#i'm always worried i'm fucking something up

[azzibueckers5]

i want you to need me (need to want something more)

(ao3 link) (read iwkpa first) (wc: ~9k)

five times paige bueckers curses azzi fudd's entire existence and generally wants to die, and one time she curses azzi fudd's entire existence but for really awesome reasons this time so it's chill.

chapter 1 (of 2): in which paige is down horrendous. like horrendously horrendous

AN: hi hello looky here, i did indeed write more of these idiots. enjoy angtsy paige as promised. i swear the second chapter will make up for it. i hope. i smoked a joint by myself and listened almost exclusively to waiting room while writing the majority of this... so that's your warning in terms of angst levels and editing levels lmfao i'm sorry <3 (also there's a BRIEF mention of religious guilt but its like so super light- but if you're worried at all just message me)

1. june 2020, arlington, virginia

the dc humidity is stifling as paige races up the last stretch of asphalt after azzi and turns up the driveway to the fudd’s house, breathing heavily and trying to muster up enough remaining energy to catch the younger girl in the last stretch of their run.

the air is heavy around them, thick with an incoming summer storm, and paige doesn’t even have the breath to groan aloud when azzi’s finger’s graze the basketball hoop’s post at the top of the driveway a second before her own, their designated finish line. 

“i win again, fuck you,” azzi wheezes, the pride in her voice still audible even through her heavy breathing.

paige’s eyes do not catch on the strip of skin exposed between her waistband and the bottom of her shirt when she pulls her arms up to rest them on her head. they do not. 

she slaps at azzi’s leg half heartedly and attempts to keep both the fatigue and petulance out of her voice when she whines, “you cheated- grabbed my back when we turned up the hill.” 

they both know that paige was already losing. 

azzi doesn’t dignify it with a response, and only shoves her leg back in retaliation, which. rude. 

“so hot out. wish it would start raining already,” is what she says instead, and it's a testament to how long their run was that she’s not fighting the cheating allegations. 

paige grunts in agreement and hunches over, hands on her knees, trying simultaneously to catch her breath and also valiantly to ignore the sight of azzi stripping off her tank top in her periferal. and then she discovers that if she leans over far enough, her ponytail will fall over her eyes and she can inconspicuously ogle azzi from behind strands of her hair. 

delightful.

she’s too busy letting her eyes roam across the smooth, taut skin of azzi’s stomach that’s being revealed and involuntarily tracing the sweat droplets on her abdomen to notice that azzi throws the damp shirt at paige’s head, until it hits the side of her face and drops to the ground next to her foot. 

it takes a concerning amount of strength for paige to not reach down, bring the teal material to her face, and do something entirely insane like inhale it. or worse, lick it, which she’s pretty sure isn’t something you’re supposed to want to do when confronted with your best friend’s sweaty work out top. 

belatedly, she says “ew azzi, that’s nasty it’s all sweaty,” and hopes the disgust in her voice is convincing. she wishes azzi’s sweat was as repulsive as she’s trying to make it seem, but instead it just makes her desperately want to put her mouth on the places that produce it. 

there might be something wrong with her. probably.

and then azzi’s head tilts, in the way that almost always leads to trouble, “yeah?” 

and paige’s disgust was either too convincing and azzi feels like being a shithead, or not convincing enough and still azzi feels like being a shithead but for entirely different reasons, because the brunette smirks, and proceeds to wipe a hand across the moisture on her abdomen and then shove it in paige’s face.

paige wants to die. like genuinely. death. drowning. incineration. a bolt of lightning perhaps. 

instead, she shrieks, catching azzi’s wrists in her hands, and tries to shove her sweaty forehead into azzi’s neck, wrestling with her hands to get one free and lift her own shirt up to wipe the damp material across azzi’s side. 

they’re both squealing, giggling in between indignant grunts, and the struggle lands them pushed up against the plastic of the garage door with a thud, paige pinning azzi’s hips to the surface with her own. 

and this. backfired. a little bit. because now she’s pressing a sweaty, wriggling, half naked azzi against a hard surface. with her own body. 

her brain whites out for a second, and azzi must notice because she takes advantage of her hesitation to do anything and flips them, wiping her face down paige’s arm. 

and paige isn’t like, turned on by that, but she’s not not turned on either. what the fuck.

she can’t even come up with retaliation, too focused on how close they are and how warm azzi is, and the feeling of her skin pressed up against paige’s, and. she’s going a little bit insane, she thinks.

azzi stills then, too, at paige’s non-reaction, and then they’re just staring at each other, hands still gripping each other’s in a now forgotten attempt at defense, air thick with more than just the humidity. 

they stand there for a second, just looking, chests heaving, and paige isn’t going to kiss azzi, obviously, that would be stupid, but she’s certainly thinking about it, and.

and then thunder claps, loud, above them, warning of an imminent downpour, and azzi jumps away from paige like she’s been burned, stumbling backwards. 

her face is contorted, a little shocked, like she doesn’t know what just came over her. paige wishes she knew the feeling, but unfortunately she knows all too well what just came over her. 

her head falls back against the garage door, arms going limp, and she watches, dazed, as azzi disappears into the house, calling out something about how winners get to take the first shower over her shoulder, the screen door banging behind her.

she lets out a groan loud enough to be mistaken for another roll of thunder and wonders how long this silly crush she has will continue to torment her. 

this awkwardness– usually the result of paige getting to close, touching too much– has been happening more often recently, ever since she eagerly embraced the fudd family’s hospitality to let her stay with them through quarantine. 

if she’s honest with herself, which she usually isn’t, the tension has always been there, she’s just now letting herself notice it more, and she wishes– especially in instances like this when azzi gets particularly close to letting paige cross lines before shoving her away– that she’d never let herself pay attention to it all. 

because it aches a little bit, in a masochistic, addictive sort of way, the exhaustion of having azzi close in every way but one– the one she only lets herself think about in the darkness of the middle of the night, with azzi’s slow breathing only inches away. 

she wonders when, if ever, she’ll have the courage to do something about the way her stomach flips when azzi smiles at her a little too long, or the way her fingers tingle when azzi grabs her hand during movie nights. 

she knows the other girl like the back of her hand though, knows that she isn’t ready yet, doesn’t know if she’ll ever even be ready, so she shoves her fascination with azzi’s sweat into the corner of her mind labeled things i shouldn’t think about and presses a hand to her forehead, hard, trying to physically force it back. 

she stays outside long after azzi disappears, body cooling all the way off, and doesn’t follow her until the rain starts, until the water droplets pour down onto her and cruelly wash away the traces of azzi’s sweat from her skin.

2. november 2022, storrs, connecticut

paige has had maybe the worst day ever. 

okay not really, but certainly the worst day she’s had in a while. she’s not dramatic enough to say it beats that one in august, the scar on her knee is too heavy a reminder of that, but it’s up there, just mundane enough to be brutal in the quieter ways, the ones that add up.  

it had started, this morning, when instead of waking to the movement of azzi disentangling herself from paige’s comforter, the blonde had been jerked awake by the sounds of jana and ice bickering, loudly, outside her door and an empty left side of the bed. 

azzi and her had fought the night before– nothing big, just a flare up of irritation that happened sometimes when they spent too much time together– and she’d left their weekly movie night early instead of curling up against paige’s pillows and falling asleep like usual, leaving a lingering annoyance over paige’s mood already. 

so, naturally, she’d started her day in shitty spirits, and they’d only worsened through a particularly brutal PT session. 

and then she’d had to sit through a team meeting preparing for an upcoming game that she’d spend sitting, uselessly on the bench, had gotten a paper back with a less than stellar grade, and had been caught in the rain on her walk back from the dining hall with nika. 

all she wants to do now is to wallow in self pity, make azzi cheer her up, and tuck herself into her favorite spot between the brunette’s head and shoulder and let her hands in paige hair wash away the day. 

they’d made up from the night before at practice this morning, when paige had been incessantly annoying, throwing basketballs at azzi’s shots during warm ups until she’d dropped her stupid ignoring paige act, and she’s looking forward to finally unwinding in front of one of the only people she’s ever been vulnerable in front of. 

azzi hasn’t responded to paige’s text about coming over by the time she gets out of the shower, but she doesn’t really care, too sulky to wait for her to be done with her homework or whatever she’s deemed more important than tending to paige’s ego, and she trudges down the hallway and up the stairs between their suites with more drag in her feet than usual. 

caroline is sitting on the couch when paige barges in, and she looks surprised to see paige here, which is odd considering she spends equal time in this apartment as she does her own, but paige ignores the hesitancy on her face in favor of starting down the hall, too tired to care. 

but then caroline says “ wait, no,” shrilly, a little panicked, when paige makes it about halfway through the living room after a muttered hello, and stands up off the couch, as if she needs to physically interrupt her movements. 

and that stops paige in her tracks, because what.

“bruh- what,” paige bites out, and if it's a little rude, sue her. “azzi’s here, right?”

caroline hesitates. “yes, but-”

but paige isn’t listening, and caroline will understand, anyways, that paige really just needs azzi right now, so she cuts the brunette off, mumbling “kay, catch you later,” before walking the short rest of the way down the hall and to azzi’s door.

she can hear caroline protesting behind her, more urgently, but paige is having none of it, and pushes open azzi door without knocking. 

and stops short. 

there is a boy in azzi’s room. 

there is a boy on azzi’s bed . 

in paige’s spot. on azzi’s bed. 

there is a boy in azzi’s room on azzi’s bed sitting next to azzi, touching azzi’s thigh. 

paige feels like she might throw up. 

“oh- i’m. oh-” is all she gets out, as azzi jumps off the bed like she’s been burned, the stupid boy’s hand falling limply off her leg in the process. 

“paige! what’re you- hi- what’re you doing here?” she says, eyes wide and flustered, like she’s been caught. 

because she has, a little bit. they don’t exactly talk about the people they hook up with, but paige usually has some semblance of idea on what azzi is doing, enough to know when she needs to let nika get her uproariously drunk, or call drew for a couple hours to take her mind off things. 

they also don’t really ever bring people back to their rooms– in the rare event paige is feeling particularly horny, she’ll always go to a girl’s room, never bringing them back to hers. because her room is her and azzi���s space, and she’d kinda thought azzi’s room was too, seeing as the brunette had never brought anyone back either. until now, of course. 

on a fucking random thursday evening. fuck.

paige is reeling, and the entire day’s worth of shitty events comes crashing down on her. 

“m’sorry- sorry i was just- i’ll just-” she flips a finger over her shoulder at caroline behind her and backs slowly out of the doorframe, trying to stave off the tears welling in her eyes until she’s alone.

“wait, p, are you- are you okay?” asks azzi, hands wringing together in front of her. she looks torn, and paige is genuinely offended that this mediocre boy is enough to even hold a candle to her, enough to make azzi glance back and forth between the two of them like they hold equal weight in her life.

stupid-ugly-boy has been entirely silent throughout this horrifically awkward interaction, head moving between the two of them in uncomfortable confusion, and paige really wants to kick his face in. 

instead, she mumbles out a “no yeah- i’ll just. come back later,” and her voice sounds shaky. what the fuck.

azzi tilts her head and asks, imploringly, “you sure?” and paige almost wants to just break down right then and there, and cry about physical therapy and the rain and her stupid knee and her stupid paper and how this fucking guy messing everything up, but she glances at ugly-stupid-boy still sitting on azzi’s bed, and nods once, before turning on her heel. 

“m’sure. see you like- tomorrow. or whatever.” 

her voice doesn’t crack, which is something, and she hears azzi ask again but she’s already halfway back down the hallway, speeding past caroline and her pitying expression to get the fuck away from whatever is about to happen in azzi’s room. 

she pauses once she gets outside their apartment’s door for a second, half expecting azzi to be right behind her with a dismissive excuse for ugly-stupid-boy and soothing words for paige, because azzi always knows when she’s upset, always prioritizes fixing it, but when she realizes after five seconds that azzi isn’t coming, she starts down the hallway and lets the tears begin to fall.

she hasn’t cried over azzi in months, ever since she decided that she was going to have to be fine with being just friends, just best friends, that it was enough, but by the time she gets back to her room, she’s full on sobbing, and she collapses down onto her bed, muffling her cries into the st. john's basketball sweatshirt that azzi had left two days ago when she’d been there for a movie night and had ended up sleeping over. 

she doesn’t even have the right to be upset, not really, and this somehow makes it hurt worse. 

because azzi and her weren’t dating– weren’t anything– and she didn’t owe paige an explanation for what she did with her life, her body. even if it was with really stupid ugly boys. especially then. 

her heart feels like it's been hit with a hammer anyways, though, and she takes back the thought that she’d had earlier– that she wasn’t dramatic enough to say this was the worst day ever– because this was now officially tied with the day she’d torn her acl. 

at least that had had a fix- a surgery, and a rehab regimen, and doctors telling her how to get better, get stronger. she even had a return date, a definitive end to the injury, even if it was far off. 

but this feeling in her chest, the absolute panic coursing through her veins? there was no doctor that could cure it, and no timeline on when it would get better. 

she was starting to think it never would.  

…

paige must fall asleep like that, curled around azzi’s sweatshirt crying, because she wakes to the feeling of azzi pulling the hoodie out of her arms. 

she blinks blearily up at her, eyes puffy and disoriented, and she hates herself a little bit for immediately noticing how soft and pretty azzi looks in the dim light of the room.

“can i-” is azzi’s sheepish, whispered question, gesturing down at paige’s arms. 

even in her sluggish state, she knows she should say no. even in normal friendship circumstances, crawling into each others beds after having sex with other people is considered fucking weird. 

but paige is a weak, sad, little idiot, and she does not say no. she nods instead, and azzi visibly sighs in relief, before slipping into paige’s arms like she has a thousand times before and tangling their legs. 

and paige’s heart hurts, because how dare azzi seek her out after breaking it so casually. and how dare her dumbass self let her. 

she doesn’t know why she asks, but she can’t stop the question once it pops into her head, and she waits a few moments, like maybe if long enough time passes azzi will fall asleep and she won’t have to hear the answer, and then:

“did you- did you fuck him?” she whispers, and the word fuck comes out harsh, vulgar. 

azzi stiffens in her arms, and there’s silence for a few beats, before she exhales a quiet “ paige,” and it’s answer enough. 

it cuts deep, so, so deep, and paige should cry, and yell, and kick azzi out of her bedroom, because that’s not fair , that she gets to sleep with other people and then come crawling back to paige, traces of someone else’s hands all over her, but instead she just inhales quietly against the stinging behind her eyes.

she shifts them on the bed, so azzi is curled up with her head on paige’s chest, and tilts her head back so the younger girl won’t be able to feel her tears when they inevitably fall.

and as azzi drifts off, paige wonders what her last straw will be, because she’s creeping closer and closer to the point of no return, the heartbreak of no return. 

she’s weak for azzi though, knows she’ll let the girl do almost anything, and as she lies awake, tears dripping quietly, uncomfortably into her ears, she knows she’ll always let azzi come crawling back, always give her whatever she wants. 

it’s not at all a comforting thought.

3. april 2025, tampa, florida

the music in the hotel suite they opted to turn into an impromptu after party is just on the side of loud called obnoxious , but paige can’t bring herself to give a fuck when azzi is singing along to the song emphatically next to her, smile wide and notes slightly off key as she tries to drag paige in closer to dance with her. 

her hair is damp from the earlier spray of champagne, and there’s confetti stuck to her forehead, and paige thinks she’s the most beautiful woman that's ever graced the earth. 

and she knows they’re both like, really, truly, exceptionally drunk, but she really hopes she’ll remember this moment in the morning: her and azzi, tangled together on the dance floor, pure joy splashed across the brunettes face, their teammates in various stages of hammered around them, champagne still flowing and laughter echoing through the room. 

she feels like she’s on cloud nine, like nothing could pull her down from  the high of the natty, and azzi’s unwavering attention, and her beautiful, strong, pretty hands that are tangled in the net still dangling from paige’s neck. 

when people start winding down (see: caroline carrying kk upstairs, and ice and jana passing out on the couch in the corner), paige and azzi drag themselves off to paige’s room. 

and in her haze, paige doesn’t really know why, but they stay tangled together on their waltz to the elevators, and in the elevators, and then back down the hall towards the room, and when paige almost trips over the door frame after fumbling with the key card, azzi laughs so hard she almost causes them both to crash to the ground, and.

and azzi’s laughter is still the best sound she’s ever heard– and she’s heard the buzzer at the end of a national championship game win– and paige really wants to taste it. 

and then. and then she is tasting it because she’s kissing azzi, wide and messy and giddy. 

and azzi’s kissing back, she’s kissing paige back, and this is definitely the best day of paige’s life, no doubt about it. 

they stumble through the door into the main room, bumping into the dresser in their insistence upon staying attached to eachother, but paige can’t be bothered to actually pay attention to where they’re going because she’s kissing azzi, and azzi’s hands are underneath her shirt on her stomach and her hands are in azzi’s hair– and holy fuck.

azzi makes a needy little noise in the back of her throat when paige tugs at her shirt, and their lips part for a second so she can yank it off, and paige wants that noise imprinted in her mind forever . 

she tosses the offending material behind her just as azzi turns around and launches herself onto the bed, giggling all the way, and paige takes a second, in her absolutely sloshed state, to appreciate the sight of a happy, half naked azzi climbing off balance onto the bed and waiting to be kissed, just as giddy as paige is. 

she’s so pretty. and she’s waiting for paige to come and kiss her, and fuck.

this is even better than raising the trophy over their heads, even better than cutting the net. 

and then azzi whines out a needy “ paige,” and she scrambles to follow, because what the princess wants, the princess gets. 

she giggles aloud at that thought– and then realizes when azzi makes an indignant noise that it hadn’t been just a thought but she’d said it out loud too. oops.

azzi pulls paige down on top of her the second she gets close, and she falls, limbs knocking and tangling in an unfortunate manner, but then their mouths are melding together again and paige doesnt care at all that her leg is trapped because they’re kissing . 

she moves her mouth down for a second, just to suck a mark into the skin of azzi’s chest, and azzi moans into her ear, and jesus christ. paige is overwhelmed. she pulls her head back with a nip of her teeth, and the sight of the darkened skin, red and angry and proof that azzi is hers, is enough to make her throb in her sweats. 

she surges back up to kiss azzi again when the younger girl's hands tangle in her hair, tugging like she’s just as needy for it as paige is, and.

and she doesn’t mean to– really, she doesn’t– but she’s still riding the high of the game, and azzi is spread out underneath her, clad in only a sports bra and sweats, kissing her, and there’s so much champagne running through her veins, and so much skin to put her mouth on and. she just loves azzi so, so much that she has to tell her. 

“fuck, az. love you- love you so much,” she mumbles, pressing the words into azzi’s neck, and dragging her tongue across her collarbone. “m’so in love with you,” she adds, almost as an afterthought. 

it seems like something azzi should know, probably, since it's so awesome and they’re kissing . 

except– azzi stiffens.

“no p, shhhhh– why’d you ruin it, c’mere,” azzi slurs, lazily, one hand pressing over paige’s mouth, and. 

and paige's heart cracks in her chest. 

she pulls back and blinks down at azzi, trying to come up with a coherent response while her mind catches up to the reality of what she’s just said.

“wha’” she says dumbly, at a loss, white noise suddenly filling her ears. 

“can we just. can this just be kissing– i don’ wanna complicate…” azzi trails off, and then when paige says nothing, tries to drag her in for another kiss, eyes unfocussed.

paige lets her, for a second, before her mind catches up to it, and then she jerks her face back, trying to ignore the keening noise azzi makes when she does, because. 

because she’s just told azzi she was in love with her, and the response had been don’t ruin it. she wanted to die.

“azzi, i can’t–” 

she frowns, eyebrows drawing up comically, and has the audacity to sound annoyed. “why not?”

paige cannot do this right now.

“can we just– can we just talk about this in the morning?” she asks, voice cracking on the last word. at azzi’s grumpy huff, she adds, a little desperate, “azzi, promise me we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

and azzi must be really drunk, because her eyes are drooping, but she agrees. “yeah, promise, p.”

paige doesn’t believe her, doesn’t even know why she wants to talk about it in the morning anyways, but as she glances down at the mark, now taunting, that stares up at her from azzi’s collarbone, dread settles heavy in her gut.

“go to sleep, az,” she whispers, and tucks a curl behind her ear.

