center of attention, hiding away among the crowd as he plays piano at the Hard Deck, is now guiding his straining cock into your soaking pussy.

Outside.

In the fucking parking lot.

And have the sudden audacity to call him daddy in that needy, far too innocent tone.

Opening his eyes, the sparkle of the gems on your engagement ring in the dim light catch his eye, your wrist still pinned next to your face. Your mouth is slightly open and your breaths deep, blush dusting your cheeks, looking up at him with eyes heavy with lust.

Bradley realizes he’s helpless. When it comes to you, looking at him like that, he can’t deny you a single fucking thing. Releasing your wrist, he yanks your legs up around his hips, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. Moving his hips, he follows your lead, easily slipping into your slick pussy.

You whimper softly, biting your lip as he enters you slowly, filling you to the hilt. The metal of your rings feels cool against the side of his throat as you steady yourself against him, fingers curling around the column of his neck. Bradley pauses for a second, eyes scanning the surroundings quickly. All clear.

“Last chance to change your mind, sweetheart.” He grinds out, trying to think straight. God, he hopes you don’t. “If I start moving now, I’m not stopping until I fill you with cum.”

“Move, please, move—hard, fast, I need - please-” You whine. 

“Please, what?” Bradley’s voice is dark, commanding. “Use your words, Dr. Bradshaw.”  Oh, how he enjoys getting the upper hand on you right now, even for a moment, knowing full well your next words will send him over the edge.

Your brain is so clouded, like a thick mist obscures every thought, that the words tumble from you without filter.

“Please, commander -” Your head lolls back against the window as Bradley’s hand squeezes your ass painfully. “I need you, daddy.”

He drives into you so hard, it knocks every thought out of your brain. Slowly he pulls back, before setting an absolutely pushing pace, roughly fucking you against the side of the Bronco. You are in absolute ecstasy.

“Show me your tits, darlin’.” Bradley grinds out, nipping at your collarbone. Fumbling, you pull down the Bardot neckline of your dress together with the strapless bra. Your nipples pucker against the cold air. Somewhere, far away, the rational part of you understands — being exposed like this should not be such a turn-on. It’s not like you. But it feels so good. 

Bradley licks your nipple before taking it in his mouth, tongue manipulating the sensitive bud. He is pretty sure your tits have been getting bigger. Fuck, just between that and apparently your newly found sexual adventurousness, he wonders how else you are still going to surprise him. 

Your hand sneaks between your bodies, rubbing your clit wantonly. You want to cum, you need to. Bradley fucking you roughly, his hot mouth all over your tits, his large hands on your ass, is your whole world right now. The tension in your abdomen is taking form, tightening into a coil, electricity crackling through every muscle, every tendon—you can feel it in your bones.

Bradley can feel you tensing. Cursing under his breath, he pulls himself closer to you, his strokes becoming shorter, more erratic. Your nipples graze against the mission ribbons and insignia pinned to his uniform shirt—it’s positively sinful. Your lips latch onto his neck. 

Your fingers move faster, putting more pressure on your over-sensitive clit, hips jerking from pleasure.

“So close, so—Bradley, I’m so close-” You mumble incoherently against his neck between kisses and bites. “I want to cum on your cock.” 

Jesus Christ. Just those words, in your love-drunk voice, are almost enough for Bradley to come completely undone. Just a little bit more. He can feel how close you are, your walls tightening almost painfully around him.

“Cum for me, darlin’” He encourages you, breathing heavily. “Cum for daddy.”

Clearly, you stopped thinking ages ago, but whatever final bit of coherence you still possess is blasted out of orbit by Bradley’s words. Your body tightens violently, fingers curling, nails driving painfully into his shoulder through the fabric of his uniform shirt.

Bradley swears loudly as your cunt clamps down on him with a vice-like grip before biting down on your shoulder. With a final, powerful thrust, he slams your body into the car with a dull crash, holding you there for a few long seconds as you both ride out your high.

As your body relaxes, it feels like you’re floating. You’re not sure if the stars that you see dancing in front of your eyes are the night sky or your brain trying to fire back up. 

Gently, ever so gently, Bradley sets you back on the ground. Your hands are still resting on his shoulders, as you look at him, still completely dazed. You blink once before hurriedly pulling your dress back up over your breasts, like your self-consciousness has suddenly caught up with you again. He tucks himself back into his pants quickly before helping you smooth down your dress. 

You don’t say anything as you wrap your arms around Bradley, face pressed into his chest. He welcomes your hug, pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

“I love you.” Your voice sounds strange to you, almost otherworldly in the otherwise quiet parking lot. 

“I love you too, darlin’.” You can feel him chuckling more than you hear it. 

“You are amazing, you know that?” You raise your head to look at Bradley. His hair is messy, the collar of his shirt is wrinkled, and there’s a blush creeping up his neck. He looks delicious.

And he didn’t have to humor you like that just now. Actually, there were so many things he doesn’t have to do for you—hold your hair when you got sick in the middle of dinner, send you flowers while he’s on detachment, and build you those custom fucking bookshelves.

But he does.

“I aim to please my love—even when she has sudden and unorthodox urges.” He jokes, winking. You hit him in the arm lightly, pouting. “What can I say? I encourage this little adventurous streak of yours.” He laughs, louder this time.

You start laughing too, despite your sudden embarrassment. “We should really go before someone catches us here.” 

“Lead the way, Dr. Bradshaw.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

note | no thoughts, just smut. Inspired by this. It made me fall face first back into Bradley Bradshaw Brainrot™, so go show @gretagerwigsmuse some love. 🧡

Taglist | @ponyboys-sunsets | @thatchickwiththecamera | @littlewhiterose | @katieshook02 | @straightforwardly | @zazzysseoul | @rororo06 | @datingbtr | @notalxx | @fresh-new-yoik-watah | @gretagerwigsmuse  | @swthxrry | @joshkiskasbunion | @caelipartem | @blackbrownie | @yanak324 | @unluckymonaghan | @letusbewildflowers | @ticklish-leafy-plant | @alana4610 | @eg-dr3amer3 | @turningtoclown | @mell-bell | @mak-32 | @avis15 | @helplesslydevoted | @benhardysdrumstick | @chaoticversion | @cherrycola27 | @roosterschanelslut

[wrathofrats]

more pebble and ivy hc to add to the collection? Pls?

Hiii for more info on my pebble and ivy headcanons please see these two posts and also if you’re wondering who the fuck pebble and ivy are

I need everyone to know I’ve been talking about them for months in private, and I have like 4 fics lined up for when I decide everyone is ready for them. They’re my stupid secret obsession.

Ok now that that’s all out of the way, have some random shit I’ve thrown into @divine-misfortune DMs for the past month

-

Therapist: so pebble how do you feel about this relationship

Pebble: great. Thats my twink I own him.

Therapist: uh …… ok Ivy how do you feel about that

Ivy: I’m his twink he owns me

Therapist, about to call Terzo to warn him: ok!

-

Pebble w rock magic making ivy such pretty jewelry and he’s always like

“I made this super rare demantoid garnet to match the vibes of your aura”

And ivys just like “WOOO SHINY AND GREEN”

I think pebble is gods biggest rock nerd because it’s very on the nose and I think he deserves to be a stupid nerd about something under his dumbass personality

I think mist half flirts with ivy to fuck with him and pebble and ivy just goes wide eyed and stares at the ground and stutters and mist is like “??? Alright loser” and pebbles like “😍😍😍😍”

The insane amount of pathetic awkwardness is rizz to pebble

-

Pebble: hold on I have to water my house plant

Mist: your boyfriend has a name you know

Ivy: yay water (:

-

Oh my god

Ivy trying to impress pebble, he just desperately wants to hear that laugh, be the cause of it, so he tries to play some stupid prank on alpha or omega but it’s just …

Wrong

Because he doesn’t fully grasp the idea

And pebble can’t help but laugh at him anyways because the attempt was cute enough

Im thinking the poor thing literally writes “stupid” on a piece of paper and tapes it to alphas back

Pebbles never been more in love.

-

And something nsfw bc (:

Ohhhhhh alpha is the fucking worst

Don’t think he would go as far as fucking ivy given the chance but he absolutely acts like he’s going to because god it’s fun to watch pebble fume

(Also maybe it’ll get him to actually make a move because all this yearning is going to make alpha sick)

It’s small things a first, maybe crowding him against the counter, tipping his head and saying he’s pretty before letting him go

And it’s not even the move that makes pebble upset it’s the fact that is so very clearly worked ivy up beyond belief. Had the poor thing blushing so hard you’d think he was sick and quickly walking out of the room with his shirt pulled down over himself

Ohhh do you think alpha teases pebble about it? Holds it over his head?

Maybe gets pebble pinned against a wall somewhere with his legs wrapped around alphas waist so he has to rely on him for support, just a normal thing they do

Until alphas whispering how pretty ivy is into pebbles neck

shouldve seen him when I almost got a finger in his mouth, practically drooled over it the pathetic thing

And pebbles begging him to shut the fuck up, growling and digging his claws into his back.

wonder if he would’ve let me. Just allow me to fuck his pretty little mouth with my fingers in front of everyone? He seems pretty easy, I’m sure he would’ve loved it

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 19

(blowing a lil party horn and firing confetti poppers) YIPPEEEE

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

sorry to the ishimondo fans

this is the one with an execution!!!

@digitaldollsworld my bestie my lord my homie <333

Content warning tags: descriptions of injury and mild gore, character death, canon-typical violence, guns

< previous - from start - next >

“NO!”

Owada’s shout is loud enough to startle Byakuya out of the slight torpor he had fallen into, too busy trying to fend off the migraine that was threatening to make him sick. He jerks, eyes blinking open to see Owada leaning in Ishimaru’s direction, his entire frame tense and trembling with restraint.

“It’s okay, Taka, you don’t have to say it,” He’s babbling, talking in a rush. His complexion is blanched, with fear or desperation, maybe both. “It’s okay, okay? I’ll tell them. It’s fine.”

“You really should let him-” Kirigiri starts to say, but Owada shakes his head vigorously, his hair bounces side-to-side.

“No, I’m not gonna make him cover for me any longer. I’m not gonna make him- make him lie for me.” He cuts Kirigiri off, before drawing himself up tall. “I did it. Okay? I killed him. I killed Chihiro.”

“Mondo-” Makoto starts to say, but Owada barrels through him like a steam train. His voice has the same, strained quality of a whisper, but it feels shockingly loud at the same time, the only thing audible in the entire room.

“It was - I know I was calm. Earlier. When Chihiro told me everything. And - I really was supportive. I was happy for him, so happy for him, you saw me Makoto, that was all real. But-” He pauses to take a sharp breath, and Byakuya wonders if he looks as insane as he sounds, leaning over the edge of the railing, like a seasick man over the edge of a rocking ship. Spewing words like he’s trying to empty his stomach of them. “I was thinking about it after, and I just. I just got so fucking mad, I mean - we all have secrets, and mine is - I know it’s probably not the worst one here, but it’s something I’ve been holding on to for so long, and he was just. Flaunting it around? Like it was something to be proud of?” He snorts a laugh, ugly and demeaning. “If it was that easy, then what the hell have I been doing all this time?”

His voice breaks, and for a moment his shoulders slump. But he regains his composure just as quickly, drawing himself back up with a shuddering breath. “I.. on the way back to the trophy room, I couldn’t stop feeling angry. It was like I couldn’t see anything else but red, I wasn’t paying attention to anything else. And when I got back I saw - I saw Taka, injured, and Chihiro standing over him -” He swallows. “It’s not an excuse. I know Chihiro would’ve never hurt him, never hurt anyone - but I was so angry and he was there, and there was a trophy on the floor, with blood on the corner, so I just…”

No one says a word. The implication of what he had done hangs over them all, like a fog - like a body, Byakuya thinks. Fukawa hadn’t been able to pin Chihiro as high up as Syo, but it feels like the boy was watching over them. A ghost listening silently from the rafters.

“...Then, tell us. If you did kill Chihiro, how did you do it?” Kirigiri asks at last, and Owada makes a sound crossed between a sob and a groan.

“I - I just sort of blanked out, when it happened. When I came to, he was there, and - I didn’t know what to do.” He lifts his face, and Byakuya can make out the shine of tears, the gray pallor of his skin. “So I took Taka to the nurse’s room first. And bandaged him up. And then I grabbed supplies to clean up the scene - that’s where I got a sheet to wrap Chihiro up in, and the gauze pads to soak up the blood.” He’s slowed down now. The words come tiredly, laboriously. “And then I…I was just thinking about cleaning up the room at first. That was all I could do, so I just did it. I wasn’t thinking about my survival or anything, or the fact that I might end up getting killed by this fucking bear - I just. I was planning on confessing to it all, but I didn’t want the place where he died to be so…so messed up.”

“Oh, Mondo…” Hagakure breathes quietly, grievingly. Owada’s head twitches, but he presses on.

“I went to check up on Taka, and when I came back, the body - Chihiro - he was gone. Sheet and all.” He laughs again, another twisted sound. “I thought, maybe it was all a dream? Maybe I was going crazy and Chihiro wasn’t dead, and all that blood was from Taka’s injury? I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t want to think. But I went back to what I was doing, and then a little later, the announcement went off. And you all know what happened after that.”

The room is silent for a long moment. No one says a word, and Byakuya can only just make out the sound of breathing, the only indication of life. And, a slight, quiet rattling; Ishimaru was trembling slightly, but still not uttering a sound.

In the silence, all Byakuya can feel is a storming, pitch-dark rage; rage for Chihiro, killed over something so pointless and without warning, rage at Fukawa for framing him, and rage at Owada for hiding it all. For losing control of himself in the first place. “So afterwards, Fukawa went downstairs and found the body. If we consider the sheet around Chihiro’s corpse and the scene cleaned of blood, that also helps explain how she was able to hold off Syo for so long.” He says, disgustedly. “But, the bloodied gauze in the library. I’m assuming that you were the one who put it there? Whatever happened to confessing?”

“I was! …I was, planning to confess to all of it. But then I saw Chihiro’s body, and - and as everyone was talking about Syo, I saw you holding the file and the blood, and I thought… I thought I had a chance. I mean, you were right there, and…I knew that Makoto wouldn’t have been able to back you up. I stuffed the gauze through the gap between the library door hinges while everyone was investigating.” Owada looks up for the first time, and Byakuya can’t see what look he’s wearing. And he feels glad for that; he doesn’t want to see whatever simpering face Owada has, pleading for forgiveness, miserable and sullen. “I know it was wrong, but all the pieces just seemed to fit together so perfectly, and the more time that went on, the more believable it seemed, and- I’m sorry. I really am.”

And Byakuya wants to scream.

What use is your worthless apology, he wants to rage. It wouldn’t resolve anything - in the end, he had still been accused, and humiliated, and now utterly disgraced. He was still blind and disabled. Chihiro was still dead. “All this, because you couldn’t decide if you wanted to live or die? Did you never consider if you deserved to?” He hisses, and Owada actually flinches back.

“I know I don’t. I’m sorry.” He repeats quietly, and he sounds so hollow and drained that Byakuya finds it hard to maintain his anger, all the heat and passion dissipating in an instant like smoke. It leaves him feeling empty, bewildered, and so, so tired.

“...Well. It seems that it’s time to vote, no?” Celeste claps her hands lightly, a smile in her voice. “Monokuma, won’t you please?”

“Since you asked so politely…I was still enjoying this dee-light-ful soap drama, but for my precious student, I will oblige!” Monokuma bounces up to its feet, one arm raised high in preparation to call the vote. “Everyone-”

“Wait.” Kirigiri interrupts. She hasn’t looked away from Owada once, her pale face turned towards him this entire time like a hawk. “Something’s not right.”

“Wha- what do you mean?” Hagakure asks. “It’s pretty cut and clear by now, right?”

“It’s suspicious. Why put in so much effort trying to pin the crime on Byakuya, and then confess so suddenly now?” Kirigiri rebuts. “And we still haven’t heard Taka’s testimony.”

“Man…come on, Kiri. Just look at him. I don’t think he’s in any shape to talk.” Hagakure shakes his head. “And - I think we shouldn’t push this on any longer than it needs to be.”

“Our lives are on the line. I don’t want to move on until we’re entirely sure.”

“He’s already confessed, though…isn’t this enough?” Yamada lets out a long-suffering sigh. “And, I can’t see any indication of anyone else who might’ve done it.”

“No, but Kyoko has a point,” Asahina interjects. “We almost got tricked once already into thinking it was Byakuya, right? We should be careful.”

“Yes. We should err on the side of caution,” Ogami agrees. “I can’t see the harm in having Taka speak, and…I cannot trust Mondo’s confession entirely. No matter how logical it seems.”

“He can’t,” Owada cuts in, that desperate tinge on his voice again. “I keep telling you guys- can’t you just leave him alone? Please?” He hangs his head low. “I know - I’ve done bad by you guys, I’m not exactly the easiest to get along with, but please, just…he’s been through a lot. Can’t you cut him a break?”

“Erm…Can you kids make up your mind?” Monokuma is still standing, balanced precariously on the tips of its toes with one arm still straining upwards. “My stitches are ‘bout to pop, you know!!”

During this whole time, Makoto was silent. Thinking again, Byakuya recognized, as he usually does with his chin tucked under a curled finger, his foot tapping a quiet rhythm against the floor.

“Okay, then. Taka doesn’t have to talk.” He says slowly. “But in that case - Taka, can you please take off your bandage? So we can see the wound?”

“The wound-?” Owada sputters, taken aback by the sudden request. “Wha- Makoto, what are you…?”

“Something about the whole story has been bothering me. Mondo, I know that you, uh…sometimes, you react kinda strongly, I guess, to stuff that makes you mad, but you’re also really caring. I find it hard to believe that you’d twist up on Chihiro like that so fast.” Makoto drops his hand to a fist at his side, clenched tight. “If the trophy really did hit Taka as bad as you said - where he got hit by the edge of it - then the wound should also be really bad, right?” He turns back to Ishimaru. “Taka, please. You don’t need to say anything, but- please, just show us.”

“No way, he doesn’t need to-” But Owada stops suddenly, slack-jawed as he stares.

Watching as Ishimaru slowly unwinds the stained, white strips wrapped around his head with shaky hands.

—

“As I thought,” Kyoko says, as the last bandage falls away. “There’s nothing there to constitute that amount of blood on that bandage, is there?”

And it’s true. The pile of linen that now litter the floor around Taka’s feet is stained and spotted through with blood, but there’s no sign of an injury anywhere on his head. There’s not even a bump, or a bruise.

Makoto swallows thickly, before he continues. “Taka, you never hit your head at all, did you?” And Taka flinches, face somehow blanching paler. “You’re the one that killed Chihiro.”

“No, he didn’t, it was me-!” Mondo throws out an arm in Taka’s direction, as if trying to shield him from the accusations. “I keep telling you - I was the one who did it, I killed Chihiro-”

“No you didn’t. You were covering for him.” This was the worst. Mondo - he was violent at the worst of times, but ultimately kind, and extremely loyal - and right now, Makoto was going to kill his best friend.

“Are you stupid or something? Makoto, hey-” There’s a strange grin twitching on the corner of Mondo’s mouth, like this was some joke he could laugh off. “I’m telling you - how many times do I have to tell you? It was me.”

“It wasn’t-”

“It was!”

It goes on like this for a while. Everyone else is silent - or, it feels like they’re silent. Makoto can’t really hear them, not over the rush in his own head, or Mondo’s desperate, hysteric words, denying the accusation, insulting Makoto and everyone else, cursing, pleading, screaming. It’s the same as when Leon was condemned, when all he could do at the end of it was wail, ‘stupid, stupid, stupid!’ until Makoto pointed out the toolkit, the undeniable proof that it had to be him. Or, when it was Byakuya-

And he stumbles a bit, his rebuttal stuttering as he falters. He remembers the look on Byakuya’s face as he asked about his handbook, with the knowledge that he couldn’t bring it out himself. Not without revealing it to Monokuma. And therefore forcing him to admit it by his own words, the one thing he wanted to conceal from everyone else in the room. The betrayal, the hatred - just thinking about him made Makoto want to disappear.

But there’d been no other choice. Kyoko told him as much when they were investigating; ‘There’s a likelihood that you will have to reveal his secret during the trial,’ she had said, as they inspected the still-damp floorboards of the trophy room. ‘It may be the only way to clear his name.’

He’ll hate me for it, Makoto had protested, and she had just shrugged and turned back to inspecting the trophies, one of which had small dots of blood at the corner of its marble base.

‘Would you rather live being hated or die knowing you could have prevented it? He’ll get over it if he wants to survive.’ 

Easy for her to say, he thinks, as Mondo screams something at him, an barb so ugly it made him feel equal parts furious and sick with guilt, because Mondo would probably never say such a thing otherwise if it weren’t for this. She’s never had to do this before.

“Dammit, show me the proof! If he did do it, what’s the proof!” Mondo shouts, accompanied by a loud bang as he slams his hands against the railing. “You don’t have any goddamn proof, you little shit! So don’t just stand there and say shit you don’t know!”

“That’s enough.”

For a moment, it’s hard to place who said that. The words were spoken so quietly, after all, and so raspy it was hard to discern whose voice it was. But Byakuya cocks his head, and turns to look in Taka’s direction with a frown.

Taka is still as still as ever, but one hand rests on the bannister, and he’s leaning forward. “That’s enough, Mondo,” He says again, louder, before coughing into his elbow, clearing his throat. “Please…just stop.”

Mondo looks like he was slapped across the face, mouth agape in shock. “Wh-what are you saying?” He tries to laugh, but it sounds more like a sob than anything. “Taka - bro, it’s okay, you fell and hit your head-”

“Mondo. That’s enough,” He repeats. His eyes are hollow; Makoto finds it hard to look him in the face. “I killed Chihiro.”

Kyoko is the only one who speaks up to ask: “How?”

Taka talks slowly, haltingly, as if trying to dredge the memories up. “It - it was after Mondo left with Chihiro and Makoto. To the cafeteria. I was still cleaning, alone - when I’m alone, I think. About things, my family outside the school, if they’re alive, my secret, my grandfather - and then Chihiro came back. Alone.” He sways slightly, steadied only by his hand, white-knuckled against the wood. “And - as he was talking - I was still thinking - and -”

He pauses, taking slow, deep breaths. No one says a word. Makoto’s not sure if he’s even breathing.

“It just - it wasn’t fair. Him, confessing it - it was so easy, for him. He was so happy about it. My grandfather - if you knew, you would hate me. That’s how it’s always been, everyone who’s ever known about it, hated me. But he was so happy, and he -” He takes another deep, shuddering breath. “It was an accident. I - I just pushed him, I didn’t think I pushed him hard, but he hit the shelf. And, the trophy…”

It’s not hard to figure out what happened afterward. Makoto can practically imagine it, though he doesn’t want to; Chihiro going up to Taka, and Taka, too caught up in his own trauma, backing away, combatting his own fury and dread. And Chihiro, walking up closer to check on him, only to get shoved bodily backwards, into the trophy shelf, and then-

Mondo is shaking his head, tears falling silently down his face - muttering ‘no’ under his breath, over and over, like a mantra. Taka turns to him, a sad sort of smile tugging at his mouth.

“Thank you, Mondo. For trying,” And he sounds so genuine and so incredibly sad. “But - I can’t let my family be disgraced anymore. I can’t let anyone die for my sake.”

“No, no, no,” Mondo repeats, and despite his size, he shakes like a leaf. “No, don’t, don’t, Taka,” And his voice breaks. “Don’t- Please don’t, I won’t be able to take it, I can’t take it, Taka- not again-”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, don’t you dare fucking apologize-! Just-” He breaks down fully now, and turns away, one hand raised to his eyes.

“Forgive me,” Celeste interrupts, still wearing her indecipherable smile, unnatural red eyes narrowed slightly as she addresses Taka. “But I recall you were the first to suggest sharing secrets the night Monokuma revealed the motive, no?”

Taka recoils slightly at that, bowing his head. “I…I was. I thought - I could be prepared. If it’s the right thing to do, I could do it. But-” he turns away, his brows twisted into a scowl. “I…”

“Enough.” Kyoko sighs. “There’s no point in making pointless allegations. We have our explanation. There’s nothing left to say.”

And she casts Makoto a look, which Makoto interprets immediately, and he sighs.

—

As Makoto explains, it started when he and Chihiro were walking around the first floor, planning to find and talk to everyone Chihiro had yet to disclose his secret to.

After they had spoken to Owada, Chihiro went to talk with Ishimaru alone - Ishimaru, who was so rule-abiding and careful that no one would assume him to be of any danger - and that was how he died. Suddenly, and unexpectedly, and completely by accident.

Owada was the one who found the body, and to protect his friend, who was reeling from shock, he concocted a story as he wrapped the corpse in a cloth and mopped up the blood. To claim that he killed Chihiro, that Taka was merely injured, and therefore protect his friend from harm.

It was during this time that Fukawa was in the library, making her own confession, before Byakuya’s swift rejection sent her fleeing. As she went down the first floor, she saw the body, and with the cord that was tangled around her ankle, she strung it up outside the library door in a poor likeness of Syo’s handiwork. In some twisted display of vengeance, or a demand for attention, or something; and when it was done, overwhelmed by the blood and exhausted by her own perseverance, she took the sheet to the bathroom with her and collapsed, where Kirigiri found her moments later.

Byakuya listens to him explain it through a fog, feeling distant from it all. As if he was merely observing it from behind a broken, filthy screen, the sounds tinny and the visuals shot. He watches as Owada clings to Ishimaru, screaming for mercy at Monokuma’s feet. He watches as Ishimaru is dragged ruthlessly away anyway, behind the steel doors of the execution chamber.

He watches the execution, from behind a glass window. Ishimaru standing in a gleaming white car, the sunroof pulled down, driving through a street lined with the black-and-white shapes of more Monokumas, cheering indistinctly as confetti rains around him. The Monokuma in the seat next to him is holding a sign, lifting his arm to make him wave, poking his cheek to make him smile.

There’s a loud crack, and Ishimaru seems to stumble, a bloom of blood on the shoulder of his white uniform. But he doesn’t fall; he must be held up by some kind of mechanism or another, because a moment later he’s upright again, still being forced to wave, to smile, even as the cheering turns to jeers and he starts being pelted with what looks like rotten fruit, the dark red shapes of tomatoes smashing against his head. Another gunshot, and this time it’s his leg, a large, dark spot in his thigh. Another, in his stomach, and he seems to cough a little, blood trickling from his mouth.

There must be a microphone or something pinned to Ishimaru’s collar, because Byakuya can hear his breathing, harsh and labored, pitched with fear. The whimpering he can’t quite suppress, the jumps in his throat as he tries to swallow. And, the quiet whisper, barely audible behind the shouting, the gunshots, the noise of it all -

‘I’m sorry-

The final shot is a thunderous noise accompanied by a sudden, gaping pit between his eyes. He slumps, and the scene stills at last; the crowd stops yelling, the car freezes in its tracks. The lights go off, plunging Ishimaru’s lonely form into darkness.

And through it all, Owada never stopped screaming once.

Byakuya tears his eyes away, holding onto the railing of the stand to keep from falling as he steps down. It’s a similar scene as the aftermath of the last trial, everyone either comforting each other or wallowing in their own grief, and Monokuma giggling over them.

“Oh, oh, oh! That was good! Not even ol’ John could’ve done it better!” It sings, dancing between them. “I got a little antsy earlier when you called for the vote the first time, but you all pulled through with fly-ing colors!! Amazing performance! Especially that last confession, I was so moved!” It cackles, twirling and landing right next to Owada, who was on his knees, hands plastered against the window as if praying. “Such a lovely display of friendship at the end there, or was it really friendship? Whatever the case, the bond between men sure is something! I don’t think I’ve ever seen - whoops!”

Owada had grabbed him, and now rises with the bear dangling between his hands. His arms are trembling like Monokuma’s the heaviest thing he’s ever held.

“You,” He hisses, and his voice is wet and choked through. “If it wasn’t for you- if it wasn’t for you-!”

“Puhu, do you ree-ally want to do this, Mister Owada? Didn’t you learn your lesson on the first day of school?” Monokuma swings its feet in the air. “I’d hate to punish you after that amazing show-”

“I don’t care.” He spits. As Byakuya draws closer, he can hear the quiet splat of fat tears, striking the floor. “I don’t care, you killed him- I should tear you to pieces right now-”

And he stops, as Byakuya places a hand on his elbow. “Put it down.”

He’s sure that the face Owada is giving him is positively murderous. “Why should I,” he snarls, and his words are still thick with grief. “The fucker-”

“Even if you break this one, another one will take his place. And there’s probably countless replacements.” Byakuya sighs. What was he doing? He wasn’t sure himself. “What are you planning to accomplish? Other than a very messy suicide?”

“You bastard-” He drops Monokuma, who lands with a squeak, and grabs Byakuya instead, hoisting him by the collar. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? What does it matter to you if I die?” His last words sound less like a threat and more like a genuine question.

Instead of immediately replying, Byakuya casts a glance over his shoulder. Only a few people were watching them, the rest too preoccupied by their own misery. “...Take a look. There’s only so many of us left.” Byakuya looks back to Mondo, and even through the haze, he can see his face is pinched into a look of anguish. ”Did you hear what his last words were? Because I did.”

The grip on his shirt slackens, and his feet meet stable ground again. He pushes Owada’s limp hands away. “I don’t care if you want to die. But take responsibility at least.” He glares at him, his kneeling form. “We can’t leave until everyone’s on the elevator, so stand up and walk.”

There’s a part of him that wants to berate Owada - to tell him that Ishimaru likely never wanted his help in the first place, that all he accomplished was unnecessary strife - but such a thing doesn’t sit right with him. That would be the actions of someone petty and sore, a pathetic loser who couldn’t let it go; and right now, all Byakuya wants to do is sleep.

He steps onto the elevator. Celeste is already there, poised as ever, as is Yamada, who is mumbling unhappily to himself. Kirigiri and Makoto join them shortly after.

Makoto balks slightly when he sees Byakuya, tripping at the threshold with a yelp. But he straightens up quickly, glances around, and slowly, hesitantly, walks to Byakuya’s side. “Um…”

“Be silent.” He snaps. Makoto recoils instantly. “Do not speak to me. The deal is null.”

“Byakuya-”

He turns away, focusing on the metal grates of the elevator walls. The wires are bent into some kind of honeycomb pattern, though it’s not like Byakuya could make out exactly what.

He half-expects Makoto to say something more, but the elevator ride up is silent and still.

< previous - from start - next >

[atyd1960]

Marauders era characters ranking

1. Lily Evans

- badass, tragic, academic genius, likes to blow shit up, bi energy, ginger

2. Sirius Black

- he’s a piece of shit but i still love him (love is illogical).

- Great taste in music, stylish, cycle breaker, emotionally incompetent.

3. James Potter

- also a dipshit but I don’t owe you an explanation

- ADHD, morning person, dog person, hilarious, Leo Valdez variant

4. Mary McDonald

- total badass, girls’ girl, trans, loves herself fr, I have a crush on her

5. Marlene McKinnon

- messy, gayest person ever, lowkey a Robin Buckley variant, punk rock, bad ADHD

6. Dorcas Meadowes

- female rage if it was a woman, she has a knife, she loves women, ice on the outside fire in the inside (it makes sense to me)

7. Remus Lupin

- I know it’s way to low I’m sorry he’s top five in my heart😭

- Just like super smart, traumatised in many ways, self esteem issues, fear of being known, fear of being alone, this man needs help and I wanna hug him.

8. Regulus Black

- he’s been through it.

- Tragic, lonely, trapped, confused, abandoned, desperate, gay, emo.

9. Pandora Lovegood/Rosier

- she’s a fairy

- Extremely weird, her body is here but her mind is elsewhere, likes to blow shit up.

10. Alice Fortescue

- not really from the marauders Era but still

- She loves dragons, she can fight with a sword, she’s blonde

11. Frank Longbottom

- he loves his wife, he loves brownies, Frank Zhang variant because I said so.

12. Sybil Trelawney

- Criminally underrated

- weird af, borderline freaky, messy, all over the place.

13. Andromeda Black/Tonks

- OG white sheep of the black family, rebel rebel, sick taste in music (and in men).

14. Xeno Lovegood

- he smokes weed like it’s oxygen, he’s high, he’s weird, he wears skirts.

15. Narcissa Black

- badass bitch, morally grey, cool hair.

16. Emmeline Vance

- I don’t really know her but I love the idea of her

- Lowkey a bisexual menace who listens to true crime podcasts and can’t talk to people and like same girl.

17. Evan Rosier

- I don’t even know that guy but I hate him

18. Bellatrix Black

- Completely insane but in a bad way

- Only reason she’s above Barty is that she has cool sisters

19. Barty Crouch JR

- he’s a psychopath and he owns up to it and I lowkey respect that but gross

20. Peter Pettigrew

- he’s everything that I hate the most about myself and it’s kinda scary

21. Severus Snape

- he’s really not the worst of them I just hate that guy

[thewondelandifulcafe]

“Be Prepared for a stunning proposal”  ~ Leona Kingscholar

Title: “Be Prepared for a stunning proposal” 

Menu: Twisted Wonderland

Beverage: Thai Bubble Tea

Main Dish(es): Donuts

Side Dish(es): Pies: Pumpkin Pie 

Spoilers: None

Word Count:

Trigger Warning: Mentions of Insanity, murder, thought rape  A/N: Let me know if I missed something plz.

Summary: There was scene that was deleted from the Lion King where Scar wanted Nala as his Queen. He asked Zazu why wasn’t he loved, where Zazu listed things Scar lacked. One thing stood out to Scar that being lacking a Queen to rule by his side. At that moment he sang a reprised “Be Prepared” to Nala asking her to be his Queen. Now Leona has taken over his brothers kingdom a similar way as Scar did. He now needs a mate to rule by his side and willingly obey his command that being Y/N.

Notes: Y/N is G/N, a loin, and two years younger than Leona. Like in Jamil’s we need a Zazu replacement. Meet Ollin meaning movement like Zazu means movement. He loyally serves the royal family having a favoritism to Falena’s family. Considering Leona to be untrustworthy and believing he is that family member who ruins everything.

3rd Person POV

       “Ollin why aren’t I loved?” Leona asked lazily as he through the bone he was playing with. “Simple Sire,” Ollin hated the fact he had to call Leona sire. Awful brat, not deserving of the throne, thought Ollin. “Things around here have gone to pot” Ollin collected the bones from the floor, throwing them in a pile. “Oh shut up,” Leona stepped down his throne, walking towards Ollin. “What’s important is how I feel.” “The pride lands have become the armpit of Twisted Wonderland,” Ollin stated gathering up the bones. “Why, I’m tall, witty, good-looking,” Leona ignored Ollin's truthful words, intoxicated by his pride and ego. “Hyenas and the Ruggie boy who I never liked for your information are walking around like they own the place!” Ollin declared, shaking a bone to empathize his words. Leona continued to mumble of how great he is. After all what not to love about him. He’s charming and can tell a good joke once in a while. “There’s not enough water for the people!” Ollin said desperately trying to get Leona to reason. “Hmm something missing,” Leona finally asked. “What is it?” “Your grasp on reality!” Ollin screamed in Leona’s face. “You’ve gone down the path of insanity!” “Please my lord do something or the Sunset Savanna will be a laughing stock of Twisted Wonderland.” Ollin tried to stay calm. 

       “If Falena was alive.” “Oh shut up fool” Leona pushed Ollin to the wall. “Consider it shut Sire.” “Falena, Falena it's always about Falena, I’m sick of him,” Leona walked around the throne room. “What does he have that I don’t.” “Nothing, you lack nothing at all,” Ollin flew to Leona trying to not get put in the dungeon or even worst killed. Why Leona did to his own brother without any remorse. What would stop him from killed Ollin, nothing. “Well except a few minor things,” Ollin said, he had to say it. Leona was possibly one of the worst kings Sunset Savanna had ever seen. It must of been fate that he was born to be the one inheriting the throne. “Adoring subjects, respect of your species, a loving family, a devoted mate,” Ollin listed slyly leaning toward Leona with his hand behind his back. “Shall I go on Sire.” Leona paid no attention towards the other things he lacked. But a mate…a devoted one as well. That what he needed. Someone who would do what ever he commanded. Side by him. Care for him. Show his people he had a mate. “A mate, yes I need a mate,” Leona commented. “ACK what,” Ollin was shocked, even more scared for the poor soul, Leona would pick. “They would rule by my side.” Leona continued. “We’ll have cubs little Leonas running around,” “My heirs, my descendants, my lineage,” Leona had a grin one that Ollin could tell something bad would happen. “I will be immortal!”

       “Leona,” Y/N walked carefully through the door. “Ah Y/N your timing is wonderful,” Leona looked at the young lion with strong romantic interest. “Couldn’t be more perfect, do come in.” Oh no Ollin thought The poor thing. “The will be all Ollin,” Leona said, not removing his sights on Y/N. “Oh don’t you think I would stay,” Ollin was worried about Y/N they nothing more than a servant. It was just by chance they walked in.  “That will be all,” Leona unhappily repeated taking his sights off the lion. Ollin flew towards Y/N and whispered, “Give a roar if something happens,” Y/N oblivious did not understand what Ollin meant. “Come a little closer,” Leona said fixated on Y/N. “I won’t bite.” Leona grinned like the infamous Cheshire Cat. He must say Y/N is physically attractive perfect for a mate. He’s know them since childhood and they were kind and well-loved. “Leona it’s chaos out there and someone needed to do something.” Y/N warned. They looked around for exits in case Leona got mad.

       “It’s tough being king and alone,” That was misplaced you thought. It wasn’t even an answer to what they said. “I deserve a mate, someone to rule by my side,” Leona circled around Y/N. “And you perfectly fit the part,” “Excuse me I don’t believe I heard you right,” Y/n said. “You’re beautiful/handsome after all, perfect fit for my mate,” Leona stood by your side bending down/looking up to be at your eye level. “A king without a mate is sad, but a king without an heir a tragedy.” “You can’t be serious,” you said backing away from Leona. “I’ve never been more serious,” you walked away from Leona going to the door where he stopped you in your tracks. “Be Prepared for a stunning proposal,” Leona said leaning into you. “Power and beauty should bond.” Leona walked closer to you. Which resulted in you backing into a wall. Leona pined you to the wall. Leona went closer to your face resulting in you slapping him. .Oh well now really have be mate,” he rubbed his hand on the spot you slapped him. You quickly run to your room and hid. “One way or another you will be my mate.” Leona yelled. 

       Leona gather the kingdom. He suggested you get ready and wear your best outfit. You knew what would happen so you did as he said, “let the kingdom be my witness!” Leona said. “I choose Y/N as my mate.” You need something would happen if you didn’t do as he said. “I accept,” you said, how bad could it be? Maybe Leona wouldn’t be the worst husband.

                                    *The End*

A/N: This is probably the longest story I’ve written. This is actually a video I saw on YouTube. Leona came out as a creep. Not my intention. This a new series I’ll be making with the characters while using clips of their movies or deleted ones. Video = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zl8gDjaHWWA

[sunjaesol]

Love is Blind x Juke

For the past two days @thedeathdeelers and I have spiralled into a Love Is Blind x Juke fanfic in the dm's and this is what came out of it. So, a co-written Imène and Ophelia special for Juke Jeudi. Ta-da!

///

“Hi,” a voice called out from the other side of the Pod. This was it. The start of this mess. 

Luke perked up. "Uh, hey, I'm Luke."

"I'm Julie." A pause. Then a laugh. "This is really weird, huh?"

Luke laughed as well, the tension of the last twenty-four hours slipping away. One second he was drunk in his apartment with his buddies on the Netflix website, the second he was on a flight to San Diego for a freaking reality dating show. Or rather: a marriage show. Insane. But whatever. It wasn't like he was actually going to find someone. He was just gonna lay low, write some songs, and then dip after ten days.

"So, Julie, what made you sign up for this thing?" he asked, draping himself across the couch. A cup of rum and coke dangled in his hand.

"Um… I guess I wanted to do something I'd never do. I'm always waiting for love, you know, instead of… just going for it. So here I am. What about you?" Her voice was pretty, slightly raspy, yet melodic, and he felt himself listening to her intently.

"I'm here to write songs," he replied, blunt.

She laughed. "What?"

"Yep."

"You're here… for songs?"

"Don't take this the wrong way," he said, "but this is like a retreat for me."

"Well, that's excellent, actually," she replied, smooth. "Because I happen to be a songwriter."

***

Julie went into her second date after an hour long conversation about music and their favourite bands with Luke. She felt giddy, but knew a first impression didn’t mean anything in an experiment like this. Sitting down, she called out: "Hello?"

"Hi, I'm Nick," a male voice said.

Julie smiled. "I'm Julie."

"Julie," he repeated, and she heard the scribbling of paper. "So, tell me about yourself, Julie."

"Um… what do you wanna know?"

"Where are you from?" he asked. 

Easy enough. "I’m from Los Feliz."

"No way!" He laughed. "Me too!"

Her brows raised. "Really? Where did you go to school?"

"LF Public High."

"Ah," she sighed, "I went to the arts school. It would be crazy if we've met each other before."

"Or maybe it's fate," he teased.

An amused smile twitched on her lips. Guys that flirted with the word ‘fate’ to wrap a girl around their finger; she’s met those before. "Yeah, who knows."

***

After three full days of jamming and creating music with Luke, somehow able to connect on such an intense level with a shimmery wall between them, they found themselves in amiable silence. It wasn’t awkward, somehow. The song they worked on had been rather emotional, about family and history and regret. It brought back memories she hadn’t dared to discuss in the Pods. But now… 

“Not to like, um,” she licked her lips, “dump all my trauma, but—”

“It’s okay,” he whispered.

“My mom, uh, died… two years ago.” Julie took a steadying breath, though let the tears roll as they came. He didn’t see her. She could cry. “She’d been sick for a while—terminal cancer—so we were prepared, but… nothing actually prepares you for it.” She heard him hum, encouraging her to continue. “And that’s why I applied for the show. The day she died, I felt like I died with her. I’ve just been on auto-pilot. So, ‘Love Is Blind’ was honestly this, like, desperate attempt to feel again, but I didn’t think I’d actually marry someone. I just wanted to break free of this dead feeling… if that makes sense.”

After a beat of silence, Luke said, “It does. Trust me, it does. I’m sorry, Jules, for your loss. That’s the worst thing that could ever happen, I–” A curt laugh left him. “I wish I could hug you right now, fuck.”

“It’s okay,” she sniffled.

“You’re probably the strongest person I know, not gonna lie,” he continued. “Trying to keep living after that… you should be so proud, Jules.”

Julie’s lip wobbled as she sank to the carpeted ground and shuffled to the shimmery wall, pressing one hand against it. She hadn’t had a sip of alcohol today—even though the producers wanted her to—so she knew all she felt was pure.

“I am proud,” she agreed. “Only a crazy alive person locks themselves in a Pod for seventeen hours a day.”

A laugh barked out of him. Jumping off the couch, he sat cross-legged in front of the shimmery wall. His heart hammered a nervous beat. “I, uh, relate, to be honest, to, like, mom stuff.”

“Oh?”

“My mom hasn’t died, fortunately, but… when I was seventeen, we got in a really big fight. Like, we said some nasty stuff to each other. I ran away. I didn’t speak to them for six years.” He shook his head. “And I know it’s not the same. Trust me, I know. I left by choice. But it felt like the death of my bond with them. I felt like I was dead to my parents. They never tried looking for me. Maybe because they knew where I was, but… they never tried reaching out. Until I did it at twenty-three.”

Julie sighed, “I’m so sorry, Luke.”

“It caused me to produce some fire songs, but… I don’t know if it was worth it.” He chuckled, tears rolling down his cheeks in surprise. “I don’t think I ever told someone that before.”

Julie smiled. “I’ll keep it a secret. Thank you for sharing that with me, Luke.”

“No problem,” he tried to sound nonchalant, but to him, it came off infinitely grateful.

“How’s your relationship with them now?” she asked.

“It’s… it’s alright. It’s not perfect in the slightest, but, you know, I come around for dinner or lunch at least once a month, I keep them in the loop, they keep me in the loop, they’ve attended one of my concerts…” He trailed off. “We’ve come a long way.”

“That’s great to hear,” she smiled. “Family is so important to me, so I would’ve felt so bad if I wouldn’t be able to—” She paused, warmth spreading in her body and face.

Luke frowned. “What?”

“If, um, if I wouldn’t be able to, um, meet them,” she uttered awkwardly. They had come to the silent agreement that they wouldn’t marry and simply be each other’s confidante for the ten days in the Pods. Julie has never felt like this before though. She felt… she was in love. Which was crazy, but how else could she explain the feeling in her gut?

A smile grew on Luke’s face. “You wanna meet them?”

“Don’t goad me like that!”

Luke laughed. “I’m not! I’m not! It’s… it’s cute, Julie, that you wanna meet them. Y’know, I wanna meet your dad, too. He sounds cool.”

Julie smiled. Her heart felt like bursting. “He is.”

***

The next day, Julie stood in the kitchen of the women’s quarters stirring a carrot and bell pepper soup on the stove. Luke’s favourite. If they ever were to meet in real life, she’d introduce him to other, way better, soups, but this would do for now.

Suddenly, Carrie—another contestant—appeared beside her. “You’re talking with Luke, right?” Carrie asked. 

Julie looked up. “Yeah, why?”

“Well,” she shrugged, haughty, “he's my number one, so.”

Julie frowned. Luke’s her number one? Since when? She had never heard Carrie speak about him. Did something happen in the Pods that she wasn’t aware of? “I thought Nick was your number one.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Nick is so passive. I like Luke a lot more. I mean, musicians are hot, right?”

Carrie was baiting her, Julie realised, replying with a weak: “I… I guess…”

“Yeah,” Carrie affirmed, “so he’s my number one. I heard he’s yours, too.” The blonde tried to pull off an air of nonchalance as she inspected her perfectly manicured nails, but Julie didn’t bother with an answer and chose to add a pinch more paprika to the soup instead. She smiled; yeah, he’d like that.

Aggrieved Julie didn’t respond, Carrie continued: “So, why are you making soup?”

Julie threw a disbelieving look at Carrie. “It’s for Luke. For his birthday?”

Carrie, who had already lost interest in the conversation, suddenly whipped her head back towards Julie, hair flicking with the motion. “It’s his birthday? When? Since when?”

Julie rolled her eyes at the girl, and shook her head. Deciding to make a dig, she said: “I thought he was your number 1?”

Carrie frowned and pointed at the pot. “Can I give him some, too?”

"No,” Julie puffed, in disbelief that the woman even dared to ask her that. “That's honestly weird for you to ask, Carrie. It’s disingenuous."

"Okay, whatever," she grumbled and skulked away to talk to Kayla.

***

"So... I talked to Carrie..." Julie brought up after Luke had accepted and had taken a swig of her homemade soup. It had to be their sixth date at this point, but it has felt like forever. 

The man looked up from his guitar in confusion, wracking his brain for the last time he spoke to Carrie. "Okay?"

"She said you're her number one."

His frown deepened. "What? Really? We've spoken maybe twice."

"Oh." A relieved laugh left Julie. "Oh, wow. Then she's super jealous, or something." Her cheeks felt warm. "I was a little worried for a second, to be honest."

Luke grinned. "Yeah?"

"Mh-hm..."

"Y'know, I was worried about Nick," he confessed.

That surprised her. "Really? Why?"

"‘Cause I know you did have a connection with him."

"Yeah," she admitted, "but not in the way that we connect. Nick's like... a friend. That's all."

"Then you should tell him that," Luke said, amused. "'Cause he thinks you guys are fated."

Julie rolled her eyes. "Oh, jeez."

***

It was his favourite time of the day—sprawled across the sofa, snacks littering the floor—as he scratched out a chorus to Sunset Curve’s new song.

But that’s not why it was his favourite.

It was his favourite because he could just about hear Julie scribbling in her own journal right across that damn shimmery wall separating them, almost picturing frown lines between her brows. Which was weird, ‘cause he had never actually seen her.

It was weird, right?

But that didn’t stop him. Luke felt a silly grin taking over his features as he hummed along what he imagined would be the pre-chorus, leg swinging over the armrest—

And then he froze, stopping all movement.

Because he could be hallucinating, but he swore he just heard singing coming from the other room. The one that contained Julie. The human wrecking ball that had already captivated him before he had ever seen her.

Or heard her, apparently.

Holy shit. Holy shit. 

Luke nearly fell off the couch as he stumbled into a sitting position, jumping from his spot to the shimmery wall. He splayed his fingers as he pressed his palms against the damn thing keeping them apart, and then placed his ear against it.

He stopped moving; stopped breathing. She was singing. And it was fucking beautiful.

Shit. He was fucked.

He remembered Julie telling him about her complicated relationship with music; how she hadn’t sang in over a year. But now she was singing, here, with him, and he was finding it so hard to keep himself in check. He could clearly hear Alex’ voice in his head telling him to ‘cool it, Patterson. You’re going to scare her off.’

And that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Afterwards, Luke barged into the men's quarters and yelled: “I'm marrying Julie!”

Dean barely looked up from his paperback. “Yeah, we know.”

"You haven't talked about anyone else," Seth added.

"Oh," Luke said, scratching the back of his head. "Well, yeah. Now I'm gonna do it."

"Cool, man," Garrett grinned. "Get that woman!"

***

On the tenth day, Julie wore her prettiest dress. A purple number, nothing too special, as she hadn’t actually thought to get married on this show. The other women had ornate dresses, but she’d have to do with this one. 

Then again, she wasn’t actually sure Luke would propose. He told her he loved her, but that didn’t mean he wanted to marry her in a month; that didn’t mean he wanted to go through with the experiment; the reality show. 

Opening the door to the Pod, she heard Luke already pacing on his side. 

“Hi,” she said.

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “Hey!”

She paused at the wall. “You’re nervous?”

“It’s the tenth day, so, uh…” Luke shook his head and stared at the silly velvet box in his hands. This was ridiculous. Insane. Every other synonym for that word. He wasn’t marriage material. He was a guy from an underground rock band that came here to get inspired and write. But here he fucking was.  

“I don’t wanna say we’re fated, ‘cause I don’t believe in that shit,” he suddenly continued, the words flowing out of him. 

Julie smiled. “Me neither.”

“But I do—I do think you’re my person, Julie. That we should be together outside of the Pods. When we make music it’s like–like–”

“Magic,” she finished, her smile widening and her hands pressing against the wall. 

“Yeah,” he breathed. Sinking onto both knees, he kept his eyes on the box. “We’re magic together, I think. And I love you. I know that. I love you.”

Julie let her forehead drop against the wall as she giggled. Nothing about this made sense. No one would be able to understand what she felt right now. “I love you, too.”

“So… Julietta Rose Victoria Marie Molina…” He took a steadying breath. Now or never. “Will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

An elated sob left the woman, nodding profusely despite him being unable to see her. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “Yes!”

***

The white doors slid open in a swoop and their identities were revealed. Luke took a step forward and found his jaw falling slack at the short woman several feet away from him. She… was perfect. Down to those cute, scribbled-on sneakers.

Julie laughed, showcasing a gap between her teeth, and waved at him. "Hi."

"Hey," he grinned, his walk turning into a jog—he had to get to her—and grabbed her into a hug. "Holy shit."

"I know," she laughed, latching onto him. "Neither of us had a proposal outfit packed."

"Julie–Jules, you–" Pulling away slightly, he felt moisture building in his eyes from the shock and tension. His hands cupped her cheeks. "You're–wow."

"Thanks," she giggled, her eyes also wet. "You're wow, too."

***

After the couples arrived in the resort in Mexico, Julie and Luke settled into their suite. They unpacked their suitcases as they chatted about their flight, rosy-cheeked and happy. The camera flipped to Julie in the confessional, seated on the terrace in a pretty blue dress.

"Luke and I have arrived in Mexico," Julie said. "And it's definitely weird, suddenly, like, being able to touch him and see him, but it also feels so natural. We're just really excited to continue growing what we have and make more music."

"Julie's gonna do the speaking for me this vacay," Luke added next in his confessional, a big smile stretched across his cheeks. "I'm twenty-nine, guys, I've forgotten 10th grade Spanish, y'know."

“Yes, we’ve kissed,” Julie continued, shy, “on the plane. We wanted to do it away from the cameras, and um… it was–it was good.” Her eyes averted as her smile grew. “It was really good.”

Luke plopped down on the bed. “What do you wanna do first? Check out the pool? The beach?”

“The buffet,” she emphasised. “I’m super hungry.”

He laughed. “Sounds good to me.”

Julie slid beside him. “I also wanted to talk to you about something, now that we’re here…”

Luke nodded. “Okay.”

“Um… so we’re now sharing a bed…”

“Yeah.”

“I’d like to wait until after the wedding before we have sex,” she admitted. His face gave nothing away, simply listening to her. “It’s not that I’m not attracted to you, I am, but it’s something I want to honour, you know?”

“Of course,” he whispered. “I can wait, Julie, don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Sex isn’t that important to me,” he said with a shrug. “It’s great, but it’s not everything.”

“Duh,” she deadpanned. “Music is.”

He laughed. “Exactly, you get it.”

The woman let out a relieved breath. She didn’t think Luke would be appalled, but she hadn’t been totally sure. Now, she could sleep beside him without the stress. Kissing his cheek, she said, “Besides, we can do other stuff.”

He wiggled his brows, mischievous. “‘Other’ stuff?”

With a roll of the eye, she pushed him away and got up. “Let’s get food.”

“Yes, Boss!”

***

The next day in Mexico, all the couples met up at the pool. It was the first time they all could see each other and properly meet. Neither Julie or Luke were worried their affection would sway, but they were nervous to approach Carrie and Nick. Both had claimed a connection, but now they were a couple themselves.

It especially bothered Luke, if he was honest. Julie was… incredibly beautiful, especially in that purple dress she wore tonight, and he wasn’t blind to the eyes Nick had been giving her. 

Afterwards, Julie and Luke sat on the bed curled towards each other, discussing the events of the night.

"So... what did you think of Nick?" Luke asked, feigning nonchalance.

Julie smirked at his obvious attempt to seem cool. "He was… nice."

"Yeah? Got a crush on him?"

"Sure," Julie deadpanned, "and that was why the conversation ended after, like, two minutes, and I stayed by your side for the rest of the night."

Luke grinned and placed a hand on her knee. "Yeah?"

"Mh-hm." She caressed his tattooed arm. "Don’t worry. I... there's not a shadow of doubt it's you, Luke. Trust me."

Luke's smile melted into fondness. "I trust you."

***

After Mexico—where one of the couples devolved and split up, leaving four couples left—they all returned to Los Angeles. Unfortunately, they couldn’t move back into their regular apartments, but all had to share the same complex. Julie and Luke lived on the third floor in a shiny, white apartment. It was the furthest thing from Luke’s actual place.  

On a positive note, they could finally introduce their partner to their friends and family. Like now. 

"Today, I'm meeting Luke's friends and band members," Julie said to the camera, standing outside of Luke’s studio in the heart of Mar Vista. "I've talked with them on the phone a couple days ago, but this'll be the first time we'll be face to face."

Luke drifted on his heels as he barely looked at the camera, clearly addressing Julie. "I'm not worried. Julie's, like, the puzzle piece we've been missing. And I fucking love her. So. Yeah."

Julie and Luke walked in where Reggie and Alex were already seated in an old, leather couch. Reggie seemed nonchalant, but Alex often flitted his eyes to the camera.

"Hi," Julie greeted. "I'm Julie!"

"Ooh," Reggie cooed. "You're even prettier IRL!"

Alex eyed her in disbelief. "Yeah. Blink twice if you wanna escape our Luke."

"Awesome support, guys," Luke grumbled.

Julie worried that the boys perhaps thought that what she and Luke had was too good to be true—that it wouldn’t last—and all it would do was interrupt their music career. She didn’t stop worrying until Alex gently pulled her away from the guys mid-practice session, and took her on a short walk around the garden.

Somehow, he knew exactly what was on her mind—and exactly what to tell her.

“Luke’s a pretty open book with just about everyone, or that’s what people think. He likes to show everyone all the good sides to him; the music, the cheerful attitude, the constant pep-talks. But he’s never, and I mean never, talked to anyone about his mom as openly as he did with you.” Alex stopped to turn and face Julie. “He’s always worried about dumping all his problems on others and it’s been his thing ever since we’ve known him. He just hides it all to himself, until he explodes and writes a song about it.”

He shrugged, though Julie could see the worry in Alex’ eyes. “But the fact that he shared some of that stuff with you, let you hear ‘Unsaid Emily’… Julie, you’re it for him. And if you’re it for Luke, you’re it for us.” Alex grimaced at his choice of words, but didn’t correct himself, choosing instead to smile encouragingly at Julie.

A moved Julie nodded in relief and pulled the drummer into a tight hug. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

That evening, it was time for Luke to meet Julie’s family, namely: her father, brother and aunt Victoria. The rest of the family would attend the wedding. Which, according to Julie, was ‘a lot’. She’d prepped him for tonight, but she still seemed nervous as she rang the bell and waited for the door to open. 

“What’s the prob?” he asked. 

“Well—”

The door flung open and an older woman in athleisure squealed at the sight of Luke. “Lukas! Come in, come in! Oh, mija, you did such a good job picking him!”

“Tia—”

“My name is Luke, actually—”

Victoria continued unperturbed and ushered them inside. He barely had time to soak in the interior as she continued babbling on. "Thank you, Lukas—" Victoria gushed.

"It's Luke—"

"—for taking my Julie off the street. Twenty-seven! Who would've thought!"

"Ah, yes," Julie drawled beside him, slightly peeved. "The old crone's age of twenty-seven."

“I think she was the one who took me off the street,” he said, throwing a smirk Julie’s way to ease the nerves a bit.

Her father and brother popped in from the kitchen, the former with a wide smile and the latter rather sceptical. “Is that my daughter’s fiancé I hear?”

***

"Luke is meeting my best friend, Flynn, today," Julie said outside of a bar. "I'm a little nervous, because Flynn is super protective of me, but I think it'll be fine!"

Luke smirked. "People love me. Everything will be great!"

That was, until Flynn said a quick hello and then shoved a ten-page questionnaire in his face. She smirked. “Just to see you’re not a serial killer and won’t break my friend’s heart.”

“Because those two are mutually important,” Julie replied, sarcastic. 

Luke scratched the back of his head as he thumbed through the pages. “I–I have to do this now?”

“Why? Scared?” Flynn pressed. “Also—” She whipped a cotton swab from her pocket and grabbed Luke’s face, pushing his mouth open. "Just the usual," she muttered and swabbed the inside of his cheek. "Just normal DNA things…”

After the horrible bar situation, Julie paced along the kitchen island continuously apologising for her friend’s behaviour. “I swear she’s usually not like this, I’m so embarrassed, like she’s protective, but not—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Luke grabbed her shoulders to stop her from pacing with a relaxed smile. “Yeah, it was weird, but it wasn’t the end of the word.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “You have a Flynn, I have a Reggie and Alex," he soothed. "It's all cool."

***

As Carrie and Nick argued for the umpteenth time at the Cheese Tasting Date, Luke and Julie were bent over Luke's songbook, scribbling and discussing the bridge of a song.

"No, no, there should be an inverse and then, like, the reveal, that he was never there at all," Julie said.

"I don't wanna write a sad song, Jules. It's a love song," Luke bounced back.

"I mean—" She popped a piece of brie in her mouth. "---it is a love song, just not a happy one."

A grin ticked up his lips. "Is it about Nick and Carrie?"

Julie swatted his arm. "Luke!"

"What! C'mon, Jules, look at 'em." He nodded at the pair currently shouting at each other outside, two cameras on them. "They're not exactly soulmates."

Another pairing, Vivian and Dean, joined them at their table. "Oh my God," Vivian said, "can Carrie and Nick just end it already?"

"Carrie wants those followers, she can't leave just yet," Dean added with a roll of the eyes.

"Yeah," Julie trailed, "it's... a lot."

"What're you working on, dude?" Dean asked.

Luke grinned. "A song, obviously."

Viv sighed dreamily. "It's so romantic, honestly, that you guys have, like, a 'thing'."

Dean frowned. "We have a thing."

His fiancée's brows raised, challenged, and Luke and Julie recoiled into their songwriting shell again.

***

The wedding was a no-brainer. After a teary-eyed dress fitting and a fun bachelorette party with the girls—where Carrie tried to disrupt her happiness one final time—Julie found herself in the hotel room of a beautiful ranch where she and Luke would officiate their marriage. Somehow, the month felt like a year and her relationship with Luke felt like a decade. 

“Are you nervous?” Flynn asked, buttoning Julie into her dress. 

She shook her head. “No, just healthy jitters.”

“Good.” The two stared at each other in the mirror. “You deserve this, girl.”

Victoria came in with glasses of champagne. “Well, I’m nervous, so drink up, my loves.”

On the other side of the hotel, Luke, Alex and Reggie sat in the plush chairs, ready for the wedding. Luke’s foot bounced up and down in anticipation, ready to hold her and kiss her and be hers. He knew he was a romantic, but he never thought it could get this deep. 

“Do you think she’ll say yes?” Alex asked. 

Luke nodded. “Yeah. There’s honestly not a doubt in my mind, dude.”

“But what if she does?”

“Then…” Luke took a swig of his beer as a salute. “Then we’ll have a killer album in no time.”

Soon after, the ceremony began. Luke first went down the aisle where he smiled and nodded at all his friends and family. His parents sat in the front and smiled proudly at him. 

And then came Julie. Julie, in a beautiful gown and a shimmering face, taking his breath away. It felt like he had tunnel vision. She, too, couldn’t look anywhere but him, and felt her racing heart calm down the second he helped her up the steps. Her father had tears in his eyes as he gave her away. 

“Hi,” she whispered. 

“Hey,” he whispered back, smiling, “you look gorgeous.”

“Thank you.”

The officiator began his speech, Luke and Julie exchanged quick vows—though most has been said in the countless lyrics they’ve written together—and they sealed it all with a kiss. They were married. Forever. 

For the final time, Julie spoke to the camera with shiny cheeks and sparkling eyes. “How do I feel? I mean, I think you can guess.”

Luke jumped into frame and picked her up, bridal-style. “You’re looking at Miss Julie Molina-Patterson, Netflix! Hell yeah!”

***

At the reunion, they were the only couple left standing. Obviously.

***

[blueroses789]

I wish I could be stronger

Warnings: 

Mental health issues

Smut 

Angst

Domestic violence

next chapter: Over the edge

Chapter 19/?

Frenzy: Chapter 19

You had woken up in the middle of the night. Almost immediately your body started to shake with superseded emotion. Desperately you reached for the water. It cooled your throat but only helped slightly. Slipping out of bed you went to the window. The street was completely dark. Seeing it was 3:30 am, you tiptoed back to bed. Laying there, you hoped you might sleep. It didn’t come. All you could do was toss and turn until it was unbearable. Cold feet padded the floor. Nervously you passed anxiety spiking. You plugged in the electric kettle. It lit up and you watched the water boil away. It was hot and furious. Just as you felt. Weirdly, it soothed you. If only you could rage and storm, maybe things would be better.

Everything was heavy on your chest.

Your mother Father Eren Mikasa Ymir

More and more names. Each with their own weight in pain. That was when your phone rang.

“What do you mean she’s at the hospital?” Those were the first words you said. It was someone working at the emergency center. All you had been told was that she had a heart attack, and was in intensive care. Forgetting the kettle, you quickly dressed. It was only when outside that you realized there wasn’t a way to get there. So you ran.

Your throat felt like it was bleeding. Every gasp ached. When the hospital lights appeared over the horizon you could have cried with relief. It was busy. Paramedics and patients going back and forth. You walked up to the desk. “Here to see a family member?” The receptionist probably saw people like you every day. Desperate and scared. “M/n L/n. I’m her daughter.” She called over a nurse who took charge. “Right this way.” You followed her, prepared for the worst.

She lay on the bed, as still as a corpse. You let out a sigh of relief. Despite being still, you could tell she was alive. Only sleeping peacefully. The monitor showed a steady heartbeat. “When did it happen?” “Yesterday. Your mother woke up a few hours ago and told us to call you.” “Does my father know.” “I don’t believe so. Is he in her contacts.” “Yeh. I’ll tell him later.” “Are you sure? We can-” “They’re divorced.” Immediately she fell silent. You felt guilty for snapping at her like that. But at that moment your anger had suddenly spiked. The two of you were left alone. You sat down. For the first time in years, you paid attention to your mother's features. She was so thin. Not a natural type of thin, but the type where you’ve been sick for a long time. It was purely on instinct. You had reached for her hand. Shocked, you felt the bones on her frail fingers. Tentatively, your hands reached out for hers. It was just the two of you alone in a room. When was the last time the two of you had been like this? Certainly not since the divorce. You sat in silence for a while. Until the phone rang.

At first, you thought it was yours. But the notifications were completely blank. You realized it was your mother's instead, her clothes on a chair nearby. You walked over and picked it up. It took you several moments to truly process what you had just read.

F/n: M/n pick up right now.

F/n: If you don’t pick up right fucking now I’m gonna come over there.

F/n: Do you really want to face the consequences? Just because we’re not married doesn't mean I tolerate disrespect.

Several missed calls showed up. “What the fuck.” Your mouth barely moved, eyes bulging so much they hurt. What the actual fuck had you just read?! You knew your father could be rough but this was insane. Wanting to know more, yet dreading it all the same, you unlocked the phone. Every scroll through the chat between mom and dad became worse and worse. M/n: I’m really sorry but I can’t make it

F/n: Again with a damn excuses M/n: I just need rest. Please F/n: Go fuck yourself

You seriously wanted to puck. Was that why your mother was here now? You continued scrolling through the messages. Going further down only made it worse.

F/n: I have hardly spent time alone with Y/n. Just because your her mother does not mean you have to be there every time! M/n: I don’t mean to intrude F/n: Then don’t. I don’t need to do this picnic. You come and I will never do something like this for Y/n again.

You looked to the date of that particular text, June seventh. Bile rose in your throat, that was the picnic your father had planned. M/n was supposed to come. When she didn’t you had been horribly hurt. That had been the last time you reached out to her. Looking back, you fathers reaction was odd. He told you to leave it be and he would talk to her. All this time you had resented your mother when it wasn’t her fault. How many other times had you blamed her for something that was your fathers doing? You took a screenshot and sent it to yourself.

F/n had a lot to answer for.

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[neonarboretumart]

Y’all ever get so overwhelmed by a constant thump of new complications and really stupid unexpected shit that you never expected to see casually written in a letter that sends you into a huge spiral of panic attacks and despair because you don’t genuinely know how you’re going to keep trying to survive isolated like this with absolutely no medical support for a life threatening virus if you get it and your mental health dying trying to avoid it and then it’s just casually announced that you have subclinical glandular fever??? And your dormant organs might be waking up and that should be good, but it’s bad because that was one of the only reasons you would be able to receive treatment for said organ-destroying virus, because they refuse to take your other risk factors seriously??? And it’ll be just another set of hoops to desperately try to jump through to prove you’re sick enough to access care, and you’ll never tick all the boxes even though you should? And you feel like you’re going insane because everything that could have been your last backup, your last reassurance if the worst happens, is being ripped out from underneath you because the government doesn’t believe in wasting their money to keep people like you alive, against all evidence?

And you’re so tired of begging people to just do the simplest shit that could save your life, when even your best friend won’t bother, because its always other people, never them. If they’re good people, they cant possibly do the damage. You’re exaggerating as always, anxious, making a fuss, a little kid over enthusiastic about it and you just need to chill out about a virus that fuses braincells and causes heart attacks and strokes months later, and could leave you basically a vegetable in bed wearing a blindfold for the rest of your life to keep out the light.

And you can’t talk to them anymore about it because you’ve talked yourself hoarse, with emotions and science and desperation and it’s still just. Not their business.

And not even the doctors will take it seriously, even with all the knowledge from all over the world we have now. And every appointment you attend is more risk.

Because I’ve just had a really shit week, and I cant tell anyone I know about it. So I’m telling people I don’t know, because I think I’m going to lose it if I don’t tell someone.