#and i like the power difference of it with you being his professor

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

Feb 14th

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1. Hellooo 🖤🖤 I am ITMF some plots where:

A) Wei Ying really really likes Lan Zhan and behaves like a besotted bird that he is: flutters arpund him, tries to get his attention, pokes at him, flirts, gives gifts, help and compliments, craves to spend time with him, all that stuff. Besotted, in love, reckless, one-point-focused and all that! And Lan Zhan is also a flustered boy in love, may be embarrassed of his reaction, but also loves the attention and reciprocates in his own way. All fluff and happy stuff, may be them as teenagers or adults, any setting.

B) More angst: Wei Ying is in love and tries to court Lan Zhan (maybe as described above, maybe more proper/official way). But Lan Zhan is either too strictly raised to accept such attention, or thinks it is a joke, or is too frustrated by Wei Ying, maybe even thinks he dislikes him. He is cold, aloof, maybe outright rude and dismissive, maybe even lashes out on Wei Ying. Seeing that he is not wanted, not as a lover or just a friend, Wei Ying gives up out of respect/hurt, distances himself, behaves proper, quiet, maybe even starts behaving as their difference in social standing says he should (i think i was that somewhere, & we know that's a bit nope, ofc). And that is when it hits Lan Zhan what he really wants and what he himself pushed away. Awkwardness, apologies, hesistance on Wei Ying's part, tentative reconciliation and accepted confessions. Any amount of angst, but please a happy ending 🥰

Thank you all so much! @shellennium

1A)

🧡 tear out the thread one by one from your skin (’til your bones feel embarrassed by all the attention) by lightningalwaysreturns (E, 40k, WangXian, Modern AU, Holidays, Getting Together, Professors, Pining, Spring, Fluff and Smut, Family, single dad lwj, so many novel refs, Explicit Sexual Content, service top lwj/power bottom wwx vibes)

The Black Sheep and The Flawless Jade by Theresa_Marxen (E, 51k, WangXian, JYL/JZX, NHS/OC, 3rd person pov, Modern, College/University, College dropout WWX, professor LWJ, thirsty WWX, disaster bisexual WWX, aggressive bottom WWX, Age Difference, Age gap relationship, mid-twenties WWX, sexy mid-forties LWJ, middle-aged LWJ, control freak but also secretly freak in the sheets top LWJ, the erotic allure of a partner who has his life together, the inherent eroticism of going to bed early, Slow Burn, Power Play, Tsundere, delayed gratification, Fluff, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Slice of Life, Everybody Lives, gege kink, didi kink, Breeding Kink)

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2. Hi! For an in the mood for rec, does anybody know some fics about wwx being a legend and badass in a positive way? Like everybody is awed by him like by hgj? I watched some tiktok mdzs edits and i desperatly crave soms good fics. Thanks♥

Dispersing Clouds by dreamingofcake (E, 283k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Abusive YZY, Canonical Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (Background Character), Background Character Deaths, child deaths, Canon JC, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Cultivation Sect Politics, Homophobia, Heteronormativity, Feelings Realization, WWX is Not Oblivious)

🔒 Bright Voice Roughly Rendered Softly Silent by Preludian_Staves (T, 26k, WangXian, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence, No Golden Core Transfer, Muteness, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Not JC Friendly, Confessions, Angst, Choking, Red String of Fate, Appearances by Paperman WWX, Inventor WWX, Good Uncle LQR, WWX Goes to Cloud Recesses, Feelings Realization, Caretaking, Supportive Lan Family, Genius WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Protective LWJ, Protective Lan Family, Character Death (not wwx or lwj))

Practical Considerations by teawater, the_anthropologist (E, 97k, WangXian, JC & WWX, LXC & WWX, LQR & WWX, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Found Family, Spouses to Lovers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Politics, Scheming, Lán Elders are assholes, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, eventually BAMF LXC, learning to make decisions, Learning Self-worth, Self-Esteem Issues, Sweet Wangxian, Domestic Fluff, Fix-It, JC is a big asshole, he improves somewhat but it’s open-ended, WWX learns to stand up for himself, Quote: Come Back to Gusu With Me, POV wwx, POV LWJ, POV JC, Golden Core Reveal, Teacher wwx, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Post-Sunshot Campaign, WWX Protection Squad, Feelings Realization, WWX protector of the twin jades, Protective LWJ, Protective WWX, Protective LQR, Demonic Cultivator WWX, WWX is Loved, Married WangXian, Genius WWX, Everybody Lives)

and

Judge Softly by Chrononautical (E, 32k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX, LXC & LWJ, LXC & LQR, LQR & WWX, Accidental Voyeurism, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Mind Reading, Oblivious WWX, WWX Has Self-Worth Issues, Cloud Recesses, BAMF WWX, Genius WWX, sex makes WWX stupid, LQR Tries, It may be more accurate to say LQR learns to try, Suffering LQR, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Post-Canon Fix-It, mostly web series with a few influences from the broader canon, Ghosts, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gusu Lan Forehead Ribbon, Teacher LQR Mutual Pining, Longing, Playful Sex, Use Your Words, Canon-Typical Violence, Switching, Virgin WWX, Love Confessions) may also fit because the Lans learn to respect Wei Ying for his skills in these.

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3. Hi I'm in the mood for 90k +word Yizhan or wangxian fics where Wei Ying or Xiao Zhan (YiZhan parts on a YiZhan post) has some kinda of midlife crisis cause he developes feelings for Lan Zhan or Wang Yibo when all his life he thought he was straight. Even fics with a similar vibe is okey would love it to also include AYuan . @wangxianbff

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4. Hi! Are there any "characters watching the series" fics but only with the junior quartet watching?

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5. Heyo, are there any fics where the juniors go back in time but they don't change anything, its just like witnessesing how Wangxian started and Wei Wuxian going through the worst time of his life. Fics like that, please let me know if there are, please and thank you😁 @yasssbassss

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6. Hello! For the next ITMF, does anyone know a fic where Lan Wangji is just done with his brother post canon? Like... Laying out to him everything he did to him and how he is being just like their father? Or Wei Wuxian doing it. I just want Lan Xichen facing reality. @lostandmessedup

Lan Xichen is confronted about his poor decisions in these 2 fics but by Lan Sizhui (hope that's okay since I don't know of any where Lan Zhan or Wei Ying do the confronting):

🔒💖 When has silence saved anyone? by Vrishchika (T, 6k, wangxian, LSZ & WWX & LWJ, post-canon, LXC  critical, family feels, angry LWJ & LSZ, LXC gets scolded)

this blood in my mouth by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 3k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX & LWJ, Post-Canon, POV LXC)

break by justdoityoufucker (orphan_account) (T, 3k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, LXC Critical, JC Critical, Canonical Character Death, Guānyīn Temple Scene, BAMF WN, Protective WN) Wen Ning confronts him during guanyin temple in break

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7. itmf fics that touch up in the issue of the nie's using resentment with their beast core sabers, and how they were persecuting wwx like for the almost the same thing @mepomene

The Core Issue by Hauntcats (T, 21k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly)

Sunset, Sunrise by Ariana Deralte (ArianaDeralte) (T, 59k, WWX & WRH, WangXian, WIP, Time Travel Fix-It, Crack, Temporary Character Death, sorry I killed a-Yuan for a few paragraphs before the time travel, WWX is a Wen, Genius WWX, WRH gets to rewatch the series as a treat, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, in this house we acknowledge that all the sects have flaws, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, WWX Has ADHD, Bad Parents JFM & YZY, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Autistic LWJ, Loss of Limbs) the hypocrisy of the Nie's using resentful energy is addressed in The Core Issue and a bit in Sunset, Sunrise

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8. Hello! I’m looking for two kind of fics! A) Where WWX has either had enough of LWJ’s cold shoulder and he just ignores him now or he treats him like a stranger. Or fics where from the beginning WWX wants nothing to do with LWJ. I’m looking for fics where WWX doesn’t follow LWJ around all the time. B) Also! I’m looking for fics where LWJ messes up and WWX doesn’t forgive him so easily. There’s a lot of fics where everything is WWX’s fault and everyone hates him and LWJ doesn’t forgive him so easily. I’d like to see fics where it’s LWJ that messes up and he gets the cold shoulder instead from everyone and needs to grovel! @bigmeatycl0ws

8A)

💖 Echo, Murmur, Dream, Here by bluerainmist (M, 51k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Universe Alteration, the yiling patriarch survives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Catharsis, Slow Burn, Drama, Getting Together, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Melancholy, Love, Mutual Pining, Reunions, Love Confessions, Eventual Smut, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Switching, Grief/Mourning, fucking while pining, Implied/Referenced Torture, Self-Harm, golden core transfer, Playing fast and loose with worldbuilding, Battle Scenes, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, implied / Referenced suicide attempt, Sect Leader WWX, YLLZ WWX, Yílíng Wèi Sect) this ones an AU but features a role-reversal where Lan Zhan pursues Wei Ying and Wei Ying does not immediately return his feelings

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9. Hello! ITMF a NHS centric fic, especially one focused on his time and scheming before WWX’s resurrection. I’ve seen fics talk about his cunning, but I’m fascinated by how his grief fueled years of anger and revenge seeking. I’m not really interested in non-canon pairings but it’s fine if they’re in the background. Thank you for the help!! @murderouswidowsmatter

I haven't read any fics that focus on Nie Huaisang's plotting his revenge after Wei Ying died. However, these two fics involve Nie Huaisang time traveling to prevent his brother's death:

playing the fool by via_the_cryptid (T, 18k, NHS & NMJ, WangXian, BAMF NHS, NHS Knows Everything, Time Travel Fix-It, for nhs at least, NHS-centric, Scheming NHS, Protective NMJ, NMJ Lives, WWX Lives, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Protective LWJ, Protective NHS, JYL and JZZ Live, JYL Knows Everything, Canon Divergence, NHS & WWX Friendship, POV NHS)

This Time Around by KouriArashi (T, 83k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Kid Fic, Families of Choice, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Politics, Class Issues, Past Child Abuse, Moral Ambiguity, Everybody Lives, Eventual Happy Ending)

Story-Shaped by lingering_song (T, 13k, NHS & WWX, wangxian, Post-Canon, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Inventor WWX, Found Family, NHS needs a new hobby, And apparently that’s spoiling his Wei-Xiong, Mentioned Character Death, Alcohol, Protective NHS, WangXian Endgame, Not JC Friendly, Not particularly gentry sects friendly overall tbh) is set post-canon but features some discussions about Nie Huaisang's scheming to avenge his brother and features Nie Huaisang then scheming to get Wei Ying a happy ending.

The Wrong Man by Remma3760 (Not Rated, 125k, WangXian, Sect Leader LWJ, Evil JGS, Canon Divergence, Golden Core Reveal, Major Character Death (not Wangxian)) The Wrong Man features Nie Huaisang discovering the Jin's plot against his brother and how he orchestrates their downfall.