“‘kay,” she replies, sleepily, drunkenly, and paige thinks fuck.

and she doesn’t know how that started and ended so fast— they were barely in the elevator like ten minutes ago— but paige feels her whole world come crashing down. 

and when azzi falls asleep almost instantly, half on paige’s side of the bed, curls tangled and face peaceful, like she didn’t just shatter paige’s whole entire heart, paige thinks that this might be the thing that finally kills her. 

she’s still drunk, so drunk, and the room is spinning from the liquor and blurring from the tears. 

she tries to muster up sleepiness that won’t come, tries to shut down the searing panic that’s thrumming through her, but the only coherent thought in her head is fuckfuckfuckfuck.

she’d known, on a deeper level, that azzi probably didn’t feel the same, but the way she’d been looking at paige recently, they ways she’d clung to her tonight, the way they’d just been fucking making out , it had made paige think, just maybe, that she’d had a chance, that maybe azzi’d felt it too.

but now she knows, with certainty, from the way azzi had callously rejected her, that azzi didn’t feel the same. 

if her entire body wasn’t so paralyzed with dread, she thinks she would probably throw up.

eventually, on what should be the happiest day of her life so far, championship net still tangled around her neck, dreams achieved, and the love of her miserable life next to her, she falls asleep crying. 

because she knows, with all the drunk certainty in the world, that this has fucked them up, fucked paige up, in a way that will be impossible to fix.

the taste of champagne on azzi’s lips and the echo of the words why’d you ruin it follow her into her dreams. 

and when azzi is gone when she wakes up, she’s not even surprised.

4. april 2026, indianapolis, indiana

the arena is deafening with the wrong crowd’s noise, almost suffocating, sky blue and yellow confetti falling around the sea of people on the court, as paige watches in despair as ucla celebrates their thorough defeat of uconn in the national championship.

the huskies had barely stood a chance, in all honesty. sarah had gotten hurt in the semis- a strained ligament after a particularly hard fall in the paint that didn’t pose serious long term concerns but had sidelined her for today’s game, and kk hadn’t been able to clear concussion protocol after a hard hit during the first quarter. 

which left azzi, and the rest of uconn, limping through what would otherwise be a quite competitive match, and just trying to not get blown out. 

azzi had played spectacularly too, in paige’s deeply biased but correct opinion, keeping it close enough to not be embarrassing and racking up 33 points and 4 steals. 

but it hadn’t been enough, and even from a hundred feet away, without having talked in months, paige could see how upset azzi was, how hard this loss would be felt. 

it made her want to bundle azzi up in her arms and hide her from the rest of the world– tuck her away and talk her down from the spiral that paige knew with certainty her brain was already starting to spin. 

except she doesn’t have that privilege anymore, and it was killing her. 

she’d sat with nika and a couple other ex teammates, so they get to go down onto the floor to give consolatory hugs and apologies, but by the time paige gets through kk and geno and all the other people who want to talk to her, azzi has already disappeared into the tunnel. 

caroline takes one look at paige’s faraway gaze following the back of azzi’s head, and shoves her towards the entrance. “go find her. gonna be the only one who gets through to her anyways.”

and it should be reassuring, that caroline thinks paige is still the right person to go after her, but it only adds to the pool of dread in her stomach. regardless, though, with a pat on nika’s shoulder, paige slips away into the tunnel, knowing without a doubt that azzi is hiding in an empty room somewhere, trying to compose herself enough to talk to the media. 

she ducks into three different doorways with no sign of the brunette, before coming across an empty office, lights off but an achingly familiar back profile visible through the window in the door. 

paige pauses, hesitating. a year ago, she wouldn’t miss a beat, would already be next to azzi telling her a stupid joke and trying to get a smile out of her, but she’s not sure azzi wants that from her anymore. paige hasn’t exactly been a stellar friend, avoiding alumni events and dodging texts, and the guilt is suffocating. 

still though, azzi is hurting, and paige will never be able to sit and watch her be upset without at least trying to do something about it.

cautiously, she raps her knuckles against the doorframe, before pushing in, not waiting for azzi to turn around. 

she does a double take when she turns enough to see that it's paige, and her heart breaks in her chest at how surprised she looks that it's the blonde, and how upset she looks at the loss.  

they stare at each other for a second, and it's almost awkward– a reminder of the last year that's aged them and driven them apart– and paige’s heart constricts. azzi looks so tired. 

she doesn’t know why she says it, why she thinks it will be funny, but she makes a pathetic attempt at breaking the tense silence by blurting “miss me out there?” and immediately regrets it. 

azzi’s face falls, cautious expression morphing into blatant hurt, and she curls in on herself. and fuck. paige is really stupid. 

“no, azzi, i didn’t-” she stutters out.

and then without thinking, with only the visceral need to comfort the younger girl running through her, paige closes the space between them in three steps and wraps her arms around azzi, one hand cupping the back of her head and nestling azzi into her neck. 

and then they’re hugging, and azzi relaxes into her, curling so tightly together that maybe they’ll be able to forget about the distance of the last year.

“m’really proud of you,” she presses into azzi’s hair. “still the best shooter in the nation, forreal.”

“i still lost ,” comes the response, ever the pessimist. 

“not your fault. played better than last year, even, and you were the mop .” 

paige pauses, assessing the mood, and then adds, still into azzi’s hair, “gonna go number one next week, az. i just know it. dc’ll love you. they already do.”

“maybe, but i’d probably pick lauren, cause y’know, she won,” she protests, and paige can feel the tears soaking the collar of her t-shirt. 

“hey.” 

she gently tugs azzi’s head back and out of her shoulder to look at her for a second, faces close. 

which is a mistake, because now they’re inches apart and azzi is so beautiful, even crying like this, and paige has missed her so badly, but she needs to make sure azzi believes the next words out of her mouth. 

“if they don’t pick you, they’re fuckin’ stupid, okay?” she reassures, wiping a thumb under azzi’s eye. 

she inhales shakily but nods, and paige can’t resist adding “besides. either way you’re still gonna lose to me in the league,” with a lopsided smile.

azzi collapses back into her, with a weak groan, laugh muffled into paige’s shoulder, and it sounds more like a sob, actually, but it’s something , and paige just tries to hold her, tries to lessen the pain with physical touch alone. 

the last time they’d been this close without awkwardness had been almost exactly a year ago, and they’d been kissing, and. 

paige forcefully shut down those thoughts. she has azzi here, in her arms, and she isn’t going to waste it. she closes her eyes and tries to memorize the feeling of azzi’s strong body pressed up against her, the tickle of her curls against paige’s neck, the grip of her fingers against the back of paige’s shirt, the way she smelled, still sweaty from the game. 

because she doesn’t know if she’ll ever get this again, have azzi this close.

they’re quiet for a bit, just breathing each other in. 

and then azzi mumbles “i’m really mad at you,” into her shoulder, in lieu of all the distance between them, the awkwardness that they both know is paige’s fault, and guilt floods her senses.

paige thinks azzi can’t possibly be more mad at her than she is at herself.

“yeah,” she breathes out. “i know,” and tightens her hold. 

she wants to apologise, to get on her knees and beg for forgiveness and convince azzi to forgive her, to let her back in. that leads to hurt, though, so instead, she just grips her a little harder, like maybe telepathically she can convince azzi how much she misses her, how much the last year has fucking sucked.

the seconds tick by, and paige hopes that this is as healing for azzi as it is hurting for herself. 

and then a staff member paige doesn’t recognize comes barrelling into the room, shattering the sanctuary of peace that they’ve carved out, and azzi wrenches herself from away paige’s grasp, face wet and hands shaking.

“oh- i’m so sorry- i didn’t realize…” the woman trails off, seemingly processing that she’d just interrupted azzi fudd and paige bueckers.  

azzi wipes at her eyes frantically, and stutters out “no it’s um- it’s fine i think i have to go do press,” before darting out of the room with only a glance back at paige, eyes wide and expression weary. 

and then she’s just. gone. 

the woman looks between paige’s stock still position and the space by the door that azzi just fled from and starts profusely apologizing, but paige cuts her off with a gruff “its fine,” and the woman stops, before nodding and radiply following azzi out the door.

and then its just paige, and the lingering scent of azzi’s hair, and the ghost of her touch in this fucking empty office. 

she wishes, often, that she could hate azzi, because it would make this whole thing easier. but this is only a reinforcement of how she will never be able to do that, will probably spend the rest of her life loving her and missing the feeling of them pressed together. 

she stays in the room for ten more minutes, trying to compose herself, and when she’s more emotional for the rest of the day than she otherwise would be, she just blames it on ucla.

5. july 2026, dallas, texas

sometimes, on her darkest days, when she wakes up with azzi’s phantom touch on her face or her laugh still ringing in her ears, paige wonders if loving azzi as much as she does, without reciprocation, is her punishment for being gay, because it aches a thousand times worse than any injury she's ever had to endure. it's the kind of hurt that feels like it has to be caused by some higher power, has to be some sort of eternal damnation. 

this morning is one of those days, and she wakes with the echo of azzi’s name on her lips, only to be reminded of the harsh reality of her empty dallas apartment upon opening her eyes. 

she sighs, long-sufferingly, into her pillows, who offer her no advice, and resigns herself to another hollow day. 

there is no part of her, anymore at least, that struggles with her relationship with god and her sexuality– ironically enough it had been azzi that had talked her through her guilt-induced panic attacks during high school– but the feeling of punishment still lingers, occasionally, like maybe god was spiteful that she’d always worship azzi just a tiny bit more. 

she sighs again, this time to her ceiling, which remains as mockingly adviceless as her pillows, and counts to three in her head before dragging herself out of bed to get ready for practice. 

basketball is usually a sure bet at a good distraction, but today, they’re prepping for the next three games. 

which means they’re prepping for the mystics. 

which means paige has to see azzi’s fucking perfect (face) shooting form seventeen different times, and endure sideways glances from everyone in the room, as if knowing that azzi would be here, in dallas, in a weeks time wasn’t nauseating enough as is without everyone pitying her. 

only dijonai and arike knew the gut wrenching truth: that they had been neither lovers nor strictly just friends, but something worse, in the middle, just teetering on the knife’s edge that was more , until paige had knocked them off balance and the blade had eventually sliced through her head and heart and cut her open, leaving azzi with only a few knicks

the team was still aware, though, that they were on less than stellar terms– probably thought they were exes like the rest of the fucking world– but that didn’t spare paige from having to offer up intel, as coach had put it, on slowing her down 

(her quiet loyalty to azzi has no limits, it seems, because she only offers up a meager statement about the shooting guard occasionally favoring her left leg, which isn’t even really true anymore.  not that paige paid enough attention to azzi’s games to notice that progress. at all.)

film, evidently, drags by, and even the abnormal amount of stupid jokes from dijonai isn’t enough to distract paige from the miserable anticipation of having azzi in the same city. 

practice afterwards is even worse, somehow, and paige is uncharacteristically sloppy, getting told on three separate occasions to lock in. 

she lets arike trail after her when she hits the weight room instead of the showers, if only because she doesn’t have the energy to protest, and prays that the older girl, who has become something of a mentor, and who at least somewhat understands the predicament, leaves paige to her thoughts. 

surprise, surprise, her prayers go unanswered, and she makes it barely three reps into her chest presses before arike breaks the weighted silence.

“you can’t go on like this forever, p. you know that,” is her really chill, lightweight conversation starter. always to the point. 

“dunno what you’re talking about,” she says, stubbornly, sulkily. 

arike doesn’t even glance up from her own rack, like paige’s denial doesn’t deserve a response, before sighing.

“i’m talkin bout you barely being able to say the name of a girl you haven’t spoken to in months, haven’t been alone with in a year.”

paige resists the urge to tell her that, actually, paige had been alone with her in april, and it had hurt so badly to be that close to azzi that she’d nearly fled the state that night. it probably won’t help her case. 

“i can say azzi’s name. i just don’t like to.” her voice comes out relatively smooth, and paige mentally pats herself on the back.

“you grippin’ the bar so hard i’m worried you gon’ snap it in half.”

whatever. at paige’s stubborn silence, she continues. 

“look. i get it, okay, i do. but you need to at least try and move on. take advantage of what’s left of the break. take a pretty girl out on a date-”

“ rike-” paige starts to protest, but is ignored.

“you don’t have to marry her, paige. you don’t even gotta kiss her. but this sulking thing has got to stop.”

“i’m not sulking,” she says. not at all in a tone of voice that could potentially be mistaken for sulking. 

arike just raises an eyebrow. “i have a friend, jadyn, she’s cool. used to hoop. she’s asked about you before, definitely your type. lemme set you up, please. if not for your sake then the rest of us who’ve had to watch you mope since you got here.”

“how do you know what my type even is,” paige says, stubbornly. 

arike lets the bar fall out of her hands post-squat with a loud thump, before beginning to gather her things. mockingly, she asks, “do you want me to answer that?”

paige does not. she switches gears. “i’m not moping.”

unimpressed, arike squirts some water from her gatorade bottle down at paige as she walks by in response. “yeah, sure. just think about it, okay? baby steps.”

…

paige contemplates arike’s offer on the drive home, and in the shower, and even throughout her automated, rather lacking post shower routine. 

the last time she’d hooked up with someone had been a few months after the natty. paige had been hammered after a win with dijonai, had tried to take a random girl home from the bar, and had proceeded to call the poor girl azzi while they were making out against the door of her apartment. it had been as disastrous as you’d expect, and paige hadn’t tried since. 

she hopes, maybe, that the older girl has dropped it, and paige won’t have to either awkwardly shut it down again, or worse, suffer through a date with an unsuspecting stranger. but then as she’s pulling on a pair of sweats, her phone lights up in front of her with a text from the devil herself. 

arike: im sending jadyn your number, pleaseeee just give it a shot. 

she sighs, and glances at the mirror across from her. even now, a year since being anything remotely azzi’s, she still looks at herself and only sees traces of the younger girl. 

her third piercings that she’d let azzi coax her into (she had been staunchly against it until azzi had said, casually, “it’ll be hot” and paige had agreed in a matter of milliseconds.)

her hair, damp from her shower, smelling like the shampoo paige had been using since freshman year at uconn because azzi had said it smelled nice once. 

even her t-shirt, subconsciously chosen out of her drawer, was the color blue that azzi had said matched her eyes. 

it was ridiculous, after all this time, all this silence– silence that was paige’s doing– how firmly intertwined azzi still was in her life. her claws were still buried in paige’s whole being, dug just as deep as they’d ever been. to be fair, she’d never actually tried to dislodge them, beyond the whole no speaking thing, but still. 

she knows that probably needs to change, knows that part of the reason for putting distance between them was so that eventually paige could think about her without a knife between her ribs, but the thought of moving on feels wrong. even the idea of changing her fucking shampoo feels like a step too far. 

because paige doesn’t want to forget. there’s almost comfort in the misery: missing azzi– loving azzi– is as familiar as breathing, even if that breath feels like it's being ripped from asthma ridden lungs.

arike is right though, paige needs to at least try. she thinks about the words baby steps , and tries to ignore the nausea in her stomach.

she glances back down at her phone on the dresser when it lights up with another text, but her eyes skip over the notification from arike without reading it, and land on the time: 5:55. 

she only knows about angel numbers because azzi had gone through a brief phase during her second acl tear that she’d called her spiritual awakening (paige had called it azzi’s trip to crazy town ), but still, she remembered what 555 had meant. transformation. it had stuck with her, a little more than she’d expected, and she glances at her framed uconn #5 jersey that hangs next to the door to her closet. 

she can hear azzi’s voice in the back of her head, reading out of some voodoo book she’d picked up on a trip to her favorite bookstore, reverent even with paige making fun of her every thirty seconds. 

555 signals change and new beginnings, suggesting you should let go of old patterns that no longer serve you and embrace the significant shifts and personal growth that are on the horizon. 

god. she’d give anything to be back in that tiny dorm room in storrs, curled around azzi like nothing outside of her room had existed and listening to her drone on about tarot cards and spiritual realms. before paige had gone and fucked everything up.

but she’s not- she’s in dallas and azzi is in dc, she thinks , she doesn’t even know for sure, because they haven’t talked in months and- paige needs to get a grip.

and when the third 5 ticks to a 6 and her phone buzzes again, this time from an unknown number, paige resigns herself to trying . 

she’ll try to listen to this girl arike is convinced paige will like, and not picture azzi in her place; try and relax and let loose and embrace the possibility of moving on. maybe she’ll even let herself be taken home, she doesn’t know. 

but this moping thing is really getting old, and she knows it can’t last forever. over a year is already teetering on the edge of pathetic, and that's without considering the part about how paige is wallowing over a girl she didn’t even date. 

embracing change and new beginnings or whatever. she can do that. 

… 

god is laughing at her. he must be. embracing change this ass. 

as she sits in her car outside the apartment building she’s just fled from, trying to calm herself down enough to not be a danger on the road on her drive home, she curses her entire existence. 

herself, for just generally being a pathetic idiot, the stupid fucking angel numbers, for giving her the entirely false impression change was coming, and god, for making her life one long-running, miserable joke.

and most importantly, azzi fudd. for being like, so impossibly wonderful that paige is on the verge of a panic attack just from hearing her voice for the first time in months. 

how did she know. 

panic courses through her, more potent than the venom of a snake bite. all it took for paige to resort back to hopelessly, impossibly azzi’s, despite the taste of someone else on her lips, was a phone call that lasted less than 2 minutes and azzi saying i miss you.  

she feels like the scene is frozen (surprise, surprise, even the metaphors she makes up in her head about her own life are straight from azzi’s favorite movie) where ana begins to climb up the side of a cliff, huffing and puffing and evidently feeling like she’s made an exceptional amount of progress, only for the shot to pan out and reveal that she’s only a couple inches off the ground. 

because she hasn’t had to interact with azzi at all in the last year really, aside from painful group events and ignored texts, and she’s self aware, knows that getting over azzi is gonna take more than a year of just trying and failing not to think about her, but she didn’t realize how easily she’d fall back into her old feelings after a god forsaken two minute phone call. she’s been trying, slowly, to make progress, reconcile with what her life looks like without azzi in it, and had almost convinced herself real headway was being made, only for the last twenty minutes to completely shatter that mirage. 

paige knows she shouldn’t read into it, let azzi voice in her ear spark anything but regret and hurt.

except azzi misses her .

the ten minute drive back to hers is a miserable affair of trying not to think about the hurt in azzi’s voice following jadyn’s question in the background, and the fact that azzi said she’d text, and. 

and the fact that she’d called paige. drunk. saying she missed her.

paige has the backbone of a worm.

she’s returning from an otherwise very decent date and hookup and of course azzi as is the only thing on her mind. of course. 

she feels a little bit guilty, too, as if she was like. cheating on azzi. which is fucking ridiculous, she feels ridiculous. but she can’t fully squash the thought that azzi somehow knew that paige had just been kissing someone else and pretending the straight, silky hair in her hands had been curly and wild instead. 

whatever. 

she allots herself five more minutes to freak out, before resigning herself to the fact that she has to get out of the car, but as she goes to turn it off, her eyes catch on the time on the dash: 1:11am. 

the voice in the back of her head that sounds like azzi says the law of attraction and manifestation. 

she slams her head on the steering wheel in despair. 

…

sleep that night comes slowly, fitfully, morning even slower, and paige tries valiantly to set her overeager expectations that azzi will text to a very manageable zero.

she’s never been good at wrangling her mind into reason when azzi is involved, though, and when she rolls over at 8:30 and has no new notifications, she takes the pillow she’d just been lying on, presses it to her face, and tries to smother the side of herself that is still pining, nine years strong. 

(she fails.)

but then, after dragging herself out of bed, while her head is stuck deep in her closet, trying to pick out which depression hoodie she wants to wallow in today, she hears the distinct sound of a text tone from where she’d left her phone on the bed. 

she jams her elbow into the shelf, and then again into the doorframe in her haste to check her phone, but she can’t even pay attention to the sharp pain of her funny bone, because there, against her lockscreen of drew in a uconn bueckers jersey, is a text from azzi fudd. 

azzi 💗: you gonna show me your cowboy boots collection or what

and every (meager, pitiful) ounce of progress from the last fifteen months that hadn’t already disappeared the night before flies out the window. 

if paige were a smart woman, with her best interests at heart, she would reply with something dry and dismissive, push azzi away and resort back to the moping that’s been occupying her life for the last year. 

unfortunately, paige is a fucking idiot, through and thorugh, and azzi remembered to text, and is trying, again, despite paige’s track record of ignoring her, and. 

paige really, really misses her. 

and she hasn’t exactly made a lick of progress in this whole distancing herself thing, and really, what could one hang out do. it’s not like paige can fall more in love with her.

she waits for what she believes is a respectable, chill, not too eager amount of time– time in which she passes by pacing holes in her floor and trying not to throw herself out the window– and then responds an hour later. 

she can do friends. she can do one game and a hangout and not lose her mind. definitely. 

when paige has grey hairs in five years, she’s billing azzi for the dye treatment.

AN: peace and love <3 as always pretty pretty please tell me how you liked it. i BEG. wait also the title comes from lizzy mcalpine's pushing it down and praying, and it's the line that directly follows I wanna know peace again, wanna sing a different song which I thought was quite fitting. ALSO! the second chapter (the +1) should be out in the next couple of days i just wanted to get this out first don't worry. i will redeem myself from the angst and give you fluff and smut i swear on my life.

[bitters-n-sweets]

seize the moment — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader When a recurring patient returns to the ER after a medical scare, Robby is given another chance to finally ask her to stop running from what they yearned for

warnings: reader has a recurring illness that is unpredictable—i'm thinking epilepsy, but i have no history in medicine to fully dive in and accurately portray that in the fic, again, everything is googled. angst with happy ending. a/n: idk why writing robby is a challenge for me :)))) masterlist

[flashback]

"We can't do this, Robby," you say, "I can't do this to you."

"You're not doing anything, okay? I want to be here. With you."

"You don't know what you want!" You yell, "You have no idea, Robby. This will eat you alive—the anxiety, the worry, the helplessness—it will break you down, and you’ll hate me for it."

"And label me selfish," You bite back a sob, "but I really don't want you to hate me that way. Anyone but you. I'm sorry."

Robby didn't get a chance to say anything, you'd left him.

[present day]

Robby sighs, eyes dragging over the whiteboard. Maybe he woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but something feels off. The air’s heavy. His skin itches with a bad feeling he can’t shake.

Then the doors slam open.

"We’ve got a known seizure patient!" the EMT calls. "Post-ictal when we found her—had another in transit, two minutes, generalized. She’s still unconscious."

Robby’s head snaps up. He jogs toward the gurney—and stops cold.

"Fuck," he mutters, already moving again. "Trauma Five."

Dana catches sight of her. "Is it—?"

"Yeah," Robby breathes. "It’s her."

It's been four months since Robby last saw you. That last time, you’d had another episode, but he was buried in patients and never made it to your bedside before you were discharged. He knows you’ve been avoiding him — ever since you decided it was better to end things before either of you got in too deep.

Robby’s known you since his early years of residency. It was your first episode, and though he wasn’t the one to take your case, he sat beside you anyway — waited until you woke up, and offered you hospital pudding, the only decent food in the place. He didn’t know why he stayed, not really, but when your eyes finally opened and he saw how scared you were, unsure of where you were or what had happened, he was glad he had. And so were you.

You're stable. Vitals steady. There's nothing to worry about now — you just have to wake up. And Robby's been at your side the whole time, not moving an inch. He’s making sure you don’t slip away this time. Not again.

Robby sighs, his hand wrapped gently around yours. He remembers when the two of you first started flirting — how you used to call him the handsome doctor with sad eyes, and how he’d call you sweetheart. Because you were. Still are, at least to him.

There were moments when he nearly broke — when the weight of it all pressed too hard, when he couldn’t see the point, couldn’t see the light. He was ready to quit, ready to fuck all, walk out of this hellhole and never look back. But then he'd go to see you. And somehow, you were always there—willing to listen, to take in all his mess, his flaws.

Even with everything you were going through, you still smiled. Still lit up the room. You were his light. You still are.

Then Robby finally worked up the nerve to ask you out. Years later. You were—unfortunately—hospitalized again, but the silver lining was that it gave him the chance to ask if you’d be his girlfriend. You said yes, gleefully.

The two of you went on a few dates, sweet and slowly getting to know each other. But after a few months, reality started to sink in. You realized Robby couldn’t have a normal relationship with you. Your condition wouldn’t allow it — no roller coasters, no jump-scare horror movies, no late-night parties that bled into sunrise. None of the reckless, youthful things a guy his age was supposed to enjoy.

And Robby said he didn’t care. Said he didn’t mind missing out. But you’d heard him turn down one too many party invitations, brush off plans with friends like they were nothing.

You told him to go, insisted you were fine on your own. But he always chose you instead. Always.

You were grateful, truly. But the guilt sat heavy in your chest. You couldn’t help but wonder if one day, he’d start to resent you for it.

That's when you broke up with him.

Robby lifts his head when he feels the faint twitch of your fingers. You’re stirring, slowly adjusting to the harsh hospital lighting as a groan escapes your throat.

"Hey," Robby calls out gently, "How are you feeling?"

You shift and can finally see who's hovering above you. The earthy, woody smell lets you know it's Robby right away. "Hey Robby."

"Hey sweetheart."

You want to scold him for calling you that, but you're still tired to do so.

"I'm here." He whispers.

And you look at him—really look at him—and wonder why he’s still doing this. Why he won’t let himself be happy. There are plenty of women out there who could give him everything he deserves. A simple life, a normal one. The kind that doesn’t come with unnecessary emergency room visits and fear tucked beneath every smile.

But he’s here. Still choosing you.

"You've been avoiding me."

"That, I have." You smile, guilty.

"And I'm still here for you. Always will."

"Robby—"

"Rest." He kisses your temple. "You're still recovering. We'll talk about this later."

You sigh as he steps out.

You're dischared a few hours later, and you try to sneak out without Robby catching you, but of course that's impossible.

As soon as you’re done changing and ease the door open, you bump right into a solid chest, and you hold your breath, knowing it's Robby. You don’t even have to look up to know his arms are crossed.

"Just gonna leave again?" He asks, visibly upset.

You wince and glance up at him, already forming some half-hearted excuse. "I didn’t want to make a scene."

"This isn’t a scene," he says. "This is me trying to talk to you. Something you’ve been avoiding for months."

You sigh and glance away, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. "Robby, don’t—"

"No. You don’t get to do that again," he cuts in, softer than you expect, but firm. "You don’t get to almost die, make me sit here all night thinking I’m going to lose you, and then walk out like none of it happened."

Your throat tightens. "It’s not fair to you."

"And you think just standing back, watching you go through this alone, not being able to hold you after—it’s somehow better?" His voice cracks. "You’re the reason I lose sleep, and the only thing that makes any of this feel worth it. That’s what you are to me."

You swallow hard, your gaze locked with his.

"Why won't you let yourself be happy?" Robby asks, and it hits you like a gut punch—for a second, you almost laugh at the irony.

You let out a breath. A long, shaky thing that trembles in your chest.

"It’s not that I don’t want to be happy," you say quietly. "I just… I don’t want you to end up hating me."

Robby flinches like the words hit harder than he expected.

You press on, voice barely holding steady. "People don’t stay. They try, at first. They say it doesn’t matter. That they can handle it. But then it gets hard—too hard. And they leave. And I get it, I really do. But I can’t watch you do that. I don’t think I’d survive it."

He’s silent for a moment, taking in everything you've said.

"I’m not them," he says. "I’ve seen what this looks like. The good days, the terrifying ones. I’ve been here for all of it. And I didn’t stay out of pity, or because I felt obligated—I stayed because I wanted to. Because I care about you in a way that doesn’t vanish when things get hard."

"So let me take care of you, okay?" His forehead nearly touches yours. "Let me be the one who’s there after nights like this. The one who holds you when it’s hard. I’m not here for the easy parts. I’m here for all of it."

"Are you sure?" Your eyes blur with tears, but you don’t look away. "Because I really don't want you to regret this—"

"Oh my god—"

Robby can't take it anymore and pulls you to him. The kiss is slow, making up for years of aching and near-misses. His hand cradles the back of your neck like you might vanish if he lets go, and you press closer, grounding yourself in him.

When you finally part, you're both a little breathless, foreheads touching.

"I’d rather fight for you than ever wonder what it would’ve been like to love you all the way."

[littlemillersbaby]

request: Hi lovely person ! Could I request an angst to fluff piece with Joel miller? So I was thinking.. we always see Dbf! Joel smut, but I would really like something angsty with that trope. Maybe something along the lines of the reader and Joel being together in secret because you know being scared of judgment because of the age gap and stuff and not the father finding out. But then there's this woman, more to Joel's age coming into the picture, making reader insecure thinking she's not enough and too young and naive but in the end all turns out good? I'm a sucker for angst loll" word count: 1,2k warnings: cursing!

you were supposed to be past this by now. the self-doubt. the little pinpricks of anxiety you never used to feel before joel. the kind that bloom right in your chest; it hadn’t always been this bad. at the start, it had been electric—hiding, sneaking, the way his hands used to shake the first time he touched you like he couldn’t believe what he was doing. what you were letting him do.

but that was when it was new. now it’s just uncertain.

you came home early. you tell yourself you’re doing it to surprise him, but deep down, it’s selfish. you missed him, wanted to see him and hear that voice all rough and possessive. you were gonna kiss his neck and make him groan like he always does when you wrap your arms around his middle from behind.

but, once you get there, the front door’s already open. maybe he forgot to close it all the way? no way not joel.

within that small moment of you questioning why the door was open, you hear his sweet laugh and a woman’s voice.

you freeze in the entryway, sneakers still on, keys tight in your hand. you see them before they see you.

he was in the kitchen, leaning on the island like he lives here. it’s an image you always love—him comfortable in your house. like it’s his too. but next to him is her. she’s got one elbow on the counter, her whole body tilted toward him, her legs crossed while she’s laughing at something he just said, flipping her shiny brown hair off her shoulder with practiced ease.

your throat goes dry seeing him grin widely at her..he was yours for fucks sake.

your feet move before your brain decides where to go. you make a little too much noise, keys clattering on the hallway table, and the door clicks harder behind you than it should. you know you should smile. a joke, maybe? just say something.

joel turns around fast at the sound.

“hey, baby,” he says, but it’s careful, like he’s trying to read your mood before you’ve even said a word. he straightens up, steps away from the island.

the woman turns to you too. she’s prettier up close, older too. just right..like if he wasn’t with you, she’d be the natural fit. not your frayed little heart that’s too young to have any right wanting something this serious.

“hi,” you say, and it’s clipped and fake.

you try not to look at him. because you know if you do, it’ll all show. how suddenly, irrationally fucking insane your brain’s gotten.

joel must see it anyway, because his eyes narrow, not angry. just—watching, somewhat worried. the older woman pushes off the counter, smoothly. “i should head out,” she says, glancing at joel. “thanks for the help. you’re a lifesaver.”

joel nods, kind of tight-lipped now. “no problem. let me know if it doesn’t start again.” she smiles at you on the way past. you can’t bring yourself to return it. your face feels frozen in place.

joel waits until the door clicks behind her before he speaks.

“you good?” you’re still standing by the entryway, arms crossed like you were cold.

“who was that?” you ask, and it comes out cooler than you meant.

he runs a hand through his hair, sighs, steps toward you, rushing out the words. “her name’s elena. neighbor’s cousin. she’s in town for a bit; had some car trouble.”

you blink at his simple explanation. “oh.”

he studies you. “okay darlin', what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours?”

you almost laugh—but it’s bitter and sharp in your throat.

you walk past him toward the living room, not sure what you’re doing. you feel stupid, childish, pathetic. and still—you can’t stop. it’s gnawing at you. inside your chest, inside your bones.

you don’t sit down, just turn to face him.

“nothing. just…she’s pretty and normal. and probably not some big secret.”

he flinches. “what the hell does that mean?”

you wrap your arms tighter around yourself. “you know what it means. i’m the one you sneak around with. the one you don’t talk about. and then i walk in and you’re laughing with her like..like you’re not ashamed to be seen with her.”

his jaw works, tightens, then softens again.

“ashamed?” he echoes, incredulous. “is that what you think this is?”

you don’t answer. you just keep going because now that you’ve started it, it’s like you can’t stop. every thought you’ve shoved down in the last few months starts rising like bile in your throat.

“sometimes i just wonder how long this’ll last, you know? how long before you realize i’m too much or not enough. that this is all some dumb phase and you’re just waiting for a reason to bail. like maybe you wake up one day and look at me and wonder what the fuck you’re doing wasting time with some girl barely out of college who still calls her dad to ask how to fix her tires.”

joel walks to you, leans over you in an endearing manner. “hey..hey..look at me.”

you don’t want to. your eyes are wet and you feel like an idiot. but he cups your face in both hands, rough thumbs brushing your cheeks, and you have no choice.

he leans down, rests his forehead against yours.

“i love you,” he says. “i’m not goin’ anywhere. and don’t you ever—ever—talk about yourself like that again.”

your lip trembles as his grip tightens.

“you think i don’t wish i could take you everywhere? shout it from the rooftops that you’re mine? i do, baby. every fuckin’ day. i just…” he sighs, jaw clenching again. “i worry, alright? i know how people see me. old enough to know better. and you? you’re this bright, gotdamn beautiful thing, and i don’t wanna drag you down into all my mess.”

you shake your head, fast, angry now. “you don’t get to decide that for me, joel.”

he smiles fondly, even with the tension thick between you.

“i know. you keep remindin’ me. but this? this ain’t a fling. you’re not some secret i’m ashamed of. you’re the best thing in my life, i swear.”

you swallow. “then why does it feel like you’re always waiting for it to fall apart?”

he pulls you in—both arms around you, holding you so tight it aches. his lips press to your hair.

“’cause i don’t deserve you. but i’m selfish enough to keep you anyway.”

you squeeze your eyes shut, burying your face in his chest.

his voice rumbles in your ear. “you’re not too young. you’re not too much. you’re not anything but exactly what i want. every second. every day.”

you’re quiet a long time. his hand strokes your back comforting you.

“you smiled at her,” you whisper. “like it was easy to do.”

he leans back, just enough to look at you. “and you smile at bartenders when they spell your name right on your smoothies. doesn’t mean you wanna fuck ‘em.”

you snort against your will.

he grins. “see? there she is.”

you wrap your arms around his waist and hold on tight.

“i hate how much i love you,” you mumble into his shirt.

“nah,” he mutters, kissing your temple. “you love how much you love me.”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t let go. and never will.

special tags: @inbred-eater , @wintfleur , @lowrisemiller

[emisluvr]

I love your work so much I always come to your account to see when you post!!

I have a request🤤

jake and reader are at some kind of party, Jake getting jealous since reader is talking to a guy Jake doesn’t like (?) which causes an argument when they got home, like makeup sex

(So sorry if this is long I have no idea how to describe this 😭💔)

thank youu sm anon i'm glad you enjoy my stuff! 🤍 and don't worryy i know exactly what you mean hehe i love love love this thought

✧ tw. smut (18+ mdni!), jake is jealous asf, unprotected p in v, explicit language

you and jake were gracefully invited to a party by one of your close friends. what was supposed to be a night of chatting and having a few drinks turned into something more...

something both you and jake were at fault for.

a random guy approached you, making conversation—nothing weird or alarming, just normal, playful talk. but did that sit right with jake, who was eyeing you and the guy from across the room? nope.

it didn’t take him long before he dragged you out of the bustling party, making a poorly thought-out excuse to leave as he drove you both home. in silence.

the minute you got home, to no one’s surprise, an argument erupted between you two. raw feelings spilled out, a messy mix of jealousy, possessiveness, and worry tangled in his brain while you tried to calm him down, explaining it wasn’t anything close to what he thought.

sure, the fight was heated, but instead of staying mad, he fucked you with all the built-up passion and desperation.

"y-you’re mine, fuck.. you know that?" jake groaned, fingers digging into your thighs as your legs were thrown over his shoulders, his cock stretching your walls beneath him.

"m-mhm.." you managed, hands scrambling to grip anything for support, certain you’d fall apart right then and there. how could you not? his cock was hungry for you, and it showed.

the way it painfully but perfectly dragged along your tight walls, how it twitched whenever you clenched around him.

"jakey, need to cum," you whined, hand reaching over to rub your sensitive clit, desperate to speed up the orgasm you were chasing.

"me too, baby, f-uck," his voice cracked. he pulled out just in time for his cum to drip down the back of your thighs, while yours seeped out, spilling down on the sheets beneath you.

© emisluvr 2025. all rights reserved.

[writeriguess]

Okay, first of all, I ADORE your writing! You just GET the characters, and I seriously look up to you. You even made me wanna write Bakugo again, and I thought I was past that phase. Anyway, is it weird to request a fanfic of a fanfic? Because I cannot write smut to save my life. No pressure at all, but I wrote Bakugo with an unhinged, lovestruck reader who’s always trying to win him over while he pretends not to care (but totally does). They end up together, and I’d love a fic where reader tries to surprise him with something sexy in her usual chaotic way. He’s surprised, laughs, but ultimately goes along with it because, well, that’s why he loves her. Some fluffy, comedic smut, if you’re up for it. But if not, no worries at all. Just wanted to shoot my shot!

Laced with Chaos

Katsuki Bakugo has been dealing with your bullshit for a long time.

It started with the relentless, borderline concerning pursuit. Grand declarations of love in public places. Handmade gifts that ranged from endearing to downright dangerous. A once-a-week habit of sneaking into his agency, just to throw him finger guns and whisper "call me, Dynamight" before security dragged you out.

And, to be fair, you did eventually win him over.

He’d begrudgingly fallen for the way your chaotic energy filled every room you entered, how you never took his attitude personally, how you loved him so unapologetically he didn’t stand a chance. It had been inevitable. Unavoidable. His fate, whether he liked it or not.

Still, if there was one thing he should have expected by now, it was that you’d never stop being a walking, talking, sexier-than-you-had-any-right-to-be problem.

Which is why, when he comes home from patrol and finds you standing in the bedroom doorway, draped in sheer black lace, holding what appears to be a homemade whip crafted out of shoelaces and a broken phone charger—he nearly drops his duffel bag.

“…The fuck?”

Your grin is dazzling. “Welcome home, Dynamight. Hope you’re ready for a night of debauchery and sin.”

Oh god. You’re doing a voice.

He squints, stepping closer. "The hell is on your head?"

It’s a DIY lace veil, of course. Because of course you’d take it that extra step.

"Do you like it?" You wiggle your shoulders in what he thinks is supposed to be a seductive manner. "I thought I’d spice things up, you know? Give you a night to remember. Make all your dirtiest fantasies come true."

Bakugo drags a hand down his face. "Why do I feel like you're about to hit me with a theme?"

“Because I am,” you say brightly. "I call this... The Fallen Angel: A Tale of Lust and Damnation.”

He chokes. "A tale—?!"

"You found me, broken and longing," you continue, as if you didn’t just give him an aneurysm. "Cast from the heavens for the crime of loving too hard.” A pause. Then, seriously, “And maybe also tax fraud. But mostly love.”

He wants to die. He wants to walk into the ocean and never come back.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "What the fuck am I listening to right now?"

"A story, Katsuki," you say with conviction. "Our story. One of passion, redemption, and—"

"I'm gonna stop you right there." He sighs heavily, tossing his duffel onto the floor. "Where’d you even get that outfit?"

You gesture grandly to the bed. “Oh, I made it.”

Bakugo looks.

There, in a heap of suffering, lies a pile of butchered lingerie. Expensive-looking lace bras that have been haphazardly cut into strange, asymmetrical shapes. A pair of fishnets with the crotch completely obliterated (why). And, off to the side, a sewing kit he knows you have no idea how to use.

His eye twitches. “Babe."

“Yeah?”

“…Is that superglue?”

“Maybe.”

He prays for patience. “Why?”

“Because stitches take too long.”

He closes his eyes. Counts to five. Opens them again. "You glued yourself into your own outfit?"

You lift your chin. "Wouldn't be the first time."

He stares at you. You stare back.

Then, slowly—so painfully slowly—Bakugo exhales, and a grin twitches at the corner of his lips.

And that’s when you know.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, stepping closer, hands pressed to your heart. “Are you laughing?”

His jaw clenches. “No.”

"You are."

“Shut up.”

"You love me."

He grabs you, hauls you into his arms, and throws you onto the bed before you can gloat any further. You squeal, but it immediately turns to a giggling mess as he lands on top of you, pinning you beneath his weight.

“Listen,” he says, voice low, fingers curling beneath your chin. “You wanna be a fuckin’ menace? Fine. But you do not have to DIY your damn lingerie, dumbass.”

You pout up at him, thoroughly unrepentant. “But I wanted to make it special.”

His thumb brushes your bottom lip. His eyes darken. “…Tch. The only thing special about this is the fact that you haven’t glued yourself shut.”

You bat your lashes at him. “Would you still hit it if I did?”

He barks a laugh, loud and rough and real, before dragging his teeth over your neck. “Don’t test me, idiot.”

You shiver, tilting your head, giving him more access. “You’re not mad?”

He nips at your skin, soothing the sting with his tongue. “Nah.”

Your heart soars. “So you do like it—”

He bites you harder, shutting you up with a sharp gasp. “Don’t push it.”

You whimper, squirming beneath him. His hands slide down your sides, slipping beneath the sham of a lace bodysuit you’ve trapped yourself in, and—

—rrrRIIIIP!

You gasp. "Bakugo!"

"What?" He grins, teeth sharp, voice smug. “Just helpin’ you out, babe. Ain't like you're gettin' outta this thing on your own.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

Then, finally—“…Hot.”

He laughs again, this time softer, and presses his forehead to yours. “You drive me crazy,” he mutters. “But fuck if I don’t love the shit outta you.”

And then—well.

You do end up making it a night to remember.

Just… maybe not the way you originally planned.

[maidragoste]

A part 2 to Worry? Maybe one where the reader and Frank take the boys on beach vacation after he is clean and sober form rehab and became an attending in the ED. The reader could also tell Frank she is pregnant with a baby girl…

Hi Anon, thank you so much for your request!. I'm so happy that someone is interested in Frank and this reader. I hope you like it, even if it's shorter than the first part.

As I always say, please don't hesitate to like, comment, and reblog. The interactions always motivate me to keep writing 🥰🥰💖💖

If you have any ideas, questions or headcanons you want to share, my inbox is always open 🤗💖

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

I hope you have a good reading!

You were sitting under the umbrella, watching with a smile as Frank played with the boys, pretending to be a sea monster while they splashed water at him, trying to scare him away. Minutes earlier, you were also playing with them until you started feeling dizzy while picking up Luke, your youngest son, so you decided to take a break.

Your eyes met your husband's blue ones. You knew he was worried about you, so much so that he almost canceled the beach trip, but you insisted that you were feeling fine because you didn't want to miss this day. You had planned it after Frank had completed another month clean, besides the kids were too excited and you didn't want to miss the opportunity to go to the beach, with Frank's job who knows when you'd have time to do it again? So this morning, you did your best to calm your nausea and tiredness. Carrying baby number three is really tiring you out. You still haven't told your husband about your pregnancy so he thinks you're just going to contrast the same thing Tanner had a week ago when he got infected by one of his schoolmates.

Frank must have seen something on your face because it's not even a minute before he calls the boys seriously and speaks to them briefly. You assume he's telling them not to get too carried away and to stay where you two can see them, before starting to trot over to you. He sits down next to you.

"Are you okay?" he asks, hugging you. You can't help but smile when his hand rests on your belly. Maybe he subconsciously knows? Or does he know but is waiting for you to tell him yourself?

"I'm fine," you assure him, placing a kiss on his shoulder.

“Are you sure? Your face is lacking color, and you're still tired,” your husband insists, worried. “We can go back to the beach another time. Your health is more important to me. We can stop by the hospital for a quick checkup.”

You decided to nip your husband's concern in the bud. You didn't want him to start running through the worst-case scenarios. Today was supposed to be a fun, relaxing day.

“Frank,” you placed your hand over the one he had on your belly. “It's nothing serious, baby three is just making me tired.”

Your husband's eyes widened in surprise, and a moment later, a big smile appeared on his face before he launched into your kiss. You could feel in his kiss all the infinite love he had for you and the family you were forming. You felt happy.

"Fuck, I love you," Frank said, breaking away from your lips and resting his forehead against yours. "I love you. I'm so lucky to have you and the boys, and now you're going to make me a father again. Thank you for giving me everything. Thank you for choosing me." As he continued, both his eyes and yours glazed over with emotion.

"I'll always choose you," you gave him a quick kiss. "I love you."

"I love you more," he declared, caressing your belly. "I hope it's a girl this time," he admitted, imagining a mini you following him everywhere.

“I can already see you having tea parties with her,” you smiled at the image of a little girl with your husband’s blue eyes asking for a tea party.

“I can’t wait,” he kissed your forehead, and hearing the children’s laughter, his eyes returned to the sea. “Do you think they’ll accept the idea of ​​being older siblings?”

“Let’s hope so.”

[tinyraptorhands]

Pro Hero, Pro Mama, No Problem pt. 11

((MDNI-We smuttin' it up in the cluuuurrb))

He held you that night tightly. Woke up with you when Katsumi did. Watched you quietly nurse her, you laying on your side on the bed, Katsumi nursing at your breast. He stroked her tufts of hair, his eyes gentle.

This was the Katsuki you would rarely see nowadays. The soft, reverent side. It stirred something in you.

You knew that tonight wouldn't be appropriate.

No, tonight-you would just absorb his love. And love in return with your head on his chest, his heart beneath your ear.

Your hand laid on his chest, and his hand laced with yours.

"...I need help. I think." He whispered in the dark, voice uncertain. You hummed in response. It was...hard for him to admit it. You knew that.

"I'll ask Naomi for any recommendations." You said.

He let out a grunt. You snuggled into him deeper. "...That probably took alot of courage to admit, huh?" You said softly. He clicked his tongue.

"Oi. Don't patronize me." He mumbled, no real malice behind his words.

"I'm not. I'm acknowledging it." You said, "I know you. Admitting you needed help...you don't like it, do you?"

A beat of silence.

"...No. I don't." He said, holding you a little tighter.

"Okay, then there you go." You said simply. You sat up, looking at him with soft, sad eyes. "...Feels like we're drowning, doesn't it?"

He looked away, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Yeah...I guess." He looked up at you. "...Don't look like that."

"Like what?" Your knees tucked into your chest.

"Like you're pitying me."

"I'm not." You said simply.

There was silence. You felt his hand slipping over your waist, and then a slow tug. You followed it, landing back against his chest. He moved you, spooning you. You looked up over your shoulder.

His eyes looked soft. Vulnerable.

And yet...

"Katsuki." You said his name under your breath, and he responded.

With a kiss. It started soft.

Slow.

Not like him.

Until he began to deepen it, jaw moving against your own. You reached behind his head, cupping his nape. His hands wandered to your breasts, fondling them gently, careful not to pinch your nipples too hard.

You could feel his arousal against your ass, growing and throbbing. You knew you probably shouldn't give in.

But you loved him, and it had been so, so long since you got any pleasure. You had always made it about him.

Mainly out of worry.

Worry he wouldn't like what he saw anymore. Worry you would be too loose. Too different 'down there'.

But it was dark. And he felt so good.

So right.

You felt him move his hand away from one of your breasts, and hear the sound of his sweatpants against the sheets. In all of a few seconds, you heard the gentle slap of his cock against your upper thigh-

"Fuck, sorry-" he cursed, grabbing himself to move it away.

"No, no you're...you're good." You said quickly. "You..." you moved slightly, rubbing your ass against him. "...you're good."

I want it, too.

You said it without words. You felt his chest stutter.

"Okay...yeah..." he said softly against your ear. His hand went back to your breast, and the other slipped under your panties. He trailed his hand down your soft mound, and tucked his index and middle finger under your folds, to your clit.

"Oh!" You gasped, flinching. He chuckled, voice gravely.

"Y'got sensitive." He smirked against your shoulder. "Y'haven't let me at this pretty girl for months, have you?" The vibrating of his voice in his chest against you made your slit weep.

Of course he noticed that. "Damn." He slid his fingers down, your cunt was embarrassingly wet. You could hear his fingers slide against it, the wet squelching of him working your clit, bringing up your slick over it. "...Damn, you...really are wet." He huffed. You whimpered as he worked you gently.

He took his time.

You reached behind you, using both your hands to run your fingers through his hair. It was the only thing you could do in your current position. Your head turned, your lips brushing his ear. "Kats..." you moaned, voice barely above a whisper.

He grunted. "Mm. Yeah. 'Got you, pretty." He murmured, his hand going down slightly to your opening. You bent your one leg open, and hooked it around his hip. He teased your opening, eyes lowered. He kissed your shoulder softly. "...I got ya."

He slipped a finger in.

Oh.

You winced. You hadn't put anything in there. Not since...

Well.

He noticed you flinch. "You good? I only put in a finger-"

"Keep going." You choked out. "Just...gotta get used to it all again, y'know?"

He hummed an affirmative. He went only in with the first two knuckles of his finger. You felt it crook, stroking the softer spongy part inside you. You took shallow breaths. "Is it that painful?" He asked quietly. You shook your head.

"Forgot what...this felt like."

And truely, you did. For all the times you two were intimate, you hadn't let him near your pussy. Not even when he would try, like that time all those months ago-when he helped you with your engorged breasts.

You just willed the pleasure away, and concentrated on his own.

Hoping he wouldn't ask to see. To feel.

And now...

"Yeah...I know." He said, voice sounding strained. "...y'wanna let me in, tonight?"

Yes.

"...I do." You whispered. You felt his cock twitch against your ass with newfound vigor.

He nodded against your shoulder. He moved himself slightly, and you turned around, facing him. "Lazy sex, huh?" He teased.

"Lazy sex." You smirked.

He reached for your oversized sleep shirt, and took it off gently. He didnt waste time, grasping your breasts. He dove his head into them, moaning. "Fuck..." you heard his muffled voice. You chuckled.

"Really? They look like two panca-" you yipped, feeling his teeth graze a nipple and pinch the other.

"Go ahead," he said, a warning, "finish that sentence." His head raised, looking into your eyes.

Oh.

Needless to say, you didn't.

"Now...shut up. Let me enjoy my damn wife." He huffed, head diving back into your cleavage.

Well. Can't argue with a starving man.

You arched your back and gasped when you felt him lick your one nipple, the other teased by his fingers. "Katsuki," you warned. He moaned.

"I know, don't care." He groaned.

Let down was a bitch.

Horny let down was another thing all together. Your breasts dripped lazily, and like the greedy bastard he could be, he lapped it up voraciously. You whined.

"So messy..."

He chuckled darkly. "You love it." He leaned back, looking at your streaming tits.

His grin was feral. He looked down at you, and hooked his fingers into the hem of your panties. "Gonna take these off, pretty mama."

Fuck.

That was a new nickname.

You found yourself whimpering as he did, a fat string of your arousal clung to the crotch of your panties as he pulled them off. He smirked, proud he could still get you that wet. He flung them to the sided.

"Want my fingers still, or my-"

"Cock." You said quickly, "gimmie your cock. Just...go slow." You clutched the bedsheets underneath you, spreading your legs for him. He moved forward, slotting himself between them.

"Fuck, when you talk like that..." he took himself in his hand, running his leaking head in between your slick folds, "makes me think of our first time."

You arched your back slightly, the stimulation making you whimper. He chuckled, voice thick with lust. "You remember our first time? Back in U.A.?"

He began to reminisce as he slowly pushed the tip in, "we were in my dorm," an inch in, you gasped at the tight feeling. "You...nngh...you were tight just like this, too. Wearing your uniform....fuckin' lifted your skirt up..." another few inches, painfully slow. You moaned, your hips canted forward as your legs locked around him. He grunted, feeling your pussy flutter around them. "You like it, like it when I talk about how...fuckin' hot it was?" He said, voice choked as he lowered his hands, grabbing your sticky tits roughly. You whimpered at the feeling, back arching into his hands.

"Uh...uh huh..." you gasped, his last girthy inch in your womanhood.

You both panted. "Goddamn...feels like I'm back in heaven again." He smirked, looking into your eyes. "...let me know when you want me to move...alright?" His hands moved to the side of your head, and you grabbed his wrists to ground yourself. His back bowed slightly. "...You're so pretty like this, mama." He murmured, eyes suddenly soft. You blushed.

"...Don't...say stuff like that." You bit your lip, feeling your body respond. He hissed, feeling your cunt clench.

"Kinda hard not to, when you react like that." He swallowed, throat bobbing.

You blushed harder. He smiled.

"That, too. Y'made that face, too. Told me I was big...makin' you full..."

You remembered. You were both two awkward 18 year olds, virgins without any idea what you both were doing. You huffed a little laugh.

"You are big." You teased, and you slowly moved your hips up. You both gasped, and he shuddered. You felt him twitch inside you.

"Guess that means you're good, huh?" He grunted, and you nodded.

"Yeah, just...remember to go slow..." you whimpered.

He was gentle. Unhurried.

He thrust against you softly, all while muttering soft curses. You met his thrusts with your own after a while, the sound of your sweat slick skin hitting his own making you wetter. You trailed your hands up his bare torso, feeling the dips and bumps of his hero-honed muscles. He sat up, grasping your hips. "Need ta' go faster, pretty..." he moaned. "Please...'' he said hoarsely. "Let me-"

"Yeah...yeah, please...faster!" You whined. He let out a guttural moan, and began to thrust deeper, pressing your knees to your ears in a mating press. His cockhead was hitting your cervix, making you see white.

"Kats! M'gonna-!" You keened, and he moaned.

"Let go, let go, pretty girl..." he moaned into your ear.

A wash of pure pleasure overcame you, and you moaned low. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, fluttering as your head threw back. Like a second heartbeat, your orgasm pulsed erratically, making your cunt squeeze like a vice around your husband's thick cock.

He felt every bit, his movements becoming sloppy. "Fuck, fuck that's it...Oh fuck, (y/n)!" He suddenly withdrew himself, spurting hot white cum on your tummy. He cried out, a strangled noise as he fisted his member, dripping onto your soft tummy. He panted, letting go of himself. "....God....fuck, that felt amazing..."

You looked down at his softening cock. "Y-yuh..." your words slurred. He chuckled, tapping himself on your tummy.

"Gotta do that again." He smiled softly. You blushed.

"...Yeah, we do."

"With the lights on, next time." He added. You flinched. "Don't think I don't know what you're thinking."

You sighed. He was right.

"Okay, okay." You huffed.

Next time.

Next time.

And when he helped you clean up and situate yourselves back in bed, you felt just a little like things would be okay.

Better.

Like it would all go back to normal.

Whatever normal would be.

[chondrichthyes-x-mantodea]

Bit of a rant on "baby trapping"

on here again to ask yall something. What the fuck is baby trapping, and when has it ever happened via force on a man?

Every single time, I bring up something like rape and forced reproduction and how it is a target ON WOMEN, People always have to bring up poor poor male victims. When I talk about how false accusations are a very rare occurrence, people tell me "no I've seen it." "No, I knew a guy. ".... as if they most likely didn't just write the possibility off. And the same thing goes with this "baby trapping" shit. "Oh, women will purposefully get pregnant and trap a man with a baby!!!!" Literally when? Because last time I checked men do that to WOMEN. There's literally a name for the act of secretly removing a condom during sex (stealthing). Not to mention the social dynamic of fathers vs mothers.

But I saw a post on threads today of a man saying that "a woman lying about being on contraception to """get herself pregnant""" should be a crime"

.... so first, let's take note of the irony. "Get herself pregnant" even in the case of their own victim fantasy, they prove that they see this act as one-sided. Sorry but thats funny as shit to me. Wahhhhhh women are abusing men *words it as something that only effects her*. Even in this world where they're supposedly hurting more from baby trapping, they are only connected via association and ownership of said woman.

Second, if this was a real issue, you'd be advocating for male birth control. But you aren't lmfao. Recently I read a study that showed around 80% of an increase in young women developing cancer. Of course, the male doctor chalked this up to delayed childbirth and weight, but I know the truth. It's hormonal birth control, I'm certain. Screaming and crying about how women lie about being on a pill that is most likely causing exponential growth in cancer risk while you have condoms is the most male thing I've ever heard of. And really, why would she need to be on birth control? To fulfill your breeding kink (because all men have one) of needing to ejaculate in a woman? Because you see that as some form of domination? And I'm supposed to feel pity for you in this fantasy of men being forced into fatherhood? If you're that worried, wear the condom that has 0 health issues connected to it. But of course, the comments were full of men screaming about how women would sabotage the condoms.... be fr. I can't even word that part right now. Men think in such a convoluted way, they make such a maze out of simple concepts by picking and choosing which situation benefits them most. Loophole galore in their logic. But it makes sense, the whole world is a male narrative, their delusion is fact.

And finally, this is all not taking into account the way we socially handle parenthood. Its actually taking this topic and throwing it out the fucking window. 80 percent of single parents are women. Upon looking at child support statistics, they really REALLY want you to believe mothers don't pay child support as much as fathers.... but who is fucking staying with the kid 80 percent of the time? This is what I mean by male narrative always trying to make themselves the victims. Custodial fathers recieve less payment, but they make up all of 20 percent of single parents. I guess women just don't know how to abandon children the right way. And even so, men are the ones constantly crying about how child support is inhumane. Women are not making money off child support, the cost of raising a child is much higher mentally and financially.

The whole child support and single parent dilemma don't even account for social perception. Mothers are chained to children by the fucking ankle. From birth, women are raised to be big sopping emotional messes when it comes to babies. Mothers have to revolve their whole identity around emotionally catering children. Most fathers do in this culture is stand there and watch a woman care for "his offspring." If you think a woman would risk pregnancy (in this day and age with our politics and health care) and raise a child to get some fucking money, you're delusional. I feel like most of this argument stems from mens lack of understanding of how laborious parenthood actually is. A woman would not be benefitting from this. Her identity, her social life, her finance, her ability to get a job..... that's not a benefit on her. Especially when men aren't pressured to be there for a woman. Tell me, is it common practice for a man to go to OBGYN appointments with his partner? Is it encouraged? No. WHAT IS THERE TO BENEFIT FROM. On the other hand, men have always trapped women with children. Women are taught to care for their kids, and we are paid less. But no, something that happened to a man once is actually worse than when it happened to women when they couldn't even own a bank account.

TLDR: I think men are coming to terms with responsibility and parts of reproduction where they are susceptible and inferior. This is the same shit as the men pissing themselves over not having a say on abortion.... KEEP YOUR CUM IN YOUR BODY. It is not oppressive for you to not be able to cum inside a woman and fufill a fetish without worry. How tone deaf to think thats an issue for YOU while abortion is outlawed. If you are relying on her and need her to be your little sex toy, compromising her health for your ability to squirt inside her and go, then you deserve to be "baby trapped" (aka. Have to pay 200 dollars a month while she raises a whole child).

[royhasissues]

Spoilers for episode 60 of Once Upon a Witchlight

I appreciate Gricko trying to make something happen between him and Morganthel (?) Mikey's like, "We need another Bloody Toes."

It's canon to me that Gid and Kevin Bacon had history. Kremy was too upset about him still talking to Kevin for any other explanation. Also, that Kevin kept hanging around the Strong Man booth. Now why would he do that...? (I'm gonna write Kevin Bacon/Gid fanfic /j)

I love the little pout Andy does when Torbek is upset. Frost was mean to him and he fucking sulks. I love you Torbek. (Frost giving Torbek one of the gems as an apology for being mean to him 👀)

So, this is the second time Gideon has made Frost cum...?

I love the sense of panic from Frost every time Frost comes down from a fey curse. He was worried he hurt Gideon :( His panic is always quickly passed by, as though his party doesn't seem to notice that he's upset. But, as we know, Frost is incredibly worried that they're going to dump him and hurting Gid would be a good way to do it...

I actually really like the thought that Kremy knows a lot about Frost. Kremy and Frost is a dynamic that isn't often explored and they tend to butt heads a lot. It's a cute thought of Frost and Kremy sitting down and just... talking. Kremy opens up a bit and Frost does too. Maybe they talk about their childhoods. To show that they are friends (at least as much as two emotionally repressed weirdos can be) and not just boss and employee.

Frost blink twice if you need someone to rescue you from this shitty friend group. Oh, I guess you don't have eyes

[lilousmustaches]

Bloody Nightmare

Warnings: Nightmares; Period; Blood.

Notes: So a fandom a day... how's that sound? I'm feeling creative and reexploring old fandoms (since i finished all Sebastian's fics LOL). I've always wanted to write some Levi but never got it right. Just thought about a little scene and it came to life. Enjoy!

Summary: Levi wakes up from a nightmare to an empty, bloody bed and you nowhere to be seen.

Levi’s dreams were never kind.

How could they be in this lifetime? For a long period he thought all he was destined to know was pain, blood and sorrow. He even avoided sleeping when he could. It was a waste of time and a vulnerability anyways… until you appeared.

He knew what were going to be the consequences of letting someone in. All the constant worry that was going to blind him, and yet, he let it happen. You didn’t give him much of a choice really. It started with desperates nights of lust and seek of comfort and before he could stop it, he found himself worrying a little bit more about of your safety in the battle field, saving food so you could eat properly, letting you pass the night in his quarters after both of you having fucked out the outside world worries.

Now, he couldn’t even remember the last time you didn’t sleep in his bed by his side.

He got used to having nightmares of losing you, knowing so damn well that now this was his biggest fear. But tonight they were brutal. Dangerously graphic. Dangerously vivid.

He was running through a haze of smoke and blood, the sky burning with titan foam. His boots slammed against cobblestones slick with something he didn’t want to identify. All he could hear was your voice - screaming. Not in pain, but in terror. And then he saw you. Limp in his arms, blood soaking through your Survey Corps’ uniform.

Your eyes wide and lifeless. Your mouth still moving, whispering his name one last time before everything went black.

He woke up gasping.

His heart was pounding, lungs desperate for air that refused to come. He sat up abruptly, sweat clinging to his skin. The sheets twisted around his legs like a trap.

“(Y/n)?” Levi murmured, his voice low and rough. His eyes slowly adapting to the dark ambience of his room only illuminated by the moonlight.

He frowned when there was no response.

Quickly his hands started searching the space beside him where you're supposed to be, and his heart, that was starting to calm down from the horrifying dream, increased its beating in an impressive speed.

Your spot was cold. Empty.

Then he saw a smear of dark red on the sheets making his breathing stop.

Blood.

“Shit.” Levi cursed getting out of the bed in seconds. The fear returned like a hammer to his chest. He took a breath, trying to think straight and scanned the room: your boots were still by the door, your jacket forgotten on the chair, the windows closed. No sign of a struggle. And also no sound. He wasn’t a heavy sleeper, he was sure that if something had happened, he would have woken up. Wouldn't he?

He moved fast, bare feet silent on the wooden floor as he stalked toward the bathroom’s door in his room. Levi only noticed a faint light spilled beneath it before barging into it, without knocking.

You faced each other with wide eyes, both confused for different reasons. You were sitting in the bathtub, steam curling around you, hair in a messy bun.

“What the hell happened?” His voice cracked, low and desperate. He stepped into the room without hesitation, kneeling beside the bathtub. Levi cupped your cheeks with his slightly shaky hands. “Are you hurt?”

“What?” You whispered, still confused about his sudden interruption of your bath. “What- Levi, no. I’m fine”

His eyebrows frowned slightly one more time and he started to scan your body to find answers. Any sight of injuries that could have caused the stain. He could see your naked body through the water tinged faintly pink but what really got his attention were your arms hugging your lower belly. Oh.

“You got your period.” Levi sighed when it finally clicked in his head. His shoulders went down partly relieved, partly annoyed with himself for not getting it sooner.

“I woke up with really bad cramps.” You explained almost timidly starting to understand your boyfriend’s reaction. “I swear I tried to clean up the mess I made, but I couldn't change the sheets while you were sleeping…”

“Tch.” He exhaled slowly, finally feeling his heartbeat go back to normal. Levi gave you a light kiss on the forehead, exhausted, before getting up and exiting the bathroom, giving you privacy.

You let out a soft sigh, leaning back into the bathtub as you let your heart rate settle. At first, you thought he might be annoyed with you but giving it a second though - you knew there was more to that.

After some last minutes enjoying the heat of the water, you gathered courage to step out, wrapping yourself in a towel. It was a surprise when you found the bedroom already stripped: bloodied sheets gone, mattress cleaned. Fresh linen already halfway done.

“You didn’t had to do that” You exclaimed softly and he snorted, like he was telling you to shut up. He finished tucking the corners with military precision (Or maybe it was just Levi’s methodical personality) and indicated you the clean clothes he had separated, folded in the chair. Panties, black sweatpants and one grey oversized long sleeved shirt of his. 

“Be right back.” He mumbled quietly passing through you, opening the front door of his bedroom that leaded to his office. You slowly got dressed still feeling some sharps pains in your stomach. Although it wasn’t like this subject was common among your girlfriends, through the years you eventually learned that you felt your period harder than the most. But honestly, considering all you went through in the daily Survey Corps’ routine, you always tried to not make this a big deal. You never even dared to say you were suffering from this little detail. 

Levi returned just when you sat on the bed, your back against the headboard, making yourself comfortable under the blanket. You noticed a steaming mug in his hand.

“Ginger tea.” He said simply handing you the mug. “Good for cramps.”

“How the fuck do you-“ You stopped mid phrase realizing that this was Levi. Of course he would know what to do. Of course he would know how to take care of you. “Thank you, darling.” 

The pet name, hardly never used in your relationship, slipped your lips before you could stop yourself. It felt appropriate to the feeling that warmed your chest when saw him being so careful towards you, a soft side of him that was reserved only for you. 

“Sure.” He nodded sleepy, not seeming to mind the use of the pet name. Levi sat down besides you, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back. He put his hand in your tight, starting to draw circles there with his thumb while you stayed quiet for some minutes, just appreciating the tea and the caress. 

“You had a nightmare,” You said gently, finally evoking the subject.  “You thought I was bleeding out.” 

You tried continuing when he stayed quiet and you saw his jaw tightened. 

“You were. In my dream. I couldn’t stop it. You were just… gone.” Levi admitted finally opening his eyes to stare at you. There were so much fragility in his grey eyes, that made your heart ache. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” You apologized letting the mug, now empty, in the headboard and moving your hand to squeeze his. You knew your reaction would be the same or worse if it was you that had woken up to an empty bloody bed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He looked down at your joined hands for a moment, before saying anything. 

“Don’t ever try to handle it alone again. Not if you’re in pain. Not if something’s wrong. I don’t care if it’s blood or a damn papercut. Wake me up.” Levi said with his usually hard unbothered expression, and you couldn’t stop from noticing the drops of authority tone he used. Captain’s voice. 

“I didn’t want to be a burden.” You admitted and his expression softened.

“You’re not. You never are.” 

“It happens every month, it’s not a big deal.” You brushed it off although his words were still lingering in your head. 

“No big deal but bleeds to the point of staining half of the bed and needing a hot bath to ease the pain.” He scoffs almost with a humorless laugh. “Inside of here you don’t need to hide these kind of things, (Y/N). Not from me.”

The honestly and urgency in his voice makes you stop. This man really did find his owns ways of saying ‘I love you’ to you everyday. You immediately put your hand in the back of his neck pulling him to a long chaste kiss, one that he happily accepted. 

“Brat.” He whisper with his lips still glued to yours, making you chuckle. “C’m here, let’s try to sleep, I’m tired.” 

He grumbled adjusting his position to lay in the bed, pulling you by your waist, connecting your back to his chest.

“I’m here.” You whispered reassuring him, pulling his hand to your lips, leaving a sightly kiss there. 

He squeezed carefully his hand in your belly, leaving it there in hope that his warm would make you feel a little better. 

His quiet way of saying he was there too.  

[loveriotss]

[ 🥐 ] LOVE ALLIANCE : ALLIANCE D'AMOUR ⸻ chapter 02 : PSYCH WARD | k.bakugo x gn! reader smau series

𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈 𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐆𝐎 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎.

no doubt. he had spent years putting in the effort to become one. the countless training, spars, exams and heck even a whole war had contributed into molding him into the man he is today. his friends too played a significant part in his life. taking care of him, spending time together, helping him in and out of hero duties and he might not admit it out loud, but he really appreciated them. he may not be the perfect hero but at least he was a good one?

so who the fuck thought it was funny to mess up his new car.

i mean, it wasn't that much of a problem, he had his beloved first car after all. that classy black porsche, according to denki kaminari.

he got a slipper to his face.

"what the hell man.. that hurt.." mumbled a tomato cheek denki, rubbing his face while clenching the slipper that was thrown at him, deciding whether he should throw it back or play it safe and not see the pearly white gates tonight.

katsuki paid no mind to his grumbles as he scrolled through his phone, scowling at the countless tweets that kept on erupting like a volcano. there were many different opinions on the whole situation but all in all, it made him seem like he was a lousy womanizer who can't keep it in his pants and is now facing the consequences.

how ridiculous. in all the years that katsuki has been a pro hero, not even once had he got together with anyone. sure there were a few dates here and there but that was purely out of either his mother's insistence or his friends setting him up on a surprise blind date. katsuki is not that rude so he would stay exactly 30 minutes, which he deemed a respectable time as to not offend his date, and then he'd be off.

but everyday, he'd find himself get roped into a dumb scandal. all baseless lies or twisted truths to feed the bored civilians at home.

"listen man, don’t worry! cheer up, i'm sure we can get your car cleaned up somewhere!" denki chirped in, interrupting katsuki's train of thought. he snatched katsuki's phone away and before he could get yelled at, placed a can of soda in his empty hand. 

the blonde sat next to him, swirling his own concoction around in his cup, before speaking. “look kats, don’t stress yourself over these rumors. i can already see your gray hairs growing,” he joked before continuing, “people will talk and lie but you just keep your head up, yeah? you’re an awesome hero who’s appreciated so don’t let these scandals torture your mind” denki said, nudging katsuki with his shoulders to which the red-eyed man hummed.

“..fuck, i know it’s just that, no matter how hard i try these people always find a way to ruin my name” katsuki scoffed, running his hand through his blonde tufts of hair. “just wish i could catch a fucking break” he mumbled before drinking down his soda.

“a break..” denki repeated, furrowing his eyebrows as he thought deeply, the gears in his head turning. “then.. why don’t we take one? take a break, i mean. honestly i can’t remember the last time i’ve gotten a well deserved break that was longer than a weekend” denki chirped, turning his body towards katsuki as his eyes glittered. “think about it, kats, a week, no, month long break? heroes are humans too, we need rest! you, me and the whole gang! let’s go on a trip!” he exclaimed excitedly, waiting for katsuki’s input.

a break. that sounded tempting to the man who’d recoil at the thought of a break before. maybe dunce face was onto something. the long shifts, the sudden call-ins to work, the guilt, the stress, the physical and mental strength started to take a toll on him. well he wasn’t growing any younger, he had to admit that his body was not as energetic as it was when he was a teenager.

katsuki hummed, staring at denki for a moment before speaking. “i’m in” he said, snorting as he saw denki’s stupidly happy expression. “HELL YEAH MAN!” he whooped, springing up from the couch, “trust me, this is going to be the most fun thing ever! everyone together.. oh my god we should totally invite shoto and the others too! the more the merrier! and we need to start planning a destination and itinerary and —” denki chattered on, pacing around the living room as he spilled his ideas.

katsuki chuckled, looking down at the empty can. yeah.. he was looking forward to the trip.

ᯓ★» LOVE ALLIANCE ! < previous | masterlist | next >

ᯓ★» ALLIANCE SECRETS ! ୨ৎ : katsuki and denki hangout with eachother a lot. their favorite past time is just sitting in silence and having a nice drink together. ୨ৎ : denki had a ponyboy phase. ୨ৎ : sero is single and wants a cookie so effing bad but he's shit at flirting. ୨ৎ : yes most of the heroes have secret wattpad/ao3 accounts to read fanfics.

ᯓ★» AUTHOR'S NOTE :: i had been cooking this since feb but kept procrastinating so ummm. ALSO TIMESTAMPS DON'T MATTER, ignore the dates.

ᯓ★» TAGLIST :: @chsvok @ch3rryjampi3 @emmab3mma @pikachuzhc @cholios @zaiban2989 @hearts4heidi @ikissfade @themultifandomgirl @god-hangry-otter @sunlix143 @rikislove @fackeraccount @chaoslibra @4rmins @harryzcherry @luvvvamy @pinxeajin @liluvtojineteyam @nanaanation

©loveriotss — all rights reserved to me. don’t try to copy/steal my work. do not use any of my ideas/translate my work without my permission.

[eupheme]

(i don't want to say goodbye to them either! but so excited to read this and inhale more of logan & his honey - they have my whole heart)

man this beginning hits so hard, that is so much for honey to process and carry, her fear makes so much sense. i am breathless reading about her and laura at the mansion, how she finds parallels between herself and logan - wanting to survive for her!! i love how important laura has become to her, gosh my heart feels tied up in knots.

You gasped for air, unsure of where you stood—what this new power meant for something that once existed with such ease. Would he love you in spite of your powers? Would he only see her? Would he save you…one last time?

!!! gnawing on the bars of my enclosure oh my god. they way they move together, they truly are soulmates. and ouch that hurt when she flinched from him, worried she'd hurt him! 😭💖

He’d dig you out of your grave with bare hands bloody from the pain you might cause.

!!!!!!! i love how he's the perfect person to help her in every way.

When you met Logan in that parking lot you expected things to shift. The winds were always meant to change, pieces finally clicking into place as he happened upon the other half of his lost soul. But Laura snuck up on you. She latched onto your bleeding heart, the kindness you showed even as you grieved the person you used to be. A girl who fought alongside her dying father—a lost soul begging for redemption at the end of the timeline.

the found family!!!! their relationship is so beautifully done, I loved this realization so much and how completely and lovingly you've worked laura into their lives.

“Don’t need a window bub,” he breathed. “You’ve always been able to see me.” / You were always meant to find one another. Always standing at the end of each other’s path—willing one another forward with a love greater than the universe.

god this is so beautiful (and the gift from laura! I am !!!). the little advice logan gives that came from Charles was such a great touch, how he's not truly gone, either, with how much he was loved and how his teaching is helping logan teach her. and how they share the same thought as he joins her, and then later as he's realizing what she needs and letting go of those emotions and anger - the “I love you too much to ever hate you.” !!!!

i loved that this is what flips the switch between them, and how much need is woven into their reunion. he makes her glow!!!! oh my god.

When the world came to a halt and time finally allowed you to meet one another in the middle. This time as two halves of one whole.

only you could pair such a hot moment with this healing and impactful moment, god it's so good.

Logan swore he died and went to the fucking afterlife at the sight of your mouth stuffed full of his name.

this and the claws in the mattress (coming as she tells him she loves him), holy shit 😵‍💫💖

“I love you,” he breathed against your lips, running a thumb along the line of your throat. “‘M gonna love you for the rest of my life.”

sobbing!! it's coming from her heart!!! god this crushed me in the best way, I have tears on my cheeks and I'm also grinning so hard. I know we have an epilogue so I will have more to say there but just - I've loved every chapter and every word of this. this is THE worst wolverine fic for me, and I know it always will be. the way you write him and his love for honey and how seamlessly she's fit into his world and with laura and wade - this is truly a masterpiece. 💖

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 09. DESPERADO

a/n: i want to say that i waited so long to put this one out because life got unruly and unmanageable and horrid and while that is true that's not why i waited. i don't want this story to end. i don't want to say goodbye to logan and his honey. this fic has meant so much to me the past nine months. it inducted me into a fandom that became a comfort for me to turn to. but it's also my whole entire heart poured into a love story filled with tragedy and pain. and i couldn't bring myself to write its ending. but here it is. the final chapter (excluding the epilogue of course).

summary: time is cruel. time is infinite. time is...you. when you first came across the lonely x-man you never thought he'd carry you through a love that felt as delicate as time. yet there you stood on his front stoop - a different person - asking him to save your life. one last time.

word count: 10k

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, angst, and overt amount of angst, heartbreak, arguments, ptsd, superhero training, arguments, mean!logan, laura kinney being amazing, violence, tw: blood, mention of death, love confessions, spit, cum eating, creampie, rough sex, tears, so much crying it's actually concerning, small amounts of fluff (but not really), p in v sex, hope, time.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | EPILOGUE | SERIES MASTERLIST

"Logan...tell me about your dream."

"I will. I'll tell you everything. Just not tonight."

The crunch of dirt beneath worn tires rocked the old car the harder you pressed on the gas. Speeding down a deserted lonely road felt exactly as you expected. The shitty coffee you bought at a nearby gas station sloshed in its place near the dash—the scent of whatever food you could find on the way here forced you to roll down the windows. All of which were somehow cracked in particular places and squeaked with each movement.

Laura prompted you to bring a jacket. Wade did what he could to loan you a knife (even as you rejected him). Althea gave you the keys to her beat up car—a grin on her face and the reminder of her pistol in the glove compartment. Each offering their own version of a goodbye they never thought might come to pass.

Instability became the makeup of your life, the echo of who you used to be disappearing into smoke and ash with each passing day. The unfamiliar itch beneath your skin screamed between the bars of a cage you trapped it in. You could hear its call—the need to flow between gaps and crevices of your bones. The demand to embed into your veins rang true with fear and agony. Emotions you could taste like fuel on the back of your tongue.

You tried to live with it. Forget that what she placed in your body even existed. And some days you found you could fall with ease back into a version of yourself that once walked this Earth. The normalcy that came with having a job and going home to an empty apartment, the promise of simplicity until the very end.

A person before the other half of his soul carved his way into a dull life.

You could pretend you were anything but a person afraid of their own body.

Terrified of the mind ravaged by centuries you had yet to live; by the promise of one day outliving Death.

You could separate yourself from the memory of him, from the hope that he would come find you. But when fate's distinct grasp yanked harshly at your psyche it returned. Flaring to life with a vengeance that would linger long after you managed to capture it again—forcing it into the darkness with a snarl. It pulled you through time, fought with tooth and nail to find space in a still healing body.

After finding yourself in the X-Men mansion thirty years in a future you barely recognized, you knew the short span of time spent ignoring it was rapidly coming to an end.

"Send her here."

"I'll keep her safe."

His voice cracked through your skull, pounding against bone the longer you drove—the wind whipping through the rapidly approaching car.

Laura spoke his words over her soda, the clock nearing three in the morning as you fought anxiety and nausea. A mere whisper of truth to keep you sane—a reminder that someone in this world ached for you, that you could still be saved in spite of the chaos that stirred in your lungs.

His promise should have warmed your heart, brought tears of relief to combat the madness you drowned in. But they tasted like ash from a fire that still roared. Words pulled from a life he already lived, meant for a woman he used to love.

He made that same vow before. He promised to protect Fortuna, even after life handed him the severed and bloody strand of fate. The faith you once held for a man who still owned your soul—who clung to every living breathing part of your overwhelmed body—diminished. Slowly yet all at once you understood who Logan Howlett was. Who he might never be.

You were never supposed to be this. Finding your path now carved by eternity was never in the cards of your small life. Yet how could you ignore what burned its way through your skin? How long could you push off deciphering the unknown before it tore you apart?

How were you meant to put trust in the man who'd broken this promise before?

How could you call him a savior? After so much grief.

"You have to go!" Laura shouted dumping the burnt pieces of her toast in the trash. "He can help you."

"I can handle this myself."

"He's trained to help mutants-"

"And I said I'll take care of it," you snapped.

She knew you were lying; you knew she could see right through your false sense of calm. You had nothing left to offer, no parts of yourself to give as you stared forever down the barrel of a gun yet to be fired. The bullet was locked in the chamber, waiting for someone to pull the trigger. Breaking down felt wrong. Merely another burden added to an ever growing pile. But moving mountains had never been your forte.

Laura fixed problems. She took care of those she loved.

She was all the things Logan yearned to be—a protector who never abandoned the other half of their heart. She stood tall and bared her teeth and when life offered only one way out she dug her claws in to carve out something new. She solidified herself as your kin—a daughter left by her father with an unspoken promise that hung in the air.

Protect her family.

The decision to leave came swiftly. With the swing of a hammer nailing your coffin shut and devastation painting the grave he never buried you in. Whatever existed in your body rose to a crescendo you couldn’t control anymore.

Laura dragged you out to an open clearing near the mansion days before. A space hidden away from others that liked to talk—as she put it. Here you could exist as yourself. No longer the hermit dreaming beneath the floors of a library, shuffling papers and boxes older than you into their rightful place. Here you could be time. Endless, forever growing, forever shaping what you never thought possible into reality.

You could let go.

But that was the thing about chaos. It cherry picked moments never meant to be damaged. Instances in time that were swallowed by peace—light flickering behind memories you would have had centuries to replay. Eons to contemplate and eternity to revisit.

You shut your eyes to the sight of Laura bracing herself into the ground, claws puncturing her boots and burying into inches of hardened soil. She expected the power to unleash itself in waves, lashing into the surrounding area with the need to consume. Until you slid the lock out of place, released the breath trapped in your tight chest, and drowned in the anger that broke free with vengeance.

It blinded you, overwhelmed every sensation you might have been able to focus on. Slamming into Laura in an all too familiar rough strike you’d witnessed once before—in the crack of Fortuna’s whip. She went flying into a tree and the deafening snap of her body hitting the floor forced you to shove it back down. Swallow the pain that flared through your cells, screaming for a sliver of the freedom it once had.

Time encased itself into an already fragile body.

It only seemed like a matter of time before the clock ran out and outrunning the detonation was futile.

Causing harm was inevitable. A side effect you swallowed down alongside the shitty whiskey Logan drank—the burn a rope you latched onto. Dragging yourself up and out of a pit you were trapped in. You knew pain would follow, pressed into your unstable footprints. But hurting Laura is where you felt the rope wrap tight around the raw skin of your throat.

She’d suffered enough; experiencing the instability of your powers was never part of the plan.

“I’m not hurt. I heal fast-”

“I can’t. I won’t hurt you.”

“Even if you do…”

“No.”

Perhaps this was the burden Logan bore like a wound that burned. The possibility that he could hurt the ones he loved without trying. A streak of paranoia tangled along the makeup of your DNA, strangling the breath from your lungs. He ran from you once before—pushed down his feelings for your sake.

Back in a time that felt like decades before all of this. Bound by the freedom of humanity you never realized you should have cherished.

He left to keep you safe.

Ironic that it would be you doing the same.

Even though she existed as another version of him. A hero in her own right. Hurting her—by accident and fault of your own obliviousness—forced bile up your throat. The ache in your chest suddenly a flare of emotions you were afraid to pick apart.

She was your own. You came to that conclusion the day she came to your rescue, willing to save the stranger her father’s soul was tied to.

So you left—to keep every part of her safe.

You wouldn’t save yourself because Logan believed in you, or because Laura and Wade fought to keep you afloat. You’d save yourself because she deserved a better protector. Someone who would finally take the weight off shoulders that were far too young to bear the brunt of the world’s pain. A girl—brash and brutal and exactly like her father—who never asked for this.

You’d survive for her. Until her dying breath one day existed in your mind fractured by time.

The house was breathtaking, standing at the edge of a cliff encased in hills and mountains covered by trees so thick sunlight would never break through. Wood and windows and the comfort formed by a man who no longer walked this Earth. Yet there it was, his memory carved into the structure of a place meant to outlive him.

Laura told you about this house—how she lived here on her own for a year in an attempt to remember her father—but nothing prepared you for the sight of it in person. It suited him. A perfect reflection of a soul you got to know over what little time you had together. Simple yet sustainable. A home meant to survive.

It shouldn’t have surprised you to see him waiting. Standing at the porch, a mug of coffee on the wooden railing in front of him, a forgotten novel left in a chair crafted by hand. Surely the other Logan’s work in another life you were never meant to be apart of. He watched with scrutinizing eyes of hazel and a body tensed for the appearance of yet another mistake—the harm he caused blatant on your exhausted form.

You should have expected this.

Prepared for it.

But the longing that slammed into your chest, twisting the knife deep enough to crack bone, sent you reeling. Gasping for air as sat in the idling car, hands gripping the wheel tight enough for your knuckles to scream out in pain.

He was here and he was watching you as if the world suddenly started to spin again. A man who finally managed to kill the hollow ache in his body—the other half of his soul feet away and close enough to touch.

You and Logan moved in unison. An extension of one another even after so long spent apart. He stepped off the porch quickly, you stumbled out of the car—the keys pressed hard and unrelenting in your clenched palm. And for the first time in months you didn’t know what to do next. He’d been the shaky one in this relationship, clutching onto you for guidance, but now the roles were switched.

Now it was up to him to lead you.

“Honey,” he breathed, voice softer than before.

You gasped for air, unsure of where you stood—what this new power meant for something that once existed with such ease. Would he love you in spite of your powers? Would he only see her? Would he save you…one last time?

“Hi Logan,” you uttered meekly, lips hesitant to curl into a wry grin he’d never seen cross your face.

So timid compared to the person from before; new and afraid and yet still drenched in the familiar warmth of a love he’d claw his way back to every time. He came to the conclusion long ago, the moment he watched you meander out of that store—unassuming and unaware of what was to come. He’d die for you. There was no place for him if you didn’t exist.

No matter the universe you were meant to find one another.

A match made at the beginning of time and stardust and the collision of galaxies. The was no stopping the inevitability of love.

“I’ve missed you.” The truth wasn’t hard for him to admit. Not when it was you.

Surprise flickered across your face, lips twitching as a smile fought to bloom. “I missed you too.”

“There’s so much I need to fuckin’ tell you honey.” He surged forward, hand outstretched with his heart bleeding into the lines of his palm.

What he didn’t expect was for you to flinch back, feet stumbling in the dirt as you put distance between your bodies—enough to stop him in his tracks. This wasn’t borne out of the displaced fear that he might hurt you. Quite the opposite. You were terrified you might hurt him. That this unhinged power would break him in ways he couldn’t fix—wounds his body might not be able to handle.

“Laura explained what happened.” He took a step and the hot burn of tears welled in bloodshot eyes. “You’re not gonna hurt me honey.”

“I could. I hurt her without meaning to.” How could you explain the surge of anger that overwhelmed your body, firing along snapped synapses and half formed memories? “I…I can’t control it Logan.”

“I know,” he uttered, his hand curling around the shape of your jaw, tilting your head back to see the tears that blinded your vision. “I know what that’s like.”

Reasoning with the darkness in your own mind felt like an impossible task—something he’d never witnessed in someone with so much light. You weren’t meant to be broken this way. Never supposed to be handed the weight that came with powers—the future of struggling to maintain some semblance of control every second of every day. His soft sweet girl. Bent into something new, yet entirely familiar as he watched your lashes flutter.

You relaxed into his touch, the caress of his thumb along your cheek a welcome warmth you could lose your pain in. He was there. He would drag you from the edge of an ocean you couldn’t traverse alone.

He’d dig you out of your grave with bare hands bloody from the pain you might cause.

“That’s it,” he murmured, blue sparking to life in the whites of your eyes. “Let it in for me honey. Don’t push it down.”

A breath escaped your lungs, tension wound tight enough to splinter down a stiffened spine began to dissipate, and suddenly you could feel the grasp of power settle into your open palms. Blue unfurled from your body in waves, cerulean and midnight, the shadows of night and day colliding around you. It bled into the space, wrapping around his body, lapping up your arms until the rope around your throat snapped.

“It’s…” You gasped, molding your hands around something solid, a unfamiliar welcome weight. “I can feel it.”

Logan felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, hackles coming to attention as the shift happened in quick succession. It cracked through the air, lightning along the horizon of darkened storm clouds. Burning down his back until he staggered away from you shouting. That all too familiar whip slid up around your arm, wrapping tight to flesh and bone as your eyes flared white.

Anger seethed in the air, pungent and bitter along the back of his tongue. Only this wasn’t coming from you—barely a fraction was tinged with your honey-like scent. This stemmed from the rage Fortuna left behind, the lingering agony she set into the DNA of your body without asking for permission. She left you brittle, waiting to shatter as madness crept into your heart.

The sight of blood seeping through his flannel snapped you back into place, body going rigid and hands curling into fists as you shoved it down far enough to hurt. He was already healed—skin stitching itself back together—but you couldn’t see straight. A cry emanating from your parted mouth.

“I’m sorry. I-I didn’t meant to-”

“It’s healed.”

“She’s in my head. That fucking rage is in me and I can’t get it out.” Your hands slapped over your mouth as the muffled sob broke free, strong enough to slice another string of his heart.

“Honey.” Grasping your hands in a tight grip, he pressed them around his waist—his blood soaked shirt seeping along your palm. “Feel that? No scars, no open wounds. It’s done and gone.”

Solid muscle rested beneath the soft press of your fingers, the steady thump of a heart you could pick out with your eyes closed lingering where you touched. He cupped the back of your neck and suddenly you weren’t a helpless case unable to be saved. You weren’t the person destroyed and brought back from the brink—someone capable of causing enough pain to scar.

You were his, the same person from all those weeks ago, and you were going to be okay.

The space felt familiar—filled with a peace you knew Logan sought. Even if it was subconscious. He set the coffee on the coffee table, settling into a leather couch large enough to make him look small. The tables were hand carved with designs you’d seen once before. In the door his hands set in place so long ago; the gift of his love before he even knew what to call it.

“It feels like you.”

He huffed, ducking his head to stir sugar into your mug—the tips of his ears blooming crimson. “Yeah well it’s not really mine.”

“It’s yours,” you assured. “Laura wouldn’t have handed you the keys if she didn’t see it too.”

Seeing him here dragged the overwhelming all encompassing love back to the surface. Until you were swallowing around it thickly, battling the last dregs of pain that pierced your spine with your chilling new reality. It wouldn’t be the same. None of it. Falling for him, letting him back in, it would forever be stained with the grief of what happened.

The death of the person he used to know clashing with the mutant sitting before him.

He cleared his throat, settling into the creaking couch. “How is she? Laura.”

“Strong,” you smiled. “A lot stronger than me.”

“You’re strong too,” he replied.

“She’s different.” The coffee was a sweet bite on the tip of your tongue—ridding your body of whatever exhaustion still lingered. “She’s like you. Stubborn and angry, but there’s something there beneath it all. Like she knows what she has to lose and refuses to let it happen.”

Logan went stiff, hands mechanically bringing the mug to his lips. “She’s better than me,” he muttered.

You hummed. “Better than either of us. You’re lucky to have her as your own.”

“Not just me.” The words sunk deep, right down to the root of all the grief you refused to dig through. The cloud that hung just a bit too low. “I don’t think you saw it honey. But she chose you. Probably even before she fuckin’ chose me, you were hers.”

When you met Logan in that parking lot you expected things to shift. The winds were always meant to change, pieces finally clicking into place as he happened upon the other half of his lost soul. But Laura snuck up on you. She latched onto your bleeding heart, the kindness you showed even as you grieved the person you used to be. A girl who fought alongside her dying father—a lost soul begging for redemption at the end of the timeline.

Without knowing it she became everything you searched for.

The daughter that dug her heels in and vowed to love you. Even when you couldn’t love yourself.

Home would always exist in his arms, a place of safety you knew you would fall into. But now you found it in the eyes of a girl who could finally sheath her claws and settle. Home existed with both of them. A family found and forged in the chaos of time.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he finally spoke, pulling you from the thoughts that ran rampant. “I know Fortuna’s…your power. I’ve helped get a handle on it before. And I’ll tell you everythin’ you need to know about it, all the research Charles put into figuring it out.”

Believing him was easier than breathing. What reason did he have to lie? When the alternative was already a future you watched play out before your very eyes. You couldn’t turn into her—refused to lose any more of yourself to a power that remained unwanted and unsteady.

Sucking in a breath, you felt yourself settle into the comfort of his presence. Oh how you missed him—your heart pining for him to come close, to press his lips along your skin that now ran hot. If you asked him to drop to his knees he’d relent without question. So you kept your mouth shut. Offering him a smile as the olive branch.

Your time would come again. An inevitable future written in the stars of every universe.

For now you were okay with this. Friendship and support as you struggled to keep your head above water.

“What do I have to do?”

Logan exhaled, shoulders falling with a grin. “Stop pushing it away. You’ve gotta accept it as your own.”

“But it’s not mine.”

“It is now,” he stated. “Whether you want it or not honey this power is with you. There’s no gettin’ rid of it.”

Much to your own disappointment, he was right. “What if…”

“Say it,” he said softly, urging you into the waves that crashed at your legs, his hands clamped around yours.

“What if I accept it and nothing changes? The anger…I can’t live with it Logan.” Swallowing the stone lodged in your throat, you bit back whatever tears crested to the surface. “I-I don’t want to die like she did.”

They were unrelenting and hot against your cheeks, spilling over your trembling lips, and before you could blink Logan was in front of you. Crouched before the chair, his hands gathering yours to the soft press of his lips. A mouth you dreamed about—kisses that haunted the back of your mind every time you closed your eyes. He inhaled your scent, pressed a line down your palm and into the juncture of your wrist; your vein thumped an unsteady beat he smiled against.

“You aren’t dying,” he whispered like a vow, reverence dripping off his tongue. “You are going to live for a long long time honey. And you’re gonna do it with me. I won’t let this power take you okay? I won’t.”

He’s made promises once before, now broken and tossed to the side. But you swallowed his words with a sigh, cupping his face to draw his forehead to yours. To indulge in the contact you never thought might come again—at least not in this lifetime.

“I have your room ready,” he said as if he wasn’t prostrated before you, praying to the love of his life that you might grace him with your forgiveness.

You laughed, light and airy and a balm to his cracked heart. “I have a room?”

“It’s mine. I figured you’d want the bed.”

“Logan I’m not going to kick you out of your bed-”

“No use arguin’.” Calloused palms set themselves on your shoulders, gentle and promising in their soft brush. “I’ll be fine on the couch. Besides…I’ve been there before.”

You huffed, sliding to the edge of the chair as his hands found purchase on your hips. “Is there a window to see you through?”

“Don’t need a window bub,” he breathed. “You’ve always been able to see me.”

Right from the very start you caught sight of the man you would love through the ends of time. The one who had your name written in the tissue of his heart the day he was born. You were always meant to find one another. Always standing at the end of each other’s path—willing one another forward with a love greater than the universe.

“I should go get my bag.”

With a sigh he reluctantly let you go, helping you stand. “Take your time honey.”

The trunk creaked as you pushed it open, the keys dangling from your front pocket. Logan stayed inside dragging what wood he had left into the bedroom’s fireplace. The nights were cold here—temperatures never an issue for him—and you could still feel the brunt of it. Though your body now ran warm it didn’t deter you from freezing in the middle of the night, blankets barely enough to keep what body heat you had trapped inside.

You yanked open the small duffle bag stolen from Wade’s closet, seeing what clothes you managed to find in half empty dresser drawers and a closet that held most of Laura’s things. Sweaters were stuffed in the bottom, a book or two, and the small Polaroid gifted to you by Wade. Even though Logan was here in person you still clutched it tight, welcoming the comfort it brought.

Set atop the mess you haphazardly packed was a small key chain tucked into tissue paper. Bright blue and painted with enough tender care that could only come from one person. A bird ready to take flight.

The familiar scrawl of her handwriting was squeezed on a torn sticky note, the words barely legible yet utterly her.

Good luck.

P.S. Peter helped me make it.

Such a simple phrase to bestow on someone who ran from her. But there she was pressing her faith into your hands, wishing nothing but to see you bring her father back to her.

A family awaited your return. That was enough.

THREE DAYS LATER

“I can’t do it!” you screamed, falling to one knee with a harsh grunt as Logan wiped the sweat off his forehead. “It’s to much to fucking hold.”

“You were born to do it.”

“Coming from the man who doesn’t have to do much. How reassuring.”

He laughed, offering and hand up as you struggling to catch whatever air your lungs could hold. “Charles said it’s never from where you think it is. So where is that?”

Your face scrunched, eyes flicking down his bare chest glistening with sweat. Logan fought against the itch he couldn’t scratch—his relationship with you temporarily on unsteady ground until the dust eventually settled. That still didn’t deter his feelings. The stirring in his stomach at the sight of you panting and gasping for air, scent calling to him the longer you stood there drenched in sweat.

He would be your friend. The person you needed in order to get you through this. What happened after would be entirely up to you.

“Focus honey.”

Sighing, you shut your eyes to the sun. “It’s a pull on my insides. A sharp kinda painful tug on the stomach.”

“‘S not supposed to be painful. Means you’re fighting it.”

“How am I supposed to know I’m fighting it?” you bit out, nails burrowing into your palm hard enough to draw blood. “If I don’t know where its source is then how can I control it?”

Hands clamped onto your forearms, dragging your palms to rest over the heart you knew beat for you—the organ he’d gladly rip out if you wished it. “Here,” he said, voice a soft rasp that rang in the back of your mind. “This right here is where its buried. In the very bottom. So deep you’d forget what you were fuckin’ looking for if you tried to search. You pull it from there and you got your control.”

That was the thing…how could you pull from a broken heart? How could you find anything amidst the shards of something that was once your sole purpose for living?

When he left he took the last pieces with him, ripping them directly from your chest. So how could you work with half a heart?

The anger still existed in the far reaches of a darkness you tried to ignore. Swallow the pain, place it somewhere unreachable, and perhaps you might find a semblance of the person from before. But finding them was like digging into a shallow grave with no body. How were you meant to crawl out? Find the easiest path to fixing what was beyond saving.

“And if I can’t?” you asked. “If…If that’s too much?”

“I’ll be right here honey,” he assured, thumbing the pulsating vein on your wrist. “I won’t let you fall alright?”

Easier said than done.

“Okay,” you sighed. “I’ll try again.”

“Good girl.”

You snapped to attention, eyes wide as his lips curled into something you replayed on a loop for weeks on end. A smirk that burned a hole in your chest, heat curling at the base of your rigid spine. He said it on purpose. This you were aware of. And it did exactly what he intended—dragged you back to the present moment, beyond the cloud of rage begging to escape.

He kept you centered.

Shaking loose the tension in your arms your eyes slid shut, mind opening like the blooms found on the edges of his property. A flower ready to welcome the sun. You fixated on the rhythm of your heart. Each beat pumping and flowing enough blood to keep you upright; you dug there. Pulled at the veins and muscles, cracked open your ribs to inspect the makeup of your most precious organ. A surgeon ripping yourself apart in an attempt to save what still remained.

Blue flared to life dimly, peeking between the aortas and tissue as you clawed at what stood in your way. So close to finally grasping hold of what refused to give itself over. So fucking near to the end of what pain sunk its teeth deep enough to scar.

So close…

A clock ticked in the back of your mind, unrelenting in its monotonous function. Each one louder than the last—drawing you to the edge of the unknown that called your name. You scrambled to silence it.

Seconds, minutes, hours, days, years, decades, centuries-

All of it too much too soon. It wrapped tight around your throat, yanking you back hard enough to send you flying into the ground. Logan’s voice shouting barely broke the surface as you struggled to gasp for air—fingers tugging weakly at the whip that slid around your limbs.

Trapping you in the darkness, feeding what little strength you had left to the all consuming nature of what she left you. This was to be your future. Death by the time she allotted you, the expanse of a universe you would get to see grow and one day wither away—fading into existence like the man who stood before you now.

“Let me go!” you shrieked, waves of sapphire swarming your body, painting over your skin and sinking down to the bones that burned.

It wanted to consume you. Leave nothing behind for him. No parts of you left to bury in yet another grave. The image of that shovel standing upright flashing bright in your mind, dirt smearing along your cheek as you kicked out into the air—oxygen depleting quickly. Until your eyes were filled with black spots, the haze of blue cresting the edges of your once clear vision.

Hands wrenched you still, slamming them to the ground by your head as the familiar echo of his claws pushed to the forefront of your mind. Slicing through the whip with a shout, he felt the power seep into his body. Time stripping away his skin, peeling the flesh until blood steadily leaked down his arms. Your eyes were white—iris swallowed whole by the threat of what took hold inside you.

An anger he put there. A rage he should have stopped.

The last tendrils of the woman he never saved.

“Let her go,” he roared, pulling the whip free from your neck, feeling it dissipate into the air around him. “Let her live!”

Slowly at first and then all at once the hold released. Air burned your lungs rushing in, filling you with an eerie calm as Logan knelt over your body—his hand turning your face up to check the state of your eyes. Back to normal. Free of the milky white hue that haunted him in the middle of the night. You were safe from whatever existed in your heart—the power that held enough reluctance it could very well kill you.

This wasn’t new information. You both knew this might not work; keeping powers that were corrupted once before housed in your body would only lead down one path. Yet that was the reason you were here, laying beneath him as your mind finally settled—hand laying over his to keep him close.

Logan refused to let you succumb to the anger.

He wouldn’t stand there watching as you drowned beneath the weight of what he caused.

He wasn’t going to run from what felt so right. He’d dig his heels in, claw at the darkness that begged to keep you, and forever remain the man who kept you from falling over the edge. He would do for you what Charles did for him; what he never got the chance to do for her.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, thumb dragging along the length of your jaw. “You’re still with me.”

You swallowed, eyes fluttering at the warmth of his palm—turning your lips to the rough skin. “I don’t think that went too well.”

“No,” he chuckled and the sound lit your insides on fire. “No I think we still have some work to do.”

Thirty minutes passed before you found yourself alone in his bedroom. A towel held tightly closed against your chest as he rummaged in the living room. The scent of dinner wafted through the open door, pasta and wine shared at a table in the middle of nowhere—reminiscent of a past that you weren’t sure belonged to you anymore. That night happened so long ago, in a time where you held onto the certainty you could be happy with him.

That even as the world crashed around you, this would remain solitary.

A flannel lay in front of you. Tossed beside your bag as a peace offering you weren’t quite sure what to do with. Take it and open the door just a bit more to a love that continued to hang over your heads. A ghost buried in the walls of your apartment, painted over walls that could reflect your laughter back to you—a space tainted by the image of simple joys.

Leave it and allow yourself the time to heal—to figure out where you stood as someone merely trying to survive. You weren’t the same—Logan knew this. But ignoring the way your body came to life in his vicinity would be what killed you in the end.

Not time itself but the time you spent apart from him.

The door creaked loud enough to break the stilled water you sunk beneath, his shadow casting over the bed beside you. He stood in the doorway, eyes dragging down the length of a body he could picture behind closed eyes. Limbs he felt twine around his own, skin he sunk his teeth into. There was no denying he could barely handle being away from you, but being this fucking close without any barriers nearly drove him mad.

“Dinner is ready,” he throatily muttered, hazel eyes swallowed whole by a dark pupil.

“Logan.”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.” Breath came out in shaky exhales, hand barely able to hold the towel up after a day of straining yourself. “I don’t know how to repay-”

His growl was familiar, a rumble that came from the depths of his chest as he took the final two steps to press himself into your back. “Don’t finish that fuckin’ sentence honey.”

Sighing you clasped a hand over his along your stomach. “You keep saving me.”

“I’ll save you for the rest of our lives,” he admitted, complete certainty bleeding through the strength in his voice. At least that’s what you let yourself believe. “Even if after all this you make a different choice.”

You turned sharply, nose brushing his—lips desperate to seek out the ones that claimed you long before tonight. “It’s you. My choice will always be you.”

Maybe this was it. The point of finding him, the reason he came to this universe in the first place. Maybe it was all to stand here, pressed tight and breathing in the air you both exhaled, for as long as time would allow. He smiled against your cheek, fingers curling into the towel that hung loose at your hip, before he pulled away. Patting the spot with a hum—light shining in eyes that you would recognize even at the end of the world.

“Come and eat bub. Before it gets cold.”

Silence ate away at your mind in the darkness. The bed was too large for just yourself. A massive thing in the center of the room meant for comfort and peace of mind and a man who took up space. You could hear him shift on the couch every hour, the door left ajar as you fought to find sleep in this place.

Over the weeks you’d grown used to Laura on your couch. The shuffle of her boots as the night waned—always worried that something might happen. Now her father echoed the same sentiments. His feet padded along the floor as he moved to and fro, his shadow lingering just outside the door. Waiting for you to invite him in, give him the chance to cross that threshold.

You wondered if he would hold you if asked. Would he sleep with no nightmares?

Twisting into the covers, you watched a hand peek through the gap. The question hung in the air before it ever left your mouth—silence exchanged in the air between sleep hazed looks and longing hearts. He shut the door behind him gently with a click. Solidifying the line now fazed out of existence.

However much you tried to pretend this would remain a friendship the truth was far louder in contrast.

A love like this would never be diminished. Not even by your own hands.

“Can’t sleep?” he whispered, sliding beneath the comforter.

You hummed. “The bed’s too big.”

“Feels that way for me too.”

The words stuck to the back of your throat, daring you to finally take what was right in front of you. “Will you stay?”

His arm curled around your waist, lips finding your shoulder beneath the dark flannel you wore. “‘M not goin’ anywhere.”

This time without hesitation…you finally believed him.

ONE WEEK LATER

Frustration became a comforting ally in the days that followed. You were doomed to snap eventually. A time bomb ready to explode as the hours passed and failure became something you were accustomed to. Training your body to accept a power it couldn’t understand weighed on you—drawing the anger you swallowed down tight into the confines of your chest. It pleaded with you to be let out, to finally have a place to go.

“We’ll go again.”

You scrubbed a hand down your face. “This isn’t working.”

“It will.”

“When?” you snapped. “When I finally have no hold over my own fucking actions? When I kill someone?”

Logan caught it before you ever did. The flick of a switch, the door that needed to be opened. You were swallowing emotions down as he did liquor, shoving them back into the carcass of who you used to be. Trying to mold yourself back in the box of humanity wouldn’t work—he could already see the detrimental effects on your mind. The hatred you held for something you couldn’t control.

You were walking the edge of a thin line slowly sinking into the sand.

Perhaps you needed to drown.

“Go again,” he pressed, watching the anger surge to the surface.

The cruelty wasn’t ripping you open, forcing that rage to finally sputter out of existence. It was that he allowed you to keep it in for so long. Hiding what you struggled against, keeping him from seeing the pain—the grief. You were begging for help—gasping for air—and he just stood there.

Now things were different.

Bracing himself as your eyes closed, he watched the spark of power begin to emanate from your hands. The opening of that blistering hatred, the fury you needed to confront. You glowed in the last hints of the days sunlight, blue pouring off your body, settling above the ground in a cloud of your own making. Past, present, future. They met in the middle, twisting and tangling within your body.

The embodiment of something that rivaled Death.

“You’re not trying hard enough,” he barked out the words—eyes catching every minor shift you made.

“Let me do this my way-”

“Do it again.”

You sucked in a breath, chin raised in a defiance that never burned so strong. “You need to stop.”

Logan could practically hear the clock tick down, the wires and mechanics settling into place. “Start over and this time do it right.”

“Logan-”

“You said you wanted to learn. So we’re gonna learn.” His claws slid forth, body tensing as the blue burned white in the center of your chest—irises flashing gold. “First lesson. Listen to what I fuckin’ say.”

He went flying as the blast ripped from your body, slamming him into the side of Al’s car. The sound of metal crunching beneath his body made him wince—your form advancing quicker than he expected. He knew he would see a glimpse of her peeking out behind your power. He waited for it. So it surprised him when he saw nothing but you.

You finally wielding a power that belonged to no other. It submitted with ease, filling that void you could no longer ignore. Your hand pulled from the air, melding together the unfamiliar form of something he’d only seen once before. A blade—long and dripping gold—was clutched in your palm, the snarl along your face enough to have him bracing for the final blow.

The knife went in easier than expected, plunging into his stomach with enough strength to jolt him back. But the task was done. You sliced the final chord holding it all together and when blood poured over your hand, you finally came back.

“No!” you cried, hands flying to cup his already healed wound, the weapon nowhere to be found.

What was once apart of the universe would go back, falling into the rules of nature set long before you were born. You could borrow. But none of it was yours to keep.

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t-”

“That was progress,” he smiled, getting back to his feet.

You gaped at him, tears spilling across cheeks smeared in his blood. “Progress?” you exclaimed.

“It had to happen-”

“What part of this is progress? I stabbed you. I lost control!” Your voice ricocheted off the trees, his heart twisting at the sight of you so brittle. So fucking broken.

Life was painful—this he was used to. He was comfortable with it, understood it. But watching you shatter is what brought every fucking agonizing thing back. He lived it all over again, all at once.

“Honey-”

“I wanted to hate you.”

Now it was his turn to feel the grief that clung to his body like a second skin. He knew he hurt you. Could see the anguish plain as day play across your face as you swallowed the choked sob that bubbled to the surface. You didn’t come here to be saved. Neither of you did. Logan wasn’t even sure it was possible…to be rescued from this hell.

“You left me,” you sobbed and hated yourself for it. “And I wanted to hate you for it. You just walked away from everything! From our life and what we planned. From…what did I do wrong? Was it so painful to see her in my face that you had to go?”

“I didn’t want to go,” he rasped. “Wade and Laura-”

“Bullshit!” The touch of him grasping for your hands set off exactly what you were afraid of parting with. Emotions that kept you alive, pain that you could count on. “I was thrown into this and you weren’t there! You weren’t there to help me, to keep me from death. You weren’t there Logan!”

“I know!” he roared. “And I fucking hate every goddamn second I spent away from you. I hated myself for leaving you!”

“Then why did you stay away?” The crack in your voice did him in. Loaded the adamantium bullet into a gun only you could hold.

When he spoke he barely recognized his own voice. Dull and empty and the lilt of a man from a different universe. The man who fucked it all up—again. “I don’t know.”

Nodding, you did what you could to create a chasm of space—fighting for breath as he all but punched it out of your lungs. “I went looking for you.”

His heart stopped.

“In the past,” you choked out through fresh tears. “It was an accident. I didn’t even know what was happening, but apparently even unconscious and out of control…I still want you.”

“You can hate me,” he offered. “If that’s what you need to get through this.”

“That’s just it Logan. I couldn’t hate you even when I tried.”

“Baby…” It was wrong to let hope linger. To stare at the mess he made, the person he swore to love and protect. He should have killed the flicker as it bled into his twisting heart and he nearly did.

“I love you too much to ever hate you.”

And everything stopped.

He saw your eyes widen as he rushed towards you, the hitch in your breath and falter of your heart at the unexpected. Logan couldn’t control his own actions. He didn’t want to. He’d gone weeks without your touch, eternity wondering if someone existed to match his imperfections. Until there you were, wounded and jaggedly scarred and flawlessly fitting into the gaps of his soul—the darkness he could see reflected in your own eyes.

He kissed you. Violently. A mash of teeth and tongues as you met him in the middle—hands clawing at his shoulders when he hauled you up his body. You clung to him, uncaring that you looked desperate because that’s what you were. Wretched and lost without the man who molded the shape of your heart in his hands.

A moan stuttered out from the back of your throat, throaty and loud. He swallowed it with one of his own. You could feel his hands everywhere, gripping your hips, along the back of your thighs, digging into your ass hard enough to hurt. But you held onto the pain. Welcomed it with a pleased sigh as he stumbled up the steps into the house—his tongue wet and demanding against your own.

“Fuckin’ thought about this,” he got out between a groan—your teeth scraping the vein along his neck. “Every night.”

You could picture him in bed alone, head pushed into the pillows far too soft for his own liking, rapidly stroking his leaking cock. All to the thought of you. The memories spent buried between your legs, lapping at a cunt he could practically taste.

It spurred you to drag him back to your lips, hips canting along the buckle of his belt. “Need you inside baby.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded, licking along his bottom lip. “It hurts without you Logan. Need you to fuck me. Please.”

The wall was cold against your back—his hand slamming beside your head to keep himself steady. Your words dug right to the base of his spine, chest heaving as you whined into the kiss. Breath wasn’t important; focusing on anything other than the feel of your hands tugging at his shirt slipped his mind because you were here and you were pleading with him to touch you. Take what he’d been longing for.

Silver glinted in the darkness, metal wrapped around his neck, and you nearly missed the sight of familiar dog-tags resting right above his heart. A name etched into the metal you traced many times before.

“You kept them,” you breathed, dragging a finger along the tag.

He grinned. “They came from you.”

So easy to admit. So simple to say.

Suddenly it hit you that the Logan before you had changed. Healed in his time spent away. He did exactly what he promised he would when he scribbled it in that letter. He’d come back to you someday. Even if it wasn’t the way you expected.

“Take me Logan,” you pleaded. “I’m yours.”

His hands ripped at your top, teeth sinking down hard into the plush skin of your breast. Crying his name, you tugged at his hair—whether to pull him away or draw him in you didn’t know. All you could feel was the delicious flicker of pain curling tight around your stomach. Slick pooling into the pants he worked a hand into.

“You got no idea what you do to me.” Words were cut off at the feel of you dripping wet and hot along his palm.

“Fuck Logan.”

Muffling you with a kiss, he curled two fingers around your clit that practically begged for attention. He wanted to suck it into his mouth—taste you until you had no choice but to wrench him away from you. Time spent alone wouldn’t be what drove him over the edge. Sliding into your tight cunt as you cried for him would be.

His eyes rolled back when he pushed into you, the stretch of his fingers pulling a rasped moan from your throat. You pushed yourself into his touch—grasping at any part of his body you could reach when he found the spot that made you wither. This was how you wanted to die. Trapped in his hold as the burning pleasure shot up your spine, a haze clouding every other thought but him.

He possessed you from the very start. If only he understood how willing you were. How pliable you became at his touch along your body.

“Still so fuckin’ tight,” he growled, pumping into you fast enough for the squelch of his fingers to echo off each wall.

You drowned beneath the sound—gasping in his mouth when he fixed on that one spot and became unrelenting. “I’m gonna-baby I-I’m gonna cum.”

“That’s it. Be a good girl and make a fuckin’ mess on my hand.”

The final fraying piece holding you altogether finally snapped. Your sob was broken against his parted mouth, thighs trembling from the pleasure that nearly became painful. He held you close, hips grinding into your inner thigh as you gushed over his palm—the flutter of your walls sucking his fingers in even further.

Did you finally break beyond repair?

Your body sang a tune you couldn’t recognize, a glow emanating beneath the skin dim enough to remain unnoticed. But you felt it all the same. A warm soothing caress along every nerve and vein. Welcoming you in as your chest pressed to his—heart beating in time with his. Logan kissed you, messily licking into your mouth when he pulled you from the wall and made his way into the bedroom.

“You’re glowin’,” he mumbled, pride glimmering in his eyes.

“What?”

Focusing on anything beyond the touch of his hand along your bare waist, the burn of his gaze along your breasts, wasn’t possible in this moment. When the world came to a halt and time finally allowed you to meet one another in the middle. This time as two halves of one whole.

He closed his lips around your nipple, fingers pressing into the wet cavern of your mouth—spreading your taste on the flat of your tongue. Your hips jolted, fingers scrambling for the button of his jeans. A task he was more than happy to appease you with. Teeth scraped along your skin and your stomach leapt—heart blooming under his attention. His mouth met yours, teeth clacking together hard enough to hurt, but you never noticed.

A hold tugged on your chest, gold flaring to life in lidded eyes. Beneath the layers of lust and wanton need lay the power you’d been fighting. It floated to the surface, grabbed your hands tight enough to blister the skin, but Logan’s tongue along your stomach soothed the pain. You sighed and tipped your head back into the pillow, fingers carding through his hair.

“Prettiest fuckin’ pussy in the world,” he rasped yanking down your pants until they were a rumpled mess on the floor. “And all mine.”

You smiled, drawing him close enough to feel his lips brush along yours. “All yours Logan,” you purred.

“And this-” His hand clutched your own, dragging it over the straining bulge of his jeans, grinding up into your touch hard enough to pulled a gasp from lips still smeared in his spit. “‘S all yours honey. Every part of me.”

“I want it.”

He smiled, canines bright in the dim room. “Yeah? You want me to fuck you?”

You nodded. “I missed your cock baby. How you fill me.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, head falling to your shoulder. “You’re gonna kill me if you keep runnin’ your mouth like that bub.”

“Sorry,” you giggled. “I forget how old you are.”

“Old huh?”

“Can’t have you dying on me from it baby.”

Whatever he said next went unheard—something along the lines of I’ll show you fuckin’ old—because he stuffed you full of those same spit slicked fingers. His other hand busy on working himself out of his jeans. You melted into the bed with a cry of his name, fingers clawing at his wrist to pull him closer, to press against your throbbing clit. Until you felt the head of his cock slide through your dripping folds and tap right where you needed it most.

“That feel old to ya honey?” he cooed, lining himself up as he pushed your cum into your already parted mouth. “C’mon. Use that pretty brain of yours.”

A muffled shout was all he got in return, pressing into you slow enough to muddle every thought that could have entered your mind. The stretch felt like everything you’d been longing for. All those nights spent alone wandering the pitch black maw of your own head—every fucking morning waking up without him. They built in the base of your chest as he finally pushed right up to the base of his cock—filling your cunt to the brim.

You felt him in your chest, along the length of your throat, and even then it wasn’t deep enough. Another fractured piece of your heart sewed itself back together, the needle puncturing the thrumming organ as he groaned long and hoarse against your neck.

“So fuckin’ good,” he murmured. “Squeezin’ me just right.”

“L-Logan-”

“I know baby. I know.”

The first thrust sent your head back into the bed, your legs hitching up around his waist and nails digging into his shoulders. But Logan wasn’t looking to be kind. He couldn’t find it in himself to fuck you slow.

He broke you. Sliced through whatever bonds were tying you down to the Earth and yanked you up to be in heaven right by his side. A god among men—how could you not worship at his feet?

Claws slid free puncturing the mattress as he fucked into you without mercy. Plunging into your sopping pussy loud enough to pierce the grunts and moans echoing through the room. It was wet and raw and you clung to him tight enough to draw blood to the surface—the sticky mess between your bodies enough to shove you close to the edge.

“Gonna fuck you full honey. And this time it’s gonna fuckin’ stay there,” he bit out, hand sliding along your stomach.

You nodded dumbly, voice practically unrecognizable in the haze of lust you were lost to. “Please-”

The cold metal of his dog-tags bumped against your chin and without even registering, your teeth closed around them. Logan swore he died and went to the fucking afterlife at the sight of your mouth stuffed full of his name. Muffled moans and a mess of spit spilling free as his hips stuttered, body tensing to fight the impending release.

He wouldn’t finish without you. Not until he heard those sweetly whispered words—the vow that lived and breathed a life of its own.

“Tell me again,” he breathed against your lips, thumb pressing hard and fast to your clit. “Say it for me honey.”

“L-Love you Logan.”

He nearly collapsed over your body, cock pounding into your hard enough to send an ache through your hips. “Again.”

“I love you,” you sobbed.

Grinding deep he came with a shout, pulling you off that cliff right alongside him. You felt white flash behind your eyes, legs locking behind his back as his mouth crushed to yours, his spend filling you until it dripped down and around his balls. Pooling along your thigh. For whatever time remained you were outside of your own body, bliss restructuring the fragments of your darkest parts. Each part of you he broke.

Everything he swore to fix.

“I love you,” he breathed against your lips, running a thumb along the line of your throat. “‘M gonna love you for the rest of my life.”

A sharp prick punctured your heart, unraveling the ties that bound you to the body you’d known your whole life—pulling free each lock and barrier set in place the day you changed. You didn’t fight it, barely found enough strength to recognize what it was. But before you could grasp for the remnants of your old self, you found it pouring between your fingers like sand.

Logan sucked in a breath, eyes drinking in the sight of you glowing. Blue and gold and a the burning white he knew only came from the insides of stars—cosmic power stripped from the universe around you now pulsing in time with a heart he owned.

Warmth pooled over your head, spreading down to the tips of your toes as you lay beneath him—finally at ease with who you were. Time peeked out behind the curtains of your mind, settling along each bone, burning itself into your being. Solidifying itself into a soul that now shined in the glow of his love.

You sighed into its touch, eyes fluttering shut as Logan cupped your cheek. “I can feel it Logan. Time.”

“Where’s it comin’ from honey?” he whispered.

With a smile, you watched the centuries flash in your mind, time spent with friends with a family and daughter yet to play out in real life. Moments you’d revisit and cherish. A path you finally walked freely.

“My heart.”

a/n: i want to say so many things about this series and how much it has meant to me. but i will save that for the epilogue. thank you so fucking much for sticking around this long. i hope you love the small snippet to come.

[mieczyhale]

Putting the entire exchange (so far) under a read more to keep just in case it gets deleted from fb for some reason. I put way too much time and effort into this to lose it

The conversation is in screenshots, in rows of three. If you start at the first and click through it should (hopefully) maintain order. Otherwise you'll have to click on each screenshot individually

[cairavende]

Worm Arc 24 thoughts:

. . . fucking . . . fuck. Just . . . fuck. Fucking fucky fucking FUCK, THAT WAS SO BADASS!!!!!

ALL OF IT HOLY SHIT I DON'T CARE, JUST PICK ANY MOMENT!! EVERYTHING EVERYONE DID WAS BADASS!

LIKE. FUCK. COLIN GOT TO LOOK BADASS.

He even got "yelling in caps" badass. Just for the one scene when he picked up Chevy. He did one fucking thing right, which was help someone up and then let THEM be cool.

And speaking of . . . HOLY FUCKING SHIT CHEVY! YOU DIDN'T GET KILLED BY TIME TRAVEL CHAD!

WHICH MEANS I DON'T HATE YOU ANYMORE!

WHICH MEANS I CAN SHOUT ABOUT HOW BADASS THAT WAS!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fuck waiting for my interlude section to talk about this. That final scene with Behemoth was one of the most visually badass things I have ever read in my life! Fuck. I get fucking chills just thinking about it.

I can see that entire last fight in my head very clearly, almost like remembering an anime scene. Perfectly written.

And Regent! Look at you go, that's character growth!

I mean sure, you died. But growth!

Besides, you dying legit made Imp cooler. She was already great but "I'm going to fucking kill his dad for him" is even better! And Wanton's apparently got jokes so we still have a funny guy.

Basically if someone had to die I'm happy it was you. Sorry not sorry.

ALSO FOIL WHAT THE FUCK YOUR POWER COULD ALWAYS DO THAT AND YOU'VE JUST BEEN SITTING THERE SHOOTING THINGS?

I . . . I just . . . girl! How?? You could literally have turned a piece of rebar into a sword that Alexandria could have cut Leviathan in half with! And that's just what I thought of in the first few seconds after seeing this! Spend some time actually thinking about what you can do lady!

But luckily my daughter is here to do the thinking, and be FUCKING AMAZING AT IT!!!

LIKE HOLY SHIT TAYLOR, YOU CUT OFF BEHEMOTH'S LEG!

AND THAT PLAN HOLY SHIT! YOU MADE A PLAN THAT SET RACHEL UP TO BE THE BADASS HERO WHO CUTS OFF BEHEMOTH'S LEG, AND SETUP REALLY POWERFUL HEROES AS HER SUPPORT!

Fuck half of Eidolon's fucking job was "Catch my girlfriend and fly her back to me."

GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WOLFSPIDER WOLFSPIDER WOLFSPIDER!!!!!!

And the snuggling at the end, as they were leaving!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh my god and the lightning rod! That was insane!

Golem just has really cool powers. Glad Theo is doing ok.

And Alexandria's power preserves the body so Pretender can just puppet her. That's wild. Kinda annoying, my daughter just killed her!

And and and Taylor talked with Contessa!

AND CONTESSA SHARED HER POWER!!!

I was pretty close, didn't have it that specific, but basically was expecting something similar. Fuuuuck it's so cool!

Also the underground cities and the secret capes were wild. Kinda unfortunate that you guys set things up for Behemoth to be able to collapse the entire city, gave him lots of existing tunnels and such to work with.

My daughter could have done a little less bonding with Phir Sē. Ideally. Would have made me feel a little better.

But holy shit a time portal bomb made of looped light?? GOD DAMN. That sure hit like a truck. Just not a big enough truck.

Also Grace and Cuff are dating. I don't make the rules I just enforce them.

And the rules are "make it gay"

God and the whole "thinkers stuck on a roof" bit. Christ that was planned badly. They almost died because nobody had some rope. Embarrassing.

I'm glad Tattletale is doing ok. She got her girlfriend to steal a dudes phone for her, which was pretty funny. And I loved how she still got to do her big reveal to Chevy, she needs that.

HOLY SHIT AND TAYLOR TELLING RACHEL HOW TO TAKE CARE OF IMP?? SHE UNDERSTANDS HER GIRLFRIEND. GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAAAAAAYYY!

And fuckin Tecton just trying so hard to do the same thing with Rachel first and just failing so completely. And then trying again. And again. Bless his big himbo heart he's trying.

Fuck there's so much, I'm sure I'm missing a dozen other things. Every chapter had 20 moments I could mention.

Seriously though, sucks for New Delhi. "There’s nothing left to protect here" is a heck of a line and it is not what anyone wants to hear.

Chevy interlude (the rest of it) thoughts:

Holy shit Chevy's shadows! I wish he had described more of them, I wanted to know everyone's image! Just so much data there.

Fun to see the early Wards. Fun to see that Colin was always like that.

Hero's death was absolutely a targeted hit, he started asking too many questions, pushing back on things.

Chevy's whole power is just really fascinating. Really interesting to think about.

RIP Mouse Protector

Also the fact that her shadow was her laughing makes me think she might have lost the ability to be sad when she triggered, which is unfortunate if true. I mean Bonesaw got you either way so I guess it doesn't matter now.

Loved getting a wonderful list of Endbringer attacks. Sure it still wasn't all of them, but up through Simmy showing up is still pretty great.

Extremely curious about Mr. Keene, keeping an eye out for more info on him.

Tattletale just needed this poor man to read her texts and let her do her fucking THING! It's all she wants.

Anyway ya turns out powers (except Scion of course) can't touch the actual core of the Endbringers and I'm like 95% sure I have a good idea as to why it works like that, but still got a little bit of that uncertainty.

Endbringers are directly related to Eidolon in some way, I am pretty sure of that. Created by him. Previous bodies. Sentient poop for all I know! They're connected though.

HOLY SHIT WHEN HE SEES TAYLOR'S SHADOW DURING THE FINAL FIGHT!!!!! AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!! SHE LOOKED SO BADASS!!!!

Aftermath interlude thoughts:

Pretender and Satyr are so gay. That one's easy I don't even gotta try.

Everyone just starting to freak out about how things are gonna escalate instead of just celebrating the win is really unfortunate.

I mean, they aren't wrong. Another Endbringer is gonna come. But it would be nice if they could live in happy ignorance for a few days.

I'm guessing it'll either be two Endbringers that always attack at the same time or one Endbringer that uses teleportation to swap to a different city after a certain period of time. In either case basically fucking up the organized response ability.

Already mentioned this, but Rachel and Taylor fell asleep on each other!!!! GGGGAAAAAAAYYYYYYY!!!

If Dragon comes back wrong I'm putting all of the blame on Colin.

Fucking Danny just fucked that phone call up so bad. This man can not get it fucking right. FUCK.

GLENN YOU FUCKING FUCK I DON'T CARE WHAT YOUR REASONS ARE YOU DON'T PUT SOMEONES PRIVATE VIDEO THEY TOOK FOR THERAPY ON THE INTERNET!!

AND YOU NEVER EVEN FUCKING SAID "SORRY"!!!!! YOU EXPLAINED YOUR ACTIONS AND WHY YOU HAD TO DO IT EVEN THOUGH IT WOULD HURT HER AND YOU COULDN'T ASK HER CAUSE SHE WOULD HAVE SAID NO BUT YOU NEVER EVEN SAID SORRY!!!

Like for real. Taylor says "You could have asked" and you respond with "You would have said no." Fuck at least just say sorry!

[a-lilyinthevalley]

As the sprites murmur and clamor around the new dusty blue fragment, the one who holds the orange one hangs back. They hold the memory gingerly, careful not to let it slip.

A scribbled hand on their shoulder makes them jump so badly that they almost drop the shard. They manage to catch it, but a deep gouge is drawn across their hand as a consequence.

They turn around.

It's a Sleeping One. And it's not moving away as the sprite looks at it. There is a crown of zinnias over where its eyes would be - they seem to be keeping the entity calm.

It points at the shard, drawing some sort of shape in the air. Due to the nature of the entity's body, the sprite cannot make out whatever it is the lost soul is trying to convey. The One... huffs, despite its apparent lack of lungs, and grabs the shard.

"Hey-!"

Static emanates from the figure. Eventually, after a long moment, it morphs into, "S̶o̴r̸r̶y̴."

Raising it above its head, it speaks in a voice softer than the anon thought it would, "Lo̶ok̶ ̵a̵w̷a̵y i̵f ̸yo̷u c̶an̵n̷ot̸ sto̸m̶a̵c̴h̴ ̷h̵e̵r ̵lo̵we̵s̴t p̶o̶i̴nt̵." Then, with no other warning, the figure hurls the memory on the ground and it shatters into hundreds of pieces of glass.

The shards don't fall, instead remaining suspended, glinting as they slowly turn in the air.

The surrounding area fades to a... familiar white. A shade they had seen with Silverbell, had heard about from what little bits and pieces they knew of Lily's time there.

The Sleeping One stands beside the sprite, silently looking at a small figure sitting in the middle of the box.

[CW: non-consensual body modification, mild body horror, suicidal ideation, rough rough rough rough very bad mental state oh fuck, gore (but cookied???), just generally a Bad Time]

--Day 56--

It was quiet in the box.

She hadn't moved for quite some time, the echoed sounds of shuffling grating to her ears after hearing it again and again.

It is quiet in the box when he arrives.

White Lily had seen the shades before, had had one-sided conversations with them as they said the same lines over and over again. Baked to serve, baked to convince her she was wrong~!

The shades never let her touch them -- always staying just out of reach. So when Elder Faerie's shade moves to stand in front of them, eyebrow creased and eyes - he had pupils, he had eyes - filled with worry, they recoil. Instinctively, and without much thought... but he notices. He always does.

"Lily..?" he asks, a bit hesitantly, "Are you alright?"

They almost bark a laugh at the audacity of this shade. A new strategy, how fun! 'Was she alright?'

No Of course~!

"I'm fine," they say, smiling. Their face ached.

He places a hand on her knee, and that is the first sign White Lily has that something is truly wrong. Because the shades are just that -- shades. Ghosts of memories in a white box.

"...Elder Faerie?" she manages to choke out, whisper sounding far too loud as it echoes back in her ears.

No, Lily. You aren't going to cry in front of him.

The old Guardian's brow furrows, and a second hand goes up to her forehead. It's blissfully warm, and White Lily almost melts right then and there. They restrain themself, though, blinking back tears to examine their old friend.

He looked tired. One too many sleepless nights, perhaps? Thinking of ways to seal the Beasts now that she had abandoned the project.

"Really, Lily..." he pauses, and she braces for a lecture.

Only for her eyes to widen as familiar arms wrap her in a hug. Warm, and safe, and Witches, they had missed feeling something like this, something other than a perpetual chill.

"Don't scare me like that," Elder Faerie says, voice hoarse.

"...What..?" they whisper, hands finding their place on the older cookie's back as they hug him back.

"You died, you idiot," he says, voice hollow, "You went and crumbled yourself because- because of those damn butterflies."

White Lily's first thought is that's wrong, quickly followed by warmth and something other than silence, thank Witches--

"It wasn't their fault," they mumble into his shoulder.

Elder Faerie scoffs, because of course he does, "Then why was it that after you went to talk with them privately, you decided the best course of action was crumbling yourself?"

"That was my fault. My... penitence."

They feel the other Guardian's body stiffen. Perhaps they had gone too far, but she couldn't have him blaming the butterflies. If they were still alive, he would be in charge of them now. He needed to take good care of them. Which reminded her...

"Elder Faerie -- you said I died," they say slowly, "So how am I here?"

He pulls away after a long moment, and White Lily mourns the loss of his warmth. The faerie steadies his breathing, and she nearly sees the cogs at work in his brain.

"I may have pulled your crumbling soul into the nearest suitable vessel, which just so happened to be me..." he says, not making eye contact.

He what.

"That's black magic," is all she can muster, stupefied. They watch as Elder Faerie takes their hand into his own, keeping his gaze trained on their entwined fingers.

"...I know. But I couldn't lose you, too. Not again."

"You've gotten through worse-"

"I am not going to bury my d- your body," he bites.

"How incredibly sweet of you," she deadpans, "But thank you for caring enough to try."

The two sit there for a moment, staring at the white walls.

"...You're going to leave again, aren't you?" she mumbles, gaze far away.

He sighs, "Yes. But you'll be out soon. This is one of the final parts of bringing you back."

"How soon?"

"Another week, at most. It's only been four days, Lily, I think you can wait a little while longer."

Her heart freezes in her chest.

"Four days," they echo.

Fifty-six days on her end. Eight weeks. Compared to his four days, the number felt enormous. They would laugh, but quickly find that they can't breathe. Why can't she breathe-?

"You can't," they whisper.

"Don't you want to go back to living? I'm trying to help you, you don't understand--"

"No, you don't understand! You cannot expect me to stay here for another two, three months-!"

Elder Faerie grabs her arm, snapping her into clarity as she turns to look at him. But they couldn't wait for him. They were tired.

"I'd-- I'd rather die again. Kill me, please, just crumble me and let it be over."

"Let me rest."

"Please."

"I can't," he chokes out, "I can't-- You can't ask that of me."

"Then you never really cared for me," she says, backing away entirely. Their hands hit the walls of the mental box holding their soul. They feel like crying. Or screaming. Or both.

She didn't have a weapon, nor anything else that would be able to end her. He wouldn't offer that mercy himself, and they were far too weak to challenge him like this.

"Please," they say again, the word echoing in the air around the two. A plea, a prayer, a desperate bid for some form of mercy.

He does not grace it with a response.

"I'm sorry," Elder Faerie says instead, and White Lily's world tilts. She can't balance properly, instead falling to the cold, hard ground. There's a faint buzzing in her ears, and her back is starting to ache.

"You're not strong enough to get out, yet. This next part... is going to hurt."

With those final and definitely-not-ominous words, he blinks away.

Coward.

They almost shout for him to get back here and explain when they feel it. A mounting pressure in her shoulder blades. She tries to roll onto her back, only to hiss at the effect it had.

It had hurt. Enough to make her see stars. Dread curls in the pit of her stomach.

Her growing panic is magnified tenfold between one second and the next as she feels movement underneath her dough.

What the fuck, is all they manage to think before another rolling wave of pain hits her. Stronger, this time. Some sort of strangled noise makes its way out of her throat.

It feels like fire, eating at their back and coalescing in their torso. They can't breathe, something must be pushing at her lungs, it isn't right, she can't think, and their body won't stop aching.

Another ripple of pain shoots down her spine, and she screams, long and loud, unable to catch her breath. They claw at the ground, fingers scratching against the stale tile hard enough to draw jam.

She feels sick, the only thing stopping her from vomiting being the simple fact that there was nothing in her stomach.

She thinks, briefly, that she's dying.

Pain. Scream. Breathe. Rest. Repeat.

Over, and over, and over, until

something

gives.

The cycle changes, and something sharp is pressing against their dough.

Trying to get out.

The pain builds, and White Lily thinks rather hysterically that she would rather be re-baked again, consumed by Witches, and broken into crumbly little bits instead of feeling the all-consuming agony that rips itself through her back and down into her stomach, and the sharp thing is under her skin, and there are things where there shouldn't be, and then--

Her dough splits open, jam splattering somewhere next to her head, and the scream that escapes their lungs is born of nothing but pure, primal, agonizing pain.

It hurt, it hurt, Witches, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop-

but

it

didn't.

There is a sick, wet, squelching sound coming from behind her, not unlike tearing paper, and she digs her hands into the stale biscuit tile below her and screams loud enough to drown it out.

Their throat gives in, the sickly-sweet taste of jam filling her mouth as she chokes on the ruined remains of her vocal chords. With that final straw, White Lily slips, falling into some sort of fuzzy half-consciousness, the claws of suffering drawing deep gouges into their dough as they curl up into the darkest parts of consciousness.

They don't know how long they stay there.

Only that each moment felt like an eternity, each ripple of pain tortuous through the thin string of thought wrapped like a noose around her neck.

Until the pain receded into that same dull ache it was before, and they are unceremoniously dragged back to the waking world.

She can't think.

Hyperventilating, they manage to turn their head enough to glance over their shoulder and don't register what they're looking at.

Because that is a wing. Coming from her back.

They can't even muster the strength to laugh hysterically.

Maybe she's hallucinating again, only she knows what hallucinating feels like, and this was far too real. Details too horrifyingly accurate, even things that they would never have thought of when dealing with a wing ripping itself out of them.

Judging by the writhing movement coming from the other side of her back, she was about to have two.

They grit their teeth, fangs biting into her lip and drawing more jam.

Feeling it once wasn't enough to prepare them for round two. They don't slip into that strange half-state again, the only mercy coming in the form of it being faster.

She tries to scream again, only sending more jam into her mouth and down her throat to choke on. No sound comes from their chest, but their body screams instead.

Their lungs seize and their limbs tremble, and she can't help but hear every movement of the second wing as the clawed tip catches upon her dough and that same sickening rip is sent echoing through the box.

All at once, it's over.

The only thing left in its wake is silence, broken up by silent sobs and quickened breaths that feel far too loud in her ears.

They have to get up, sit up, something. But she can't move more than her head.

It takes a long, laborious moment of effort for her to shift enough that she can properly inspect her wings past the jam spread across them.

It was... strange. Disorienting to look at, knowing that the thing in front of them is now one of their limbs. The nerve endings are raw, each minute brush against them bringing a new round of suffering to her attention.

It isn't as bad as how it had felt for her dough to be ripping, splitting, falling apart at the seams- No.

No.

Nothing could be as bad as that.

But the strangest thing wasn't the wings themselves- It was their shape. Curved and leathery, clawed tips gleaming in the non-light of the box.

Not faerie wings, but dragon wings.

Of course fate itself had to get in on the cosmic joke, now. Look at Lily, they corrupted after learning about the truth of the world!

They are warm, if nothing else. She wraps them around herself the best she can, letting their warmth seep into her dough in an attempt to stop her shivering, uncaring of the jam sticking to them.

They can't speak, or make little noises to scare off the shades. Their ruined throat might not even heal, here in this place where reality is nothing but suggestion.

At least with the silence, they didn't have to listen. They could just fall back into their head... and pretend.

Pretend that there is grass at their fingertips and a breeze brushing through their hair, that Salt is off somewhere chasing a cat. That Silverbell and Mercurial Knight are chatting amongst themselves nearby, that Silverbell is getting teased about Black Sapphire again... Pretend that her back is whole, that the other Ancients are sitting next to her, that she isn't alone.

She pretends for a very long time.

-----

[TWO THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED WORDS. FOR FUCK'S. SAKE.] [Umm, feel free to scream at me in the Discord Server, if that makes you feel better.]

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[Prev]

The Nebula Highlands, 3 weeks after White Lily's death:

As the group heads up the hill, the air grows quiet. Still. Devoid of any murmurings or dancing stars.

Just... silence.

The ground begins to clink under their feet. When the group looks down, they see thick pieces of glass, all vaguely triangular in shape, covering the ground.

They've made it to the top of the hill.

[Mod Note: Hi again! These next polls for this thread will work differently. Instead of it being One Action, all actions will be done, as long as they are voted for. The more votes for a specific action, the more successful an action will be. Happy choosing!]

[Mod Note 2: There's also a time limit, in the form of asks/reblogs made. Y'all's have a time limit of 20-25 reblogs/asks. It sounds like a lot, but... um... you'd be surprised.]

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[cephalog0d]

Okay, but like. There's the whole joke about Bruce recruiting children to be his sidekicks, but honestly there's only really one that fits that.

And it's Jason. And the whole story there is, frankly, unhinged. Aaaaand then he died.

(I'm specifically talking about "first post-crisis origin stories" here because Jason and Dick, in particular, have both had multiple major retcons and revisions over the years, and some of them dramatically change how things happened.)

Like okay. Going backwards, you've got Duke who joined/led a whole Robin-based gang at a time when Bruce wasn't even Batman. You've got Damian and Cass, who were both literally born into the world of masks and capes and heroes and villains, so they weren't ever really not going to be part of it. Steph might have taken inspiration from previous heroes but she made her own identity and repeatedly refused to stop involving herself in the vigilante lifestyle. Tim, obviously, basically strong-armed Batman into letting him be Robin, despite Batman's protests.

Dick's a little more complicated just because there's so many versions, because that's what 80 years of comics and multiple universe reboots will do, and there's kind of a general trend that earlier pre-crisis versions were more of Batman being like "hello, child, would you like to be my sidekick" and later versions have leaned harder and harder into the idea that Dick was absolutely going to do this anyway, regardless of what Batman had to say about it. But even in the first post-crisis version, the flashback in Batman Year 3, Dick says he wants to find a way to keep people like that from hurting others again. When Alfred questions Bruce's offer to train him, Bruce says that Dick should learn to do things the right way if he's going to do it. It's not hard to extrapolate that, much like later versions of the origin story, Dick was going to get himself into this one way or another. (Batman (1940) #437)

And then there's Jason. Whose backstory has also had a lot of (sometimes major) revisions over the years (remember when his adoption was, like, some kind of Joker-originated long con? Fucken Nu52, man). But the original post-crisis version is pretty straightforward. Steals Batman's tires, gets caught and sent to Ma Gunn's Secret Criminal School, intervenes when Batman goes to investigate, immediately gets offered the chance to be Robin based entirely on that.

Which is itself kind of unhinged. That Bruce saw this kid who was living on his own stealing tires and went "Hey you would make a good Robin" as his very first instinct.

But if you've never read Jason's post-crisis origin, or it's been a while, it's honestly even more unhinged than that because that arc starts with Dick getting "fired" as Robin specifically for the reason that he got shot by Joker and Bruce freaked out about how the Robin identity has too many enemies and therefore Dick, a legal adult with approximately a decade of training and experience, should not use the identity anymore.

(And it's specifically about the Robin identity, in this version, because when Dick says he's not going to stop the crime fighting thing Bruce's response is basically "I know and I didn't expect you to". Honestly I could also say a lot about this version of the Robin/Nightwing transition vs. later ones and how this one definitely feels like the Heavy Hand of DC Editorial in the fact that they had no contact for so long afterwards, because the interaction really doesn't feel like it warrants that in this case compared to some later versions, but that's a whole other too-long ramble.) (Batman (1940) #408)

And then a few weeks later Bruce turns around and picks up a random kid, a literal child, and goes "Hey you would make a good Robin!"

And I think a lot about how fucking wild that is. And it's not like the people writing just didn't notice. Dick's big argument with Bruce when he finally comes back to Gotham and meets Jason isn't about the fact that Bruce took in another kid, or even necessarily about Dick feeling proprietary over the Robin identity, the thing he's angry about is that Bruce said it was too dangerous for him, an adult, someone who has trained with Batman for a decade and was already highly physically trained before that for his whole life, to be Robin, and now Bruce has turned around and painted that target onto some random new kid. He pushes, repeatedly, trying to get Bruce to justify himself and this absolutely irresponsible decision, and Bruce gives a lot of answers about how Jason was on a bad path and needed this outlet and eventually just admits that he missed having a partner. (Batman (1940) #416)

And like. Dick's right, is the thing. He is 1000% in the right in this argument. If he can't be Robin anymore because of the danger, how in the hell is it anything like a good idea to hand it over to someone way younger, way less trained, way less experienced, and expect that that wouldn't end in tragedy?

And then it did.

And yeah, Bruce, it is kinda a lot of your fault.