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10. Hi! This is for ITMF, I apologize if you already replied to something similar, I couldn't find any similar asks. I'm in the mood for something d/s in the pov of the dom, doesn't matter if the dom is Lan Wangji or Wei Wuxian! Most d/s fics are in the pov of the sub, it's a struggle 😭 I loved Bend by Anaphoricae

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11. Hey!! Do you have any fics where WWX came back wrong from the burial mounds? Like not fully there mentally or possessed... anything really :) <3 @sleeplesssoporific

🔒 between the shadow and the soul by Reverie (cl410) (M, 22k, WangXian, JYL/WQ, JC/NHS, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family, Dark WWX, Feral WWX, Memory Loss, Magic, Magical Realism, Protective LWJ, Protective JC, Protective JYL, Grief, BAMF WWX, POV Alternating, Mojo’s bookmark)

Grief Kindly Stopped by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 5k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Identity Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV LWJ, AU after WWX gets dropped in the Burial Mounds, Light Horror, Fix-It)

🔒 Heart of hearts series by apathyinreverie (M, 40k, WangXian, Dark LWJ(Ish), Amnesia, WWX gets to be Not Okay after the BM, Hurt WWX, Recovery, Caring, Protective LWJ, Possessive LWJ, some definite manipulation but not everything is as it seems, not nearly as dark as the tags make it sound, Canon Divergence, Golden Core Reveal, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Domestic WangXian, Fluff, WWX Goes to Gusu, Possessive WWX, WWX happily atticwifing away, Sunshot Campaign, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Not Cultivation World Friendly)

🔒💙 A Heart Undying by NonsensicalRambling (M, 114k, WangXian, Undead WWX, Canon-Typical Violence, canon-typical dead things the burial mounds, Fix-It of Sorts, Canon Divergence, Eventual WangXian, No Yīn Tiger Seal, Morally Gray WWX, Animals Eating People, WWX’s questionable choices, Morally conflicted LWJ, Oblivious WWX, WWX Creates a Sect | Yiling Wei, YLLZ WWX, Sect Leader WWX, LWJ & WQ have an Understanding)

Looked so alive, turns out i’m not real by KatAnni (M, 36k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, JYL & WWX & JC, Temporary Character Death, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sunshot Campaign, Canon-Typical Violence, Heavy Angst, Canon Temporary Character Death, Necromancy, Demonic Cultivation, Hurt WWX, Hurt LWJ, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sentient Burial Mounds, WWX’s Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Not Everyone Dies)

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12. Hello, Are there any fics where after LWJ drags WW back to Cloud Recesses, WW tries to seduce LWJ?

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13. can we have recs on omega lwj pretty please?

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14. Heylooo🫶 Love you guys.

IMTF fics where a-yuan is exposed to his parents being all lovey dovey. this could be like post canon maybe, during canon, or an au where he goes back to the past maybe during the cr arc. but anyway the point is its kinda like a-yuan being very clearly faced with the fact that his parents are stupid and gay and the yling laozu is not scary. (exhibit A: do you like mian-mian? *facepalm*) @body-inabyss-heart-inparadise

as i stumble homewards by the_pretzel (T, 27k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death - WWX, Found Family, Food Issues, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, LSZ pov, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff) is an AU featuring ghost Wei Ying who A-Yuan watches fall in love with Lan Zhan.

Important Distinctions by nagi_blue (T, 5k, gen, Background Relationships, Fluff and Crack, [Podfic] Important Distinctions by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona)) may also work but Lan Sizhui doesn't realize that Wei Ying was the person Lan Zhan was in love with until the end of the story.

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15. Hello beautiful people! So, I know this is a controversial take in any queer fandom, but I was rereading a harmony between qin and se by Alaceron and I started craving somewhat straight Wangxian. I read one where he comes back in Qin Su's body too and I just love the concept, idk. Any Fem!WXX recs, with Male Lan Zhan? Thanks!!

Ps. I also love Anything for Wei Ying but apparently it has been deleted? Sad. @lostandmessedup

if there ever was a perfect couple this one qualifies by wildwestwind (E, 4k, WangXian, Gender Changes, Rope Bondage, Cunnilingus, anorgasmia, Consensual Non-Consent, in like the mildest possible way, Gentle Dominant LWJ, Masturbation, Lack of Communication, Fluff, arguably this entire fic is heterosexuality kink, the premise of this fic is that it would be hot if LWJ were a straight dude, conventional gender roles are fetishy, Idiots in Love, Female WWX)

Anything For Wei Ying by panda_desu (M, 44k, WangXian, Modern AU, Canon Divergence, Gender Changes, Genderbending, Genderswap only for wwx, Female WWX, Pregnancy, Fluff, Mutual Pining, attempt at RomCom, Misunderstandings, possible inaccurate wedding tradition, Non-Explicit Childbirth)

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16. I've got a serious craving for head disciple WWX fics or fics that explore that time of his life or relations with other disciples. But I can't seem to find any. Preferably no Jiang bashing.

Fics set pre sunshot campaign not entirely focused on wangxian are good too. One again thank you for all your hard work. @shylurker111

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17. itmf: fics where wwx is political savy? something similar to "dispercing clouds" by dreamingofcake, or "pratical considerations" teawater

Chronicles of Sect Leader Wei Wuxian by Muggle_Diary (E, 85k, WIP, WangXian, XuanLi, JFM/YZY, CSSR/WCZ, LXC/LQY, NMJ/QS, WQ/OC, OFC/ OFC, JC/ OFC, Sect Leader WWX, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Different First Meeting, Canon Divergence, Minor Character Death, Anal Sex, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, Sex Toys, Explicit Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Rough Sex, Child Abuse, Child Death, War Hero WWX, Sunshot Campaign, No Golden Core Transfer, WWX Leaves the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, Cultivation Sect Politics, Wen Remnants Live, Abusive YZY, Abusive Jiang Family, Bad Parents JFM and YZY, JC Bashing, JFM and YZY Bashing, Yunmeng Jiang Sect Bashing, JYL and JZX Live, Jiang Family Bashing)

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[buttdumplin]

meeting john when he enrolls at the uni you teach at and signs up for one of your courses, the two of you bonding quickly over being so close in age and some of the nonsense your other students attempt. office hours lead to coffee which leads to dinner and next thing you know he's locked your office door behind him and you're stumbling after he kisses you for the first time because "what have i done? i'm your professor, i'm taking advantage of you!" and he just chuckles, his chest rumbling against yours as he reminds you that he is a couple of years older than you and he's fully consenting to what he feels growing between you two. you give in to his touch, panting in his ear and he's so fucking proud of himself because "such an intelligent boy, rendered speechless from just my fingers," the loud squelch of your pussy tightening around him nothing short of encouraging

[sparkofthetelling]

love having to write a research proposal for my research planning class where my professor gave me such wonderful feedback as repeating the same thing three separate times (it was about how broken and interrupted terminology makes reading hard... wonder how that works buddy) and telling me to explain the terminology... that I did explain... using terms that if the idea is any reviewer should be able to look at, they should be able to know. Like, how is an equation with an integral and 4 different vectors in it going to clarify the point more than explaining exactly what it is in text. Really. I want to know, especially considering this man is the least qualified undergraduate-only institution professor I've ever met. Very passionate about teaching, can't teach or mentor any students at his institutions. what the hell

[flwrkid14]

Tim and Danny: Love, Trust, and the Weight of Protection

part 1

Danny knows what it's like to be hunted.

It’s been his reality for as long as he can remember—forever glancing over his shoulder, never truly at ease. Between vengeful ghosts, government agents, and countless other dangers, his survival has depended solely on his instincts, his powers, and the fickleness of luck. He has his friends—two best friends and a sister who would drop everything to stand by him, who he knows would always have his back. But the weight of that reliance feels heavy, a burden he can't quite shake.

Trusting others, truly leaning on them, has always felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford. He wants to feel safe, to let someone else take some of the weight, but the thought of putting them in danger because of him? That’s a risk he can't bring himself to take.

Then he meets Tim Drake.

At first, Tim’s protectiveness doesn’t faze him. It’s Gotham. You don’t date a Wayne-adjacent vigilante and expect anything less than a little paranoia. Danny’s been through worse. A tracker on his phone? Standard. Tim pulling files on his professors? Honestly, kind of funny.

But then, Danny finds out how deep it goes.

He stumbles upon a folder on Tim’s desk—his name printed neatly on the tab. Inside? Background checks on his classmates, neighbors and friends. Surveillance reports. A detailed map of his daily routine. Heart rate data. Sleeping patterns. Eating habits. There’s even a file on Phantom.

For a moment, Danny froze.

This should terrify him—it used to. Being watched, tracked for his every move, reminded him too much of those who hunted him, who’d wanted to tear him apart and dissect him like a lab rat. His first instinct was always to run.

But at that moment? He felt... safe. The notes in the margins weren’t cold or clinical like the ones his parents would have written. No, instead, they were worried. Make sure he’s eating enough. Possible threat? Keep an eye on this one. Look for ectoplasmic spikes—could mean trouble.

This wasn’t someone trying to control him. This was someone trying to protect him.

Tim’s not like the people who hunted him in Amity Park. There’s no malice in what he does. No intent to control or hurt. It’s all fear. Love, even. Danny can see it in Tim’s eyes when he stammers through an explanation, bracing himself for anger or rejection.

He’s scared Danny will leave.

And that’s what gets Danny.

No one has ever cared for him like this, no one willing to go through such lengths just to ensure his safety. Yeah, it’s intense, maybe unhealthy, even by the standards of a world that isn’t known for its normalcy. Danny knows Sam, Tucker, and Jazz would do the same—they’ve all put their lives on the line for him before, and he loves them for it. But Tim is different.

Tim is strong enough to face the dangers of Danny’s world and carry the weight of his burdens without hesitation. It’s something Danny could never ask his friends to do—not because they wouldn’t, but because they have their own lives, their own paths. They would drop everything for him, just as Tim would, but Tim does it with the resolve of a vigilante, already living a life where protecting others is his duty. This is someone who understands the risks, who’s already made those sacrifices, and still chooses to say, “I will protect you, no matter the cost.”

So, he smiles. He kisses Tim’s cheek. And he asks, “Can I put a tracker on you too?”

The way Tim’s eyes light up? Yeah, Danny thinks. This is love.

-----------------

The batfamily doesn’t get it.

They corner Danny one day, all serious expressions and careful words.

“Danny, we’re worried,” Dick starts, voice soft. “About Tim?” Danny tilts his head. “About both of you,” Steph says. “This… surveillance thing. It’s not normal.”

Danny shrugs. “Neither am I.”

They might understand—on some level. They’d lived through their own kind of danger, faced their own threats. But for Danny, it was different. They didn’t grow up being hunted, didn’t spend years hiding from people who wanted to tear them apart just for existing. For him, trusting the wrong person wasn’t just a risk; it was a matter of life and death.

Tim’s methods might be extreme, but Danny sees the intent behind them. It’s not control. It’s care. Tim watches his back because he knows what it’s like to lose people. Danny lets him because he knows what it’s like to be alone.

“Tim’s the first person who’s made me feel safe,” Danny tells them, voice steady. “You see obsession. I see someone who cares enough to watch my back.”

They don’t know what to say to that.

-----------------

Their relationship isn’t conventional. But in a city like Gotham, love isn’t always soft and simple. Sometimes, it’s vigilance. Sometimes, it’s knowing someone’s tracking your heartbeat because they’d die if it ever stopped.

Tim watches over Danny. Danny watches over Tim. It’s not about control—it’s about trust. About knowing that, no matter what, someone’s got your back.

The bats worry. They whisper about boundaries, red flags and healthy relationships.

Danny doesn’t listen. He knows what he’s got.

In a world where ghosts and vigilantes collide, where danger lurks in every shadow, Danny’s finally found someone who won’t let him face it alone.

And that? That’s everything.

[reiding-writing]

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭.

a case involving female students being murdered in their dormitories brings the team to stanford university. You have more of a connection to it than you originally realise.

cold!reader ❅ 8.4k ❅ cold!reader masterlist. ❅ main masterlist.

CW | typical criminal minds violence, violence against women, detail of murder and injury, abuse of power, student-professor relationships, miscarriage and abortion, character death, manipulation, cynicism

“Three women, all doctorate students of Stanford University, have all been killed inside their dorm rooms in the last two weeks,” There’s a click of a button, and then three images flash up on the screen, headshots of the girls. “All three were found with their stomachs cut open and their reproductive organs removed,”

What a lovely way to start a Monday morning.

“So much for the best University in California,” Morgan nudges your arm with his elbow, and your roll your eyes.

“What was the medical knowledge of the unsub?”

“You tell me,” JJ clicks another button on her remote, and the smiling photos of the victims are replaced with their crime scene photos.

Hands and feet tied to their beds, a large incision at the pelvic bone that had been stretched open to leave the internal organs bare, and the uterus cut out of the body. The surface knowledge was there, but the execution was not. Messy lines and uneven incisions that left the gap left in the victims more blood and tissue than actual hole.

“So we’re not looking for a professional then,” Morgan points out the obvious with a cross of his arms, leaning back in his chair.

“They clearly know something about it though,” Spencer leans forward as Morgan leans back, squinting his eyes like it’s going to make the images clearer. “There’s several different ways to perform a hysterectomy, but for a complete hysterectomy like our unsub is doing, the most common method is to start with an incision just above the pelvic bone,”

We’ll discuss the details of hysterectomies whilst we’re on the plane,” Hotch taps both of his hands on the table as he stands. “Gather your things, wheels up in thirty,”

There’s a chorus of “Yes Sir,”s as you all follow him out of the conference room to return to your respective desks and gather your belongings for the flight, an air of fatigue still surrounding the group even through the graphic imagery you were presented with.

“Going back to your alma mater, how do you feel?” Morgan clasps his right hand into a fist and holds it out to you like an invisible microphone.

You push it away without much thought as you pack your laptop into your bag, rolling your eyes at him for what feels like the tenth time since you’d walked through the door an hour ago. “It’s been almost— no, it has been ten years since I graduated, what’s there to ‘feel’?”

“Okay robot face, damn, no lingering love for the College that gave you your career?” Morgan’s taunt is laced with that familiar air of light-heartedness that’s there to remind you that he really is just poking fun, but you’ve never been very receptive to his humour.

“No.”

He lets out a sharp laugh in a mix of amusement and surprise, opening his mouth to make another comment, but the expression on your face tells him you’re definitely done talking about the topic.

He does have some self restraint.

—

Stepping out of the San Jose International Airport almost felt like going into a time machine, spitting you right back out where you’d left that decade ago just 18 miles from your old campus.

It felt even more surreal actually reaching Stanford’s main site, walking around the place you’d dedicated four years of your life to. Not much had changed since you’d left, not that you really expected it to, but it felt almost foreign to you to walk around the campus as you were now, a properly matured adult compared to the almost naive teenager you started as.

You began where you always did, at the most recent crime scene, a college dorm room on the south-east side of the campus.

It was pretty standard, a bedroom big enough for a double bed and a desk, a built in wardrobe, and a private bathroom; Decorated how you would expect from a girl in her early twenties, covered in memories and interests that gave it a personality outside of the off-white paint on the walls.

Of course, it was mildly ruined by the fact the previously pink bedsheets were stained in a pool of oxidised blood that dripped down onto the rug adorned floor and ledger small spatters on the skirting boards, but what can you really expect when the girl had been cut open whilst she was still alive and most definitely struggling against it.

“There’s no signs of forced entry,” All Morgan could do was shrug as he examined the fire door that acted as the room’s only entrance. “The inside lock was unfastened and there’s no marks indicating it was forced open, or that it even could be without heavy grade tools,”

“So our unsub had his own key then?”

“Or,” Emily’s suggestion was side-stepped by Spencer, “He was let in,”

There’s a small hum from Hotch as he stands beside you, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. “Alright,” He turns his eyes onto you with a small nod, “Take Prentiss to the Mortuary and check the autopsy. Morgan, Reid, get Garcia to find a list of professors the victims shared and go and speak with them, they might’ve noticed a change in the girls’ behaviours before their deaths.”

“Will do,”

“Got it,”

There’s a series of shared nods between you as you spilt up, leaving Hotch, Rossi and JJ at the crime scene in search of any more information they could utilise.

—

Trying to catch a Professor when they’re not busy is harder than most people would think. So hard in fact that Spencer and Morgan had been left with standing inside one of the lecture rooms to endure the last twenty minutes of a forensic psychology lesson so they could get the professor between classes.

“Professor Callahan?”

“For any personal feedback on your essay please send me an email,” The professor doesn’t so much as look up from the papers he collects and organises on his desk, seemingly already in a rush even after barely two minutes of the lecture ending.

Morgan and Spencer share a glance.

“My name’s Dr Spencer Reid, and this is Agent Morgan, we’re from the FBI,”

Callahan looks up this time, rectangle glasses reflecting the two back to each other through the overhead lighting.

“We were hoping we could ask you a few questions, Sir,”

Spencer watches the Professor’s eyebrows knit in confusion before his eyes spark with a hint of realisation, and then understanding.

“Yes, of course,” He nods, collecting the pile of papers in his right arm. “Please, follow me into my office,”

His office is filled with bookshelves stacked with psychology texts and framed accolades lining the walls. Small busts of philosophers in the mpty spaces. His desk is littered with small rememberences of his former students, and lining the opposite wall is another, a small plaque reading Dr. Wittchen at it’s forefront.

“Did you notice any changes in the girls’ behaviour, or anything unusual leading up to their deaths?” Spencer’s question is cautious, if not a little bit emotionally insensitive.

Callahan’s expression shifts to one of concern. “Honestly, I hadn’t noticed anything alarming. They were all such high achievers, incredibly driven. The stress of their programs sometimes affected them, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

Spencer nods, then glances toward the accompanying desk. “What about Professor Wittchen? Does he interact with the students much?”

Callahan hesitates, his brow furrowing slightly. “Robert is highly respected, very dedicated to his work. He can be a little tough on their grades, but more often than not he’s sat in here doing one-on-one tutoring in his spare time,”

Spencer hums softly at Callahan’s assessment. “Do you know if he turoed any of the girls? He might have a better insight into any changes in their mannerisms,”

“I’m not sure I’m afraid,” Callahan shakes his head, “I leave him to his teachings most of the ime, but I can let him know you’ve asked,”

As they speak, Morgan’s gaze drifts to a nearby display shelf adorned with photographs of past students on the far wall, each one framed and labeled with a name and a date.

Etched into the wood of the shelf itself an engraving reading, “Shelf of Stars.” stood front and centre, and as Morgan’s eyes wandered the pictures, a certain label caught his attention.

Front and centre, there you sat, “2006 PhD” followed by your name, a picture of you and your Professors in what’s presuambly your first year.

“No way,” Morgan breathes out a laugh. “Reid come look at this,”

“What? What’s wrong?” Spencer and Callahan’s expressions mirror each other as they glance over at Morgan in concern, only for him to quash any need for worry as he holds up the frame in their direction.

“Look how different she looks! What happened, did she get hit by a truck when she turned 20 or what?”

There’s a flicker of recognition in Spencer’s eyes, one that almost turns to fondness as he takes in the bright smile printed behind the glass. He’s not sure he’s ever seen you smile like that since you’ve been with the team.

“You know her?” Callahan raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s on our team,” Morgan nods with a chuckle as he places the picture back where he found it, pulling out his phone to snap a photo, probably to make fun of you later.

“Really?” Professor Callahan looks more than a little surprised at the revelation. “I knew she was destined for great things, but the FBI, wow,” He breathes out a short sigh, nodding. “Robert’ll have a field day when he finds out she chose forensics over clinical,”

Spencer gives what’s almost a laugh, clearing his throat. “Well, Professor, thank you for speaking with us, we’ll contact you if we find any more information,”

“No problem at all, my door is always open,” Callahan follows Spencer and Morgan over to the office door, holding it open for them as they leave.

“Oh, Agents?” He stops them before they get too far. “If you have any time in or after your investigation, ask her to pay us a visit? It’d be nice to catch up,”

“We’ll let her know,”

—

“From what I can tell, the removal of the uterus was done antemortem, and the victims cause of death was the blood loss that resulted from it,” The Coroner lifts the muscle torn by the initial incision to give you and Emily a proper look at the damage.

“The nature of the incisions tells that they were most likely done with proper surgical instruments, a scalpel most likely, but their nature is unpracticed, see here for example,”

She points towards the left side of the victims pelvis, where the muscle had been separated from the uteral lining. “In a professional hysterectomy, this tissue here would also be removed, but in this case it’s been left attached to the surrounding tissues, and the same can be said for the others,”

“So our unsub knows the basics, is that something that would require medical training?” Emily furrows her eyebrows at the sight, and you’re much the same.

The sight is almost enough to make you feel nauseous, but you don’t need sickly thoughts clouding your judgement right now.

“Possibly, although with how the internet is, it’s possible they read an article or watched a documentary on how the procedure is done,” The coroner sways her head side to side, “I’d say that whoever did this has had some training, but not necessarily in the field,”

Emily hums, turning her gaze from the victim towards you. “Medical student maybe?”

You hum absently, eyes trained on the gaping hole left in the girl’s stomach. “Maybe, probably won’t still be a student though,”

It affects you more than it should, you think, a malingering nagging in the back of your head that won’t leave you alone but also won’t tell you why it’s there in the first place.

You sigh, “We should look at biologists too, clinical fields,”

Emily gives you an agreeing nod. “I’ll call Garcia,” She pats your shoulder deftly as she leaves the room.

“Was there anything else strange about the body?” You tear your eyes away from the girl to look up at the coroner, who only gives you a small shake of her head.

“Not that I can see,” Her gaze, though objective, flickers with small amounts of uncertainty. “It’s so upsetting, things like this, what spurs someone to do something so… primally horrific?”

“A rejection probably, a denial of a sexual relationship or children that’s projected onto other women because he can’t get to the person he really wants to hurt,” You shrug out an exhale. “More common than you’d think,”

She frowns. “it’s awful,”

“Yeah,” You purse your lips together. “But it is what it is,”

—

“Did the three girls have any clear connections?”

Garcia taps away on her keyboard, and the jingling of her earrings over the reciever suggests that she’s shaking her head. “Apart from being Stanford students, not really. Julie was doing an MsC in Pediatric Therapy, Ophelia doing an MA in History of Medicine, and Marie doing a PhD in Psychology.” She sighs. “None of them had any classes together, no mutual friends, I don’t even think they knew the others existed,”

“There has to be some overlap,” Morgan groans exasperatedly, glancing over at the mostly bare profile board that him and Spencer were trying to put together. They’d spoken to most of the girls’ professors by now, and apart from offhanded comments about stress and pressure, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

It was frustrating, really frustrating, and for all they knew, the team was on a time limit before another girl suffered the same fate. They needed a break in the case, sooner rather than later.

“What about the students Emily asked you to look into? Spencer bends almost awkardly towards Morgan’s phone, trying to raise his voice into the speaker whilst still writing against the whiteboard.

“Nada, I’m afraid, no one who had connections to all three girls, past or present, I’ve hit a wall,”

“No kidding,” Morgan exhales heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose with the hand not holding his phone. “Thanks anyway, sweetness,”

“Of course my love, I’ll hit you back if I find anything, Penny G out,” —

“So we’ve got three dead girls, no connections, and no signature to help us track down this guy, lovely,” Emily sips on her coffee, leaning back into her chair with a sigh.

“Isn’t this like every other case we’ve ever had?” You raise an eyebrow is disinterest, stretching you arms above your head and almost hitting Morgan in the face as he and Spencer reenter the room from their lunch break.

The Psychology department had been kind enough to loan you one of their staff rooms during your investigation, and comments had already been made about Hotch’s demeanour as he walked around you like he was keeping an eye on a group of toddlers.

“There’s something we’re missing here,” Rossi pours over the whiteboard with a disgruntled sigh, his palm dragging down the side of his face. “There’s always something,”

Reid nods, tapping his pen against his notebook as he takes a seat. “Even perfectionists leave traces. It’s just a matter of understanding their logic—how they justify their actions.”

“Change of subject quickly,” Morgan holds up a hand as he walks around the table, his other hand landing on your shoulder. “Talking of leaving traces, who was going to tell us that you actually knew how to smile?”

You shrug his hand off of you with a furrow of your eyebrows. “What?”

“I’m talking little nineteen year old you beaming like you were trying to compete with the sun,” He digs his phone from his pocket, holding the screen out to face the group. “I mean look at this, look at you, its weird,”

You snatch the phone from him as soon as you recognise the picture. “Why do you have that picture?”

“We took a trip to see one of your old Professors,” Morgan wrestles the device back out of your hands before you have a chance to what he assumes will be deleting the evidence of your past sunniness. “He asked to see you at some point by the way, wants to ‘catch up’,”

“Delete that photo, Morgan.” You cross one leg over the other with a huff.

“No way, Ice Queen, I’m gonna make fun of you with this forever,”

“I hate you,”

”I love you too,” He blows an air kiss in your direction.

The shrill ring of the door opening cuts through the room, snapping everyone to attention. A mildly out of breath PD officer leaning against the doorframe.

“There’s been another one,” she says, her voice tight.

The room erupts into motion.

—

When you arrive, the scene is eerily similar to the others. The victim, a young woman in her early twenties, lies in the middle of her dorm room, fully clothed and carefully positioned. Her face is serene, as though she’s simply sleeping. The blood pooling out of her lower abdomen tells you that she’s not.

“Victim’s name is Natalie Yu. Twenty-one, Psychology major. She fits the profile—academic, driven, top of her class.” JJ fills you in easily.

You step closer, your heart sinking as you take in the meticulous staging. The unsub’s reverence for his victims is apparent in every detail. No signs of a struggle. No personal belongings out of place.

Reid crouches near the body, his eyes narrowing. “Same as the others. No physical trauma that would suggest a cause of death other than bloodloss. Removal of reproductive organs.”

Morgan stands by the door, his jaw clenched. “This guy’s escalating. Three murders in three weeks, and now this. He’s not slowing down.”

Something catches Prentiss’s eye. She kneels beside the victim and carefully lifts the edge of her blouse. Tucked neatly into the waistband of her jeans is a folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” she murmurs, pulling on gloves before unfolding the note. The room goes still as she reads aloud:

“It was meant to be you.”

You lean over Emily’s shoulder to get a glance at the writing yourself. And then you immediately regret doing so. The handwriting is unmistakable—sharp, angular strokes that you’d recognise anywhere.

But you can’t say that. Not yet.

“‘It was meant to be you’?” Rossi repeats, stepping closer. “What the hell does that mean?”

Reid frowns. “It’s personal. Direct. He’s targeting someone specific now.”

“It could be a taunt,” JJ offers. “A way to throw us off or instill fear in the team.”

Morgan shakes his head, his expression grim. “No. This is different. This isn’t just about control anymore—this is about sending a message,”

“It’s personal,” Reid says again, his gaze sweeping the room. For a brief moment, his eyes land on you, and you feel like he can see right through you.

“Excuse me,” you manage, your voice steady despite the panic clawing at your chest.

You step outside, the crisp air hitting you like a jolt. Your hands shake as you pull out your phone, staring at the screen without really seeing it. The note wasn’t just a taunt—it was a reminder. He knew you were here. He’d known the moment you stepped onto campus.

It was meant to be you.

The words echo in your mind, a sinister promise that leaves no room for doubt.

—

“This is different from the previous victims,” Spencer says, “The note changes everything. If we assume the unsub has been fixated on someone specific all along, the other victims could have been surrogates—stand-ins for the real target.”

Prentiss looks at him sharply. “You think the unsub is escalating because the real target is now within reach?”

He nods. “Exactly. The murders were practice, perfecting the method. But now that the target is accessible, he’s shifting focus.”

“Great,” Morgan mutters. “Wonderful.”

JJ gestures to the note. “We need to figure out who he’s targeting—and fast.”

You stand by the door, your stomach twisting. You can’t let them figure it out, not like this.

“I’ll follow up on the note,” you say, forcing a calm you don’t feel. “Maybe there’s something about the phrasing or handwriting we can use to narrow down suspects.”

Morgan eyes you, his brow furrowed. “You sure you’re good? You’ve been quiet since we got here.”

You nod quickly, brushing off his concern. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go.

—

You barricade yourself in the staff room, spreading out the case files across the table. You stare at the note, the handwriting glaring up at you like a brand.

“It was meant to be you.”

You were just a kid, desperate to prove yourself. He saw that. He used it.

You grip the edge of the table, your knuckles white. You can’t let him win. Not again.

A knock at the door pulls you out of your thoughts. It’s Spencer, holding a cup of coffee.

“Thought you could use this,” he says, setting it down in front of you.

“Thank you.” You manage a display of gratitude, but his gaze lingers, sharp and questioning.

“You’ve been off since we got here,” he says softly. “Is there something you’re not telling us?”

Your heart skips a beat. Reid is too perceptive for his own good, and you know he won’t let this go.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “Just tired.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he nods, stepping back. “If you need to talk, I’m here.”

As he leaves, you let out a shaky breath. The walls are closing in, and you don’t know how much longer you can keep this to yourself. Not if you don’t want anyone else to die because of it.

—

Spencer stands near the board, absentmindedly tapping his pen against his palm. Morgan is leaning against a table, arms crossed, while Prentiss and JJ exchange quiet remarks by the coffee pot. Rossi, as always, is seated with his chair tipped back, his eyes fixed on the board.

But it’s Hotch who breaks the silence. “This unsub’s timeline is escalating, and the note makes it clear they’re getting bolder. If we don’t figure out their connection to Stanford soon, someone else is going to die.”

Morgan sighs. “We’ve gone through the victim profiles a dozen times. There’s no overlap other than the school. No shared clubs, professors, dorms, nothing. It’s like this guy’s picking them at random.”

“Not random,” Spencer interjects, his voice sharp. “The victims are stand-ins for someone else. I’m sure of it. The note confirmed it—‘It was meant to be you.’ The unsub isn’t just killing; they’re trying to send a message to someone.”

Rossi tilts his head. “None of them bear any significant physical relation to each other,”

Reid nods. “It doesn’t have to be physical. It’s an ideal, there’s something specific that ties all of the victims together, something linked to whoever the unsub is actually after,”

JJ frowns. “But who is it? If it’s not one of the victims, how do we figure out who the unsub is fixated on?”

You tense in your chair, your hands curling into fists under the table. You can feel their eyes shifting to you, their collective attention like a spotlight burning against your skin.

Morgan raises an eyebrow. “You did go here. Maybe there’s something you’d recognise—something we’ve missed.”

You meet their gazes with forced calm, willing your voice to remain steady. “Just because I went to Stanford doesn’t mean this case has anything to do with me.”

Prentiss leans forward slightly, her tone gentle but insistent. “No one’s saying it does, but if there’s even a chance—”

“There’s not.” you cut her off, sharper than you intended. The words hang in the air, and you immediately regret your tone. It doesn’t change anything though. “We’re here because of the victims, not because I graduated from here a decade ago.”

The room falls quiet, and the tension thickens. Hotch watches you carefully, his unreadable gaze a weight you can’t escape.

“I need some air,” you say abruptly, standing before anyone can argue. “I’ll be back in a few.”

You leave the room before anyone can stop you, the sound of your boots echoing down the sterile hall.

—

Stanford’s campus feels both foreign and familiar as you wander its paths. The sprawling quads and ivy-covered buildings haven’t changed much in the years since you left, but the memories they stir feel sharp and raw.

You stop at a bench near the Psychology department, the cool breeze doing little to calm the storm inside you. Your arms wrap around yourself as if trying to hold yourself together.

“You’re not fine.”

The voice startles you, but you don’t turn around. You’d recognise that soft, observant tone anywhere. Spencer.

He sits beside you, leaving a respectful distance between you, his lanky frame folding awkwardly on the bench. “You’ve been different since we got here,” he says after a moment. “Quiet. Hesitant. That’s not like you,”

You don’t respond, staring out at the students passing by, their laughter and chatter a stark contrast to the weight in your chest.

“I know it’s not just the case,” he continues, his voice gentle but unyielding. “There’s something else. Something you’re not telling us.”

Your jaw tightens. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,”

His certainty grates on your already frayed nerves, and you finally turn to him, your eyes flashing. “What are you trying to say, Reid? Spit it out.”

He hesitates, his brow furrowing as he chooses his words carefully. “I think you know who the unsub is. Or at least… you suspect,”

You laugh, the sound bitter and sharp. “That’s a hell of an accusation.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” he says quickly. “I’m worried about you. You’re not acting like yourself, and the way you reacted to that note…” He trails off, shaking his head. “It was different. You looked like you’d seen a ghost,”

“Maybe I’m just tired,” you snap, the defensive edge in your voice sharper than you intend.

He doesn’t flinch, his gaze steady and unwavering. “It’s more than that. I can see it. You’re scared,”

The word hits you like a slap, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. He’s right, of course. You are scared. Terrified, even. But admitting that feels like surrendering, like letting him win.

“Stop it,” you say, your voice low and dangerous. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Spencer leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he studies you. “I think I do. I think this unsub has a connection to you. And I think that’s why you’ve been avoiding us—because you don’t want us to figure it out.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, and you glare at him, your composure threatening to crack. “You don’t know what he did to me.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and the moment they do, you see the understanding dawn in his eyes. “Who?” Spencer presses gently. “Who are we talking about?”

Your chest heaves as you fight back the tears threatening to spill. “One of my Professors.”

“Did he…” Spencer hesitates in pressing the subject, a mix of his usual timidness when it comes to you and the fear that he’s broaching on a very concerning topic.

“It was consensual.”

Spencer watches you closely, his eyes searching your face for a sign, some clue, as if trying to understand the puzzle that is your inner workings.

He doesn’t push, but the silence between you both is suffocating. His voice is almost a whisper when he speaks again, but it still cuts through the heavy air between you.

"You were just a kid," Spencer murmurs, his words soft but no less sharp. "He took advantage of you when you were vulnerable, when you were still figuring things out. That’s manipulation."

You flinch at the truth of it, at the way he so easily sees the pieces of your life you've tried so hard to bury. You didn’t want to think about him anymore, didn’t want to remember how he twisted every gesture, every word, until it was all about him, all about what he wanted.

You can still feel the weight of his hands, the way he made you feel like you didn’t have a choice, that this was all part of the price you had to pay to succeed, to be seen as worthy of your place in academia.

Spencer shifts slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “He used his power over you. You were just a kid, and he was a professor. Someone you trusted.” His words are steady, but they cut deep. "You were in a position where you thought you had to do what he wanted. But it wasn’t your fault,”

“It was consensual.” you say again, more firmly this time, though it feels like you’re trying to convince yourself rather than him, the words raw and drenched in a cold calmness you didn’t really feel.

“Was it?” Spencer asks gently, his voice low. “If you were 19 and you thought you had to do it to get ahead, was it really? Was it truly your choice?”

You feel the air leave your lungs, and you want to scream at him, to deny everything, to make him stop asking these questions, because the answers are too painful, too complicated.

But he’s right. You were a child—so young, so desperate to succeed, to make a name for yourself in a field dominated by people like him. You thought you were lucky when he took you under his wing, when he offered you guidance, extra attention, time. But you weren’t.

“I had an abortion,” you finally confess, the words coming out in a broken whisper.

Spencer’s eyes widen, and for a moment, he’s silent, processing your admission. His lips part as though he wants to say something, but nothing comes. He doesn’t push, though, just watches you, his expression a mix of sympathy and concern, but there's no judgment in it. Not like you expected.

“In my shitty college dorm room,” Your voice catches, and you blink rapidly, trying to stop the sting in your eyes. “I thought I was dying. The amount of blood—” You let out a shaky breath, your hands trembling in your lap. “I didn't know how to make it stop.Sometimes I wish it didn’t.”

“Don’t say that.”

Spencer leans in a little, his gaze intense, but gentle. “You were just a kid,” he says softly, his words like a balm, soothing yet cutting through the guilt. “He took advantage of you. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve that.”

You want to believe him. You want so badly to hear those words and let them erase the shame that has clung to you for so long. But the voices of doubt are louder in your head. The fear that somehow, deep down, it was your fault. That maybe you could’ve said no, maybe you could’ve gotten away before it went too far.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” you say, your voice low, almost ashamed of the vulnerability. “I couldn’t tell my parents or my friends… or anyone. It was like everything I worked for, everything I had, was tied to him. If I said something, everything would’ve been ruined.”

Spencer’s brows furrow, and he lets out a soft exhale. “No one should ever have to carry that weight alone, especially not at your age.” His voice is steady, but there’s something deeply empathetic in his tone. “It’s not a burden you should’ve had to bear by yourself.”

“I lied to him too,” you whisper, the confession hanging heavily in the air. “I told him I miscarried. He was devastated. He wasn’t even angry—just sad. But I didn’t. I didn’t feel anything.”

“You…” Spencer starts, hesitating to make sure he words his response correctly. “Being in a state of shock is normal after a traumatic event,”

You shake your head. “I know what shock feels like. I was just numb. I murdered my own child and I didn’t even feel guilty about it.”

Spencer’s jaw tightens slightly, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes, but it’s not directed at you. It’s directed at him, at the man who should’ve protected you, not preyed on you. His voice is tight, but he keeps it calm.

“You did what you had to do. That’s not your fault.”

“It was alive. Seventeen weeks. I flushed it down the fucking toilet,” You drag your palm down your face, leaning forward until your elbows are resting on your knees.

“I didn’t even want to graduate after that,” you admit, your voice raw. “I couldn’t face him. I just wanted to disappear, but I was not going to put myself through hell without getting something out of it.”

Spencer is quiet for a long moment, taking in everything you’ve said. His gaze never wavers from yours, like he’s trying to understand every piece of you, trying to reach that place where you’re still hiding, still locked away from the rest of the world.

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation for what happened. You did what you needed to survive. And you are surviving. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

You close your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle over you. The storm inside you hasn’t calmed, but for the first time in a long while, it feels like it’s not threatening to swallow you whole. The walls you’ve built around yourself feel just a little more porous, itching to crumble.

“I’m scared,” you say, the vulnerability you’ve been holding back creeping into your voice. “He’s murdering people because of me.”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. He sits up straighter, his expression serious. “We’ll figure this out. We’ll help you, and we’ll make sure that he doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

“You can’t tell anyone what I just told you.”

He lets out a sigh of your name.

“Promise me, Spencer.”

“Okay,” He nods solemnly. “I promise.”

—

The moment you walk through the doors of the empty lecture hall, you feel it—that same nauseating mix of dread and anticipation curling in your stomach. The air is stale, thick with the weight of memories you spent years trying to forget.

He’s already there, standing at the podium like he belongs there, like nothing has changed. Like he hasn’t left a trail of bodies behind him.

“Ah,” Professor Wittchen exhales as if relieved. “There you are,”

Your fingers twitch at your sides. “I should’ve known you’d pick this place.”

His lips curve into a small smile, a smile that used to make you feel seen. Now, it makes your skin crawl. “It’s fitting, don’t you think? This is where it all began,”

He watches you with the same unwavering gaze he always had, the one that used to make you feel special—chosen. Now, it just feels predatory.

“I missed you,” he says simply, stepping closer.

You don’t move.

“You should’ve visited,” he continues, his voice warm, inviting, like this is a casual conversation and not a confrontation between a killer and his last loose end. “You were my brightest student,”

“I was your victim.” you correct, voice sharp.

His expression doesn’t falter. If anything, he looks pleased. “Victim?” he echoes, like he’s rolling the word around in his mouth, testing its weight. “That’s not how I remember it.”

You swallow hard, jaw clenched. You knew this was how he would react. Knew he would twist things, make them blurry, like he always had.

He tilts his head, studying you. “I heard you became a profiler. That’s impressive. Though I always thought you were more inclined to be a Psychiatrist.”

“You shouldn't be surprised,” you say flatly. “I learned from the best manipulators.”

A flicker of amusement crosses his face. “Now, that’s not fair,”

Your nails dig into your palms. “I know it’s you,” you say, cutting through the act. “You murdered four innocent women because you couldn’t move on.”

He exhales, almost disappointed. “That’s not quite right.”

You don’t let him continue. “Why are you doing this? Why now?”

His gaze darkens, and for the first time since you stepped into this room, the warmth fades from his expression. “It’s been ten years since you left me,” he says simply. “You never even had the decency to say goodbye. I tried to find a substitute, but they weren’t like you. No body is. You’re special.”

A shiver runs down your spine, but you force yourself to hold his stare. “I didn’t owe you anything.”

Wittchen exhales through his nose, shaking his head like you’ve disappointed him. “That’s not true. I shaped you. I made you.”

A bitter laugh escapes you. “You ruined my life.”

His eyes flicker with something unreadable, and then—slowly—he steps down from the podium, closing the distance between you. “You don’t believe that.”

Your breath catches, but you don’t move.

He stops inches from you, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I see it in your eyes. You still need me.”

You know what he’s doing. You know how his mind works, how he bends reality to his will, how he rewrites history to suit his narrative.

And for the first time, you don’t fall for it.

“You’re pathetic,” you whisper. “You think killing people will make me what? Love you? Miss you?” You shake your head. “You mean nothing to me.”

Something in his expression shifts. It’s subtle, but you catch it. The crack in his mask. The first glimpse of the monster beneath.

His fingers twitch at his sides.

There it is. The control slipping.

Good.

You see the flash of something dark behind his eyes—anger, frustration, maybe even desperation. He knows he’s losing control, and for a man like him, that’s unbearable.

You take a step forward. Not away, but closer.

“I hate you.” you say, your voice sharp, cutting through the heavy silence of the room.

Wittchen’s lips barely twitch, but you see the flicker of amusement in his eyes, like he thinks you’re still playing a game with him. Like this is another debate, another test of wills.

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs. “Not really.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides. “Don’t tell me how I feel.”

He sighs, tilting his head like you’re disappointing him. “I did anything you didn’t ask for,” he says, like it’s a fact. “You wanted me.”

Rage burns through you, hot and all-consuming. “I was nineteen,” you spit. You knew exactly what you were doing. You took advantage of me.”

Wittchen exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that,”

“It was exactly like that,” you snap, stepping closer. “And do you want to know the worst part? I spent years telling myself it wasn’t. That maybe I did love you, that maybe I wanted to be with you. But I didn’t.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t deny it.

“I don’t regret leaving you,” you continue, voice trembling with fury. “I don’t regret moving on, or never looking back. But do you know what I do regret?”

He doesn’t answer, just watches you carefully, like he’s waiting for the killing blow.

“I regret ever letting you touch me. I regret every second I spent thinking you were something special, that you cared about me. You didn’t. You only cared about what I could give you.”

Something shifts in his expression—subtle, but enough. His fingers twitch again.

You steel yourself and drive the dagger deeper.

“You think I miscarried?” you ask, voice dropping to a whisper. “That’s what I told you, right? That I lost the baby?”

His face remains eerily blank.

“I lied,” you whisper. “I had an abortion.”

His entire body stiffens.

“Because the thought of being tied to you for the rest of my life made me sick. And I would’ve rather died from sepsis than deal with you.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

For a moment, Wittchen doesn’t react. Doesn’t breathe.

Then, without warning, he moves.

His hand goes for his waistband, and in a split second, you see the glint of a gun.

But you’re faster.

Your own weapon is already in your hands before he can fully draw his, aimed directly at his chest.

“Don’t.” you warn, your voice steel.

Wittchen hesitates, his gun halfway raised, his eyes locked onto yours.

For the first time, there’s something close to uncertainty in his expression.

—

The team is listening.

They hear every word.

Spencer’s grip on his gun is tight, knuckles white, jaw clenched so hard it aches. The rest of the team stands tense beside him, ears trained on the conversation happening just beyond the door.

They could go in. They should go in.

But they don’t.

Not yet.

Because this isn’t their battle.

Still, when they hear the shift in the conversation, the moment Wittchen reaches for his gun, every muscle in Spencer’s body tenses, ready to move.

And then—

Silence.

A long, stretching silence.

Then a single gunshot.

—

“You’re lying,” Wittchen snaps, his voice rising as his fingers curl tighter around the revolver’s grip. He pulls back the hammer with a metallic click, the sound loud in the charged silence of the lecture hall.

His arm is steady, the barrel aimed at your chest, but you don't flinch. “You miscarried. You were sick. That’s the truth. I took care of you. I was there when you needed me.”

Your lips curl into a bitter smile.

“The baby was fine,” you say, voice cold and firm. “I just didn’t want it.”

The words hang between you, heavy and raw.

For a split second, something akin to disbelief flickers in his eyes. But he recovers quickly, his jaw tightening as his grip on the gun tightens. The cold, calculating look is back.

The man who used his power over you is right here, still trying to control the situation. But he’s unraveling, and you can see it now—the cracks in his façade.

“You think you can just walk away from all this?” Wittchen growls, his voice a low threat. His eyes dart between you and the gun in your hand, calculating the distance, the time it would take to react.

“You’re going to watch me.” you reply, your voice steady despite the chaos swirling inside you. You take a step forward, gun lowered in favour of a pair of handcuffs.

He lets out a sharp breath, taking a step backwards, his arm still outstretched, but his expression is one of rage and something else—desperation.

“I gave you everything,” Wittchen sneers. “I could’ve given you more. You were a star, you were going places. But you threw it all away.”

“I didn’t throw away anything.” you say, voice sharp, anger curling in your gut. “I made my life what I wanted it to be.”

You take another step toward him. Your hand grips your gun tighter, its cold weight a reminder of how far you’ve come, how much you’ve survived.

“I was a kid,” you say, quieter now, more dangerous. “A kid who wanted to make something of herself. But you? You made sure I’d always be tied to you, that I’d never escape your reach. You took that from me. And now?”

Now, you’re not just angry. Now, you’re done.

“I don’t need you anymore,” you continue, voice quiet but lethal. “And I don’t need to live in fear of you. Not anymore. Just give up.”

Wittchen’s face hardens. His finger moves closer to the trigger, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still. His eyes are cold, calculating—he’s trying to force you to back down, to make you fear him again. But you don’t. Not anymore.

And he knows it.

The silence stretches out, suffocating. And then, without another word, he turns the gun away from you and towards himself.

For a moment, the world is frozen.

The sharp scent of gunpowder lingers in the air.

You don’t flinch.

You don’t move.

Wittchen stares at you, almost smiling.

A slow, dark red stain spreads across his chest. His gun falls from his hand, clattering uselessly to the floor.

Then, his knees buckle.

He collapses.

The impact is dull, almost anticlimactic.

His breath comes in shallow gasps, and for the first time since you walked into this room, he looks small.

Weak.

The man who once held so much power over you is nothing more than a dying, pathetic heap on the floor.

And somehow, there’s no satisfaction in it.

You watch as the light fades from his eyes, as the last breath leaves his lips.

And then—

It’s over.

—

The gunshot sends the team into action.

Spencer is the first through the door, gun raised, eyes scanning the room for threats.

But all he finds is you—standing still, gun loose in one hand, handcuffs in the other, staring blankly ahead.

Wittchen is on the floor, unmoving. Blood pools around him.

For a second, no one speaks.

Then you move.

Without looking at any of them, you turn away from the corpse.

And then, numbly, silently, you walk past them.

You don’t stop when Spencer calls your name.

You don’t stop when JJ reaches for you.

You just keep walking.

Because it’s finally over.

And yet, somehow, it doesn’t feel like a victory at all.

—

The air outside the lecture hall is thick with tension.

Your gun feels heavy in your hands, and at some point, you register someone gently taking it from you. You don’t resist.

The hallways of Stanford feel different now. The ghosts you tried so hard to forget have been exorcised, but their shadows still linger.

You reach the nearest exit and step outside, inhaling sharply as the crisp night air hits you. You brace your hands on your knees, grounding yourself.

Then you hear footsteps behind you.

You know it’s them.

You straighten, forcing yourself to meet their gazes.

Hotch stands with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his presence steady. JJ and Emily exchange a look, worry etched into their features. Rossi, as always, watches with quiet understanding.

Then there’s Morgan.

He looks… shaken.

Guilt lingers in his eyes, and when he steps forward, his voice is lower, softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You blink, caught off guard.

“For what?” Your voice is hoarse, raw.

Morgan exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw with his eyes full of regret. “I didn’t know.”

You swallow hard. You don’t want to talk about it. But there’s something in his voice, in the way his usually confident demeanor falters, that makes you nod stiffly.

“I know.”

It’s the closest thing to forgiveness you can offer right now.

Morgan nods, accepting it.

Spencer is the last to approach.

He doesn’t say anything at first—just stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets. His eyes, though, say everything.

You hold his gaze for a moment before sighing. “What?”

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits. His voice is careful, but there’s an edge of something else—frustration, sadness, maybe even anger. Not at you. Never at you. But at what happened. At what Wittchen took from you.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you murmur.

—

The hum of the jet is steady and low, a constant presence that fills the silence between breaths.

You sit by the window, staring out at the clouds, your reflection barely visible against the dark glass.

You should be exhausted.

You are exhausted.

But sleep won’t come.

Your mind won’t let it.

The seat next to you shifts slightly, and you glance over to see Spencer settling beside you.

He doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t ask if you’re okay, because he already knows you’re not.

Doesn’t try to fill the silence with empty reassurances.

He just sits.

And somehow, that’s reassurance enough.

Sleep comes a little easier after that.

[heartlogan]

all coming back to me

✮— logan x f!reader (set in x-men days of future past)

✮— summary: logan didn’t realise you would be here in the past. all that follows.

✮— a/n: first time writing for logan / the xmen films, be gentle pls. also wrote this in like 20 mins at 1am so kindness pls. ok goodnight.

✮— warnings: character death, major character death, (mentioned mostly, not the most graphic depictions), logan’s relentless guilt, reader’s insensitive curiosity, muddled timeline maybe idk, mutant reader (unmentioned power) , kind of abrupt ending , lmk if there’s more!

MASTERLIST

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

When Logan had realised he was the only viable candidate to do this job, he had felt the immense weight on his shoulders, had known that he had no choice but to succeed. He had been prepared for that part, mostly. But even still, the plan was sudden, and he hadn’t thought most things through. After all, Logan was more of a fight now, think later type of guy.

So waking up in some random woman’s waterbed was unexpected, yes, but even more unexpected was the bone cutting through his skin when he had to face those goons. It had been so long since the adamantium had been melded to his skeleton, that he could almost forget it hadn’t always been that way. If it weren’t for the pain that still haunted his every nightmare, that was.

It was an adjustment, definitely, especially because it had been so long since he hadn’t felt completely indestructible — untouchable. There was no metal safety net, here.

Seeing Xavier’s school falling apart was certainly an adjustment, too.

He had known this school only in its prime, when Charles had already formed the X-Men, had already settled many kids into their new home. Logan couldn’t ever imagine this place being so devoid of life.

“Can I help you?” A young man asked, after a few silent moments of Logan waiting for the door to be answered. He sounded vaguely familiar.

“Uh… yeah, what happened to the school?” Logan asked, eyebrows raised as his eyes trailed over the vines crawling up the building, the dust coating the glass.

The man’s eyebrows furrowed, looking at Logan strangely before he decided to speak. “The school’s been shut for years. Are you a parent?”

Logan scoffed. “I sure as hell hope not. Who are you?”

“I’m Hank. Hank McCoy. I look after the house now.”

He’s doing a great job at that, Logan thought to himself, surveying the damaged grounds, before he clocked on to what the man had introduced himself as. He squinted at the small stature of the guy, half hidden by the door he was pressing himself into the gap of.

“You’re Beast? Look at you,” Logan commented idly, “Guess you’re a late bloomer.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hank warned, features hardening instantly at the name he hadn’t heard for a long time. “But I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

The man started closing the door in Logan’s face, not expecting him to shove himself against it, keeping it open. They strained, muscles tensing on both sides, before Logan inevitably won without Hank’s extra strength that accompanied his transformation.

“Where’s the professor?”

“There’s no professor here.” Hank responded, before Logan soon managed to shove the door open, flinging him back.

“Professor!” Logan yelled into the empty house, hearing his voice rebound off of the walls. The echoing made him uncomfortable, and seeing the house that had been destroyed so long ago in his time was odd. It was familiar, and yet so different. Logan wasn’t sure he could ever get used to the empty manor, despite his many complaints about the kids at the school.

The moment Logan began to ascend the stairs of the manor, Hank leapt at him, freshly transformed. Logan was momentarily shocked by the appearance of his blue fur, but he quickly got over it, defending himself from Hank’s admittedly rather weak attack. The Beast managed to stun him, tackling him onto a table in the middle of the foyer, while the blue man hung from the chandelier above.

“Hank?” A voice called out, confused and slightly concerned. “What’s going on here?” He asked, descending the stairs and squinting down at the vaguely familiar man on top of his table.

“Professor?” Logan asked, surprised, sitting up on the table to make sure he was seeing things right.

“He doesn’t like to be called that.” A new voice said, coming from Logan’s left, and he startled, head whipping towards where you were standing. You were leant against the doorway, arms folded across your chest as you watched the situation unfold with unhidden entertainment.

His heart practically stops.

He hadn’t seen you for almost three years. Three very long, very difficult years.

Logan didn’t even want to think about the last time he had seen you. It had been one of the worst days of his life to date, and he’d had a lot of bad days. And yet, here you were, alive. Trying to tamp down your amusement, though it was written clearly on your face, evident in the slight curve of a smile that he had missed.

“You know this guy?” Hank asked Charles, who made his way down the rest of the stairs while Logan only continued to stare at you.

Charles looked at Logan with a vague sense of recognition. “Yeah, he looks slightly familiar.” He commented distantly, already appearing completely checked out of the situation. “Get off the bloody chandelier, Hank.”

The sound of the glass above him clinking together brought Logan to his senses, reminded him that he had a job to do. And no matter how much he had missed you, your presence couldn’t get in the way of that.

“You can walk.” Logan stated, checking back into the conversation with shock still darting down his spine. He watched the Professor carefully, brows furrowed in thought.

“And you’re perceptive.” Charles replied dryly, “Which makes it slightly perplexing that you missed our sign on the way in. This is private property, my friend. I’m going to have to ask him to ask you to leave.” He said, nodding towards Hank who stared between the two men as if watching some sort of tennis match. He looked uncomfortable with the confrontation occurring. “Or her, if you’re more inclined.”

You raised your brows.

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

Logan didn’t end up leaving, much to your surprise. It had been a long time since anyone had managed to get Charles to do anything he didn’t want to do. Hell, it had been a long time since anyone had managed to speak to the man, save for you and Hank. He turned everybody away, never heard anyone out, no matter how desperate they sounded.

Instead, Charles seemed to accept the fact that this man was from the future. A future which sounded dire, by the way.

And if his glance towards you when he had spoken about watching good people, friends, die, told you anything, it was that you didn’t make it very far in the future. Which didn’t faze you all too much. It didn’t sound like much of a future for those who lived, anyway. But that knowledge had taught you something about this Logan. He had cared for you, some years from now.

It was as clear as day. He looked at you like he had been missing you, like he was greeting you at the airport after a long trip. He seemed to think he was being discreet about it, always glancing away when you turned to him, but you were observant.

You sidled up next to him while Hank went on the hunt for the phone book, and Charles wandered off to regret his decision.

“So, how’d I die?” You asked, feeling bad but also slightly amused when Logan practically choked on air.

“What? How did you—”

“Oh, please. It’s all over your face. I may not know you, but I can see that much.” You responded, cutting him off and watching the cogs turn in his head.

You had always had a strange way of reading him better than anyone else. Not that this version of you knew that, but Logan did. It made his chest ache all the more, feeling like you were so close to being in his grasp, and yet so far away from him. He had to remind himself that you didn’t know him, and he didn’t exactly know this version of you.

You seemed… not happier, exactly, but something was different. Perhaps you had suffered less at this point in your life. He had met you in one of the most difficult times you had ever been through, and it was strange to see you without the baggage that had followed you from that.

“I’m that transparent, huh?” He replied, going quiet soon after. He didn’t want to talk about this with you. With anyone. He didn’t want to relive that moment any more than he already did. He saw it every time he closed his eyes, every time the Sentinels had approached in the future.

“You are.” You paused. “So? What happened?”

“You don’t want to know about this, kid.” Logan stated, pointedly not looking at you. You were so young now, and he missed the lines on your face. This wasn’t the you that he knew or loved. He didn’t know this version of you. And you certainly didn’t know him.

Logan had the fate of the world resting on his shoulders, the fate of every mutant and human who had the decency to be kind towards them. Your fate. The fate of everyone else he had lost. He couldn’t get caught up in this, in seeing you here, as much as he wanted to soak in the sound of your voice, the colour of your eyes, the glow of your skin.

“Why not? We’re going to save the world anyway. It can’t hurt.” You said innocently, regretting the latter part of your statement the moment you realised how it came across, how Logan’s face creased.

He wanted to appreciate your optimism, mostly because he knew how much of it you had lost by the time you died, but you couldn’t understand. It did hurt. Logan had watched you die in front of his very eyes, his adamantium and courage powerless to stop it. He had been dragged back to the jet, forced to leave your body there to rot, or to be taken and experimented on. He didn’t know which was worse.

Even now, he could feel the pressure on his chest from Storm pushing against him, the pain of Magneto pulling at his skeleton, forcing him to leave you behind.

He swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat, eyes flickered across the room, never quite landing on you. It hurt him every day. He could feel the weight of your loss even now, knowing that if he failed to do this, you were lost. This version of you, the one who had so much suffering to come, would die at the hands of a Sentinel, and he would be powerless to stop it.

“Sorry,” You said, when the silence stretched on, Logan seemingly getting lost in his own thoughts. You could see the pain written across his face, could see him getting distant, reliving whatever had happened in the future. “That was insensitive. I was curious, but it doesn’t matter. You’re here to save us all. And I’m here to help this time.”

He finally looked at you, and you could see the exhaustion on his face. Perhaps putting more pressure on him wasn’t the best idea.

“Okay, I’m messing this up,” You admittedly, fidgeting nervously now, eyes flickering between him and the door as if expecting Charles or Hank to walk in on you embarrassing yourself. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” Logan paused, apparently trying to find his words. “You don’t need t’be sorry. None of this is your fault.”

You looked at him, seeing him more clearly then. You didn’t know his past, and you certainly didn’t know the future, but this man cared about you. That much was obvious. “It’s not yours either, you know.” You said, and the slight grimace he made didn’t escape you. He clearly didn’t agree. “However we know each other in the future, it can’t change the fact that I am an adult. I would never expect you to take responsibility for me dying. Or want you to! I take care of myself.”

He blinked at you. “We were meant to take care of each other.”

You faltered slightly at that, struggling to imagine yourself relying on someone that much, but then you understood.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing now? You’re here, fifty years into the past, trying to make things right. The war wasn’t your fault, Logan.”

Despite knowing that was true, it still didn’t quite dislodge the guilt that pulsed in his chest. He felt more vulnerable here, without his adamantium. With your prying eyes. Even now, it appeared that you saw him in a way nobody else ever could.

“You know what? This might be totally inappropriate, but…” You trailed off, and he had just opened his mouth to question you when suddenly you were wrapping your arms around his neck, squeezing him close in a way that finally let him breathe again.

His hands hung idly by his sides for a few moments, before finally wrapping around you, holding you tight. He seemed as though he may never let you go, but you could understand that. Logan was in pain, and it seemed that despite your slight uncertainty, this had been a good path to go down. Taking care of one another, or something like that, right?

A heavy sigh left his chest, and you squeezed him tighter, letting out a short breath into his neck. You only pulled away when you heard Hank’s footsteps creaking on the aged floorboards, heading your way. Logan let you go, with much reluctance, but you lingered. Your arm brushed against his jacket.

If Hank noticed anything, he didn’t say a word, simply holding up the phone book victoriously. You glanced at Logan, watching the creases slowly come back to his face as he was reminded of his burden once more. You leaned against him the slightest bit, and pretended not to notice him glance at you.

This would all work out, you were certain of it. And if it didn’t, well, at the very least there was something to look forward to in that bleak future. Logan seemed worth the pain.

[bitchface24-7]

THE GORGEOUS PROFESSOR TALIS

synopsis: You didn't think Professor Viktor was the only heartthrob at Piltover Academy, did you? Meet his charismatic, undeniably gorgeous partner, Professor Talis. But please, call him Jayce.

warnings: again age gap (Jayce’s gotta be anywhere in his 30s-40s to be a professor, reader is in their 20s (early to late I don’t really care) ), power imbalance, switch!jayce, this isn’t gonna be a full on story, just bullet points I come up with, Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/f or m/m (implied future m/m/f or m/m/m)

Professor Talis doesn’t have his own class at the Academy, instead he and Professor Viktor alternate in “The Science Behind Magic: HXT101.” The two professors are trying to incorporate a lab aspect to the class; so it's not just theory.

There have been many times Professor Talis (please call me Jayce) has taken over from Viktor due to unforeseen circumstances, such as Viktor having a flare-up in pain and being unable to lecture for three hours straight.

Professor Jayce and Professor Viktor have many similarities. They're passionate, intelligent, and quite funny. But it's their differences that set them apart.

Professor Viktor’s voice is smooth, sultry, and his accent makes everything sound sexy. He's got the perfect voice to do ASMR to make people fall asleep.

Professor Jayce is much more hyper. He talks a bit louder and a bit faster than his partner. But his enthusiasm and bright smile make it endearing to witness.

He's also much broader and taller than Professor Viktor. His shoulders are wide, his waist is narrow, and his thighs are begging to be bitten into.

He's got messy hair, a glorious beard, and a microscopic smattering of grey at his temples. He's got a strong jaw, big eyes, pouty lips, a tantalizing neck, and sinfully beautiful body. He too has a brace, except it's on his opposite leg. And his leg seems to be stronger than his partners.

He's also got incredibly sharp canines. You can't help but squish your thighs together envisioning how they'd feel against your neck, your chest, your thighs.

Professor Jayce seems to enjoy receiving praise just as much as giving it to his students. You'll never forget the time you complemented his teaching style and he got all flushed. Shyly looking down as a sweet smile graced those plump lips.

You wanted to devour that man right then and there.

One day, you almost did.

Professor Talis had just casually walked into the classroom, wearing an all-black outfit with red detailing. His sleeves were rolled up, his hair artfully messy, and his slacks obscenely tight.

You felt like leaping across the desk like a lioness to feast on the meal right before your very eyes.

Professor Jayce seemed to be oblivious to the stares he received. You thought that until he stopped right in front of you; ceasing his walk around the classroom, and his bulge was damn near eye level with you.

It was big. Massive really, and quite girthy from what you could make out in the dark fabric. You coquettishly look up as you suck on your lolly, knowing exactly what you're doing.

Professor Jayce just quirks an eyebrow at you as he taps his finger on your table, making you look down at your sheet of paper, “Have you finished your assignment?”

You can't help but impishly nod, “Yes, Professor Talis.” as you give a long lick on your lollipop before popping it into your mouth.

Professor Talis’ eyes darken as his jaw clenched. He's heard about you from Viktor. The smart, slutty student who has a throat to die for and delectable moans that'll keep your spank bank full until the next time you need them.

Jayce just smirks at you and tells you to stay behind after class, there's something he needs to discuss with you.

You were curious.

You weren't expecting to be folded like a pretzel as your gorgeous professor pounded away into you like it was his last day on earth.

Your body is delectably sore, you're stuffed to the brim in cum, and you have bruises all over your body. Hickies surround your neck and chest, hand shaped bruises are on your hips and thighs. You even have some bite marks. You had a feeling his canines would feel amazing. Called it!

You also called it that Professor Talis enjoys praise and being told what to do. Telling him how good his cock feels and that he's doing amazing really amped him up.

You can't help but wonder how demolished you'll be once both Professor Viktor and Jayce get their hands on you.

(You’ll die very happy and very satisfied)

[bandgie]

Behave

prof!heesung x dean!Jake x fem!reader

3.1k words

warnings! mdni18+, DUBCON, 3some, throat fucking, piv, no protection, creampie, manipulation, cum eating (f!), fingering, reader is called 'slut' multiple times, abuse of power themes notes: please don't read if you're not comfortable OR before you read this! I also finally figured out how to do the three picture thingies yay!

All you did was talk back

There wasn’t any shouting, no cursing, no physical violence. Your professor was being a dick, as per usual, and you found it best to let him know how you didn’t appreciate his behavior. Truly, you didn’t think you said anything bad. Nothing that warranted an intense meeting between your professor and the university dean.

Professor Lee Heesung stood with his arms crossed, glasses resting low on his nose as he regarded you with disdain. It took everything in you to keep your eyes from rolling as the dean sat on his desk, disciplining your behavior. 

“I think an apology is much needed to your professor, missy.”

Missy. You swear you see red when you hear those words. Mr. Sim Jae-yun doesn’t even acknowledge how demeaning that is to say. Not when he’s too busy looking at the exposed part of your thighs that bugle from you sitting. He’s beginning to think he should talk to the president to implement a rule that skirts must go past your knees. It doesn’t matter if being in a university doesn’t require a uniform, he’ll make it happen. 

You scoff, crossing your arms in the same manner as Professor Lee. “With all due respect, Mr. Sim, I think not. Everyone in that class hates him. He’s such an ass.”

“Oh, I’m the ass?” Heesung unfolds his arms to point at you accusingly. “You’re the one wearing shorts that only show ass. I don’t need to take any type of ridicule from a slut-in-training.”

Any comeback you had quickly dies in your throat. It’s not as though you’ve never been called names before, but from a professor, that’s a first. You clear your throat and blink, still in slight disbelief. “See?” You look at Jake with desperation. “He’s being a dick right in front of you!”

But the dean doesn’t agree. All he does is sigh, “To be fair, it is really short.”

You groan. “As if any of that matters! I’m not gonna apologize to this asshole. And you can’t make me.” Ignoring their gawks, you huff and turn your head the other way. Maybe it would be better to swallow your pride and give them what they want. It would get them off your back and, hopefully, get everything back to normal. Yet, you catch yourself replaying how Heesung easily called you a whore and how the dean did little to nothing about it. Worst of all, how the tiniest part of you almost liked knowing that they were looking at you in a way that university staff should not.

The men exchange glances - looks you miss that involve smirks and nods. 

“Go ahead and stand up.” It’s Jake who directs you. Rather than turning your whole head, you only peek from the side of your eyes. “Or what?”

“Or you’ll be expelled,” he says factly. Now you fully turn to him, eyes wide and mouth agape. You’re already stuttering about how he can’t do that, but he shuts you up with, “If you don’t want to give an apology, the least you can do is stand.”

So you do, hesitantly, but you do. Their gaze drops to your legs and you begin to tug your skirt just a few inches lower. It doesn’t matter how hot these men are, they still pissed you off. You couldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing your plush skin. Not unless they deserved it, of course. 

Heesung crosses one arm over his chest while his other hand is at his chin, putting him in a thinking pose. He regards you much differently now. There's not as much disgust than there is interest. He takes a few steps around you, getting a good look at every angle.

You shift from one leg to the other, uncomfortable with his blatant stalking. “I don’t understand how this is going to help.”

Jake stands from his place at the desk and walks closer to you. Granted, he’s not the tallest man, but you find yourself shrinking from his aura. A presence that demands attention, respect. His ringed fingers grab a hold of your chin so you look him in the eyes. “You don’t know how to listen, but I think we can fix that. All you need is some discipline. If you wanna stay enrolled, I suggest you behave for us starting now.”

You’re too stunned to say anything. No words can form even when Heesung places his hand on your lower back. He applies pressure until you arch, the skirt inevitably exposing your panties for him to see. 

“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” he tuts. “I don’t understand how you expect me to act professional with you when you dress like this.” Heesung uses his other hand to reach down, cupping your clothed mound with no warning. 

The warmth of his hand makes you gasp and Jake takes the opportunity to slip his thumb in your mouth. It’s not supposed to work on you, but it manages to turn your whimpers into mewls instead as you softly suck on it. The pad of his finger presses onto your tongue and you dutifully open your throat so he can shove it deeper. 

Jake can’t help but smile, one side of his lips slightly turned more upwards than the other when he looks at you. All it takes is Heesung to apply more pressure to your cunt to make you suck harder. He can feel his cock hardening in his slacks, the blood leaving his head to rush to his groin instead.

Perhaps he’ll be able to blame his terrible decisions on that fact.

You whine when Heesung pulls away from you, placing his hands on either side of your hips to guide you closer to the dean’s desk. It’s all too quick when you find yourself bent over the wooden table, legs kicked open so your thighs are apart, and your hands bound by Jake’s grip. 

“It truly is a shame we have to do it like this,” he sighs, though it hardly sounds regretful in the slightest. “But we just can’t trust you’ll be good for us, not yet anyway.”

Being restrained makes you twist and turn, trying to escape from the men who have you pinned down. Your stomach squeezes with fear, but you’re starting to think a different, more intense emotion, slithers its way to your core. “W-wait,” you turn your head in an attempt to look at them. “You can’t do this. I’ll get you fired. I’ll tell.”

“Oh no!” Heesung mocks fear in his voice. “Did you hear that, Jake? She’s gotta tattletale on us!” He laughs wholeheartedly, making sure to keep your thighs pried open no matter how much you try and push them together. “Even if you do, who do you think they’ll believe?”

His finger trails up your slit, prodding your entrance before sliding back down to your clothed clit. You jolt so violently that you lurch forward and whine. Heesung and Jake chuckle at your reactions, lifting your skirt over your ass so it’s only your panties in the way. 

“Good, slut,” Heesung coos. “No talking back this time. See? You can behave.”

The only reason you’re not saying anything is because you’re scared that you’ll moan. There’s no way in hell you’d let them know that you’re feeling even the smallest amount of pleasure. No matter how wet your underwear grows, no matter how hard you bite your lower lip, your pride is too strong to succumb to their touch. 

But you want to, so bad you do. Maybe they can already tell that you’re becoming more and more pliant for them since Jake only has to use one hand to bind your wrists. Both of the men have their fingers at your pussy: swirling, pinching, and rubbing your cunt until you instinctively grind back on them.

Jake does the honors of hooking a finger to the side of your underwear, finally revealing the source of arousal. You squeal, wiggling to cover yourself but to no avail. It’s near impossible to hide your soaked pussy, lips fat and wet from how disgustingly good they were making you feel.

“Damn,” Heesung breathes. “Must’ve been hard to pretend to hate it, huh?”

You snarl at him, teeth clenched and eyes ignited. “I hate you.”

Heesung smiles, “Seems like your pussy here doesn’t.” He pushes the tip of his finger on your nub, flicking it back and forth. Heesung laughs when your breath gets caught in your throat and all you can do is let out a high-pitched moan from his touch. “Fuck, it’s so wet.”

Jake focuses his digits near your entrance, dipping just the tips of his fingers in to watch your hole clench in anticipation. “More than wet, it’s sobbing to be filled.” He groans when your cunt tries to swallow his fingers. “I don’t even think you need to finger her. You can just put it straight in.”

Wait. That’s not what you want to happen. Your fight or flight should kick in, you should try to scream or kick, but you don’t. Getting away is the last thing your body wants to do. All its attention is on finishing as fast and as pleasurable as possible. So what if they’re older than you? Have authority over you? They can make you feel good, even if it’s at the cost of your dignity. 

It’s as if Heesung can hear your inner turmoil, and of course, he has to add fuel to the fire. “You heard that, slut? Sounds like you really do like me. Go ahead and tell me how much you want it and I’ll fuck you real nice.” 

Jake, despite being the one to say that fingering you would hardly make a difference, begins to push his digits deeper inside. Two of them slowly, but agonizingly open you up. As much as you hate that they're the ones doing it, your cunt is grateful for having something to finally clench down on. Still, your will is stronger than your desire. “F-fuck no.”

But deep down you know and they know. It’s how your curses turn into mewls. How you’ve begun to rock your hips back and forth to match the pace of Jake’s thrusting fingers. The men can see the pretty, white cream coating his digits. The sight makes Heesung groan, “Can’t you behave? Just look at it. You’re begging for this, slut.” Without being told to, Jake slips his finger from your hole. You gasp at the sudden emptiness, mouth agape as you silently whine. You’re too busy mourning the lack of fingers before you feel them prod your lips. 

Jake reaches around and easily slips his fingers in your mouth. It’s an immediate reaction when your tongue swirls around them, tasting your arousal and gulping it down. 

“Fuck. I hope you suck cock like that.” Jake grunts when he presses the pad of his fingers on your tongue. You bite on them, but it comes off more playful than painful. The taste of yourself is overwhelming and you can’t even notice how they’ve begun to position themselves with one in front of your face with the other staying behind.

A different, slightly smaller pair of hands pin you this time. You finally recognize Jake as being the one in front of you while Heesung rubs against the curve of your ass. He’s bare, you figure, from the waist down with his cock guiding up and down. You whimper and you’re comforted by Jake pushing the hair from your face to reveal your pretty, stained lips.

“You have sucked someone off before, right?” Jake tilts his head and lets his thumb run across your bottom lip. You don’t answer, both too stunned by the inevitable outcome and how Heesung has angled his cock slightly lower so it catches your clit instead. It’s the man behind that answers for you, “Course she has. You seen the mouth on this slut? All that talking she does is just ‘cuz there’s nothing to shut her up.”

When you feel a flush in your face, you know it’s from anger. “Oh, fuck you. The only way you’re able to get laid is by - hngh!” Heesung isn’t slow when he puts it in. His rough entrance cuts you off mid-sentence. You only feel his tip widening you for a second before the rest of his length slides into you. 

Now you understand why Jake stretched you open despite everything. He must know how Heesung is, he must know because of how often they do this. It all begins to fall into place now that you’re bent over, skirt flipped up with a cock in your cunt and one soon to be in your mouth. Your behavior did not warrant a meeting with the dean, let alone one-on-one. This must have been their plan. To abuse their power on a whore of a student like you so that if word ever did get out, it would be easier to write it up as a girl who simply didn’t like her professor. 

Not the most perfect plan, but you hardly care to focus on the cracks when you're being jolted forward and rocked against the desk. Jake takes the opportunity to shove himself inside your moaning mouth. Your tongue goes on the underside of his cock, throat expanding so he can fuck himself deeper while Heesung does the same inside your cunt. 

It’s so that it can be bearable, you tell yourself. Not because you like the feeling of them filing you. 

“Shit, see?” Heesung moans and squeezes your wrists. “She just needs something to shut. her. up.” Each word is enunciated with a thrust. Heesung makes sure the sound of your bodies echo in the office. You squeal around gag around Jake's cock, neck straining from keeping your head lifted. 

Jake grips the hair from the top of your head to start fucking you at a rhythm. His hips rock upwards so his tip touches the back part of the roof of your mouth. “Her throats’ squeezing me like a pussy. Fuck! You caught a good one, Hee.”

Heesung laughs, but it sounds dark. Drool seeps from the corner of your lips from the stimulation. The edge of the table only slightly rubs on your clit when Heesung rocks into you. Just barely touching your nub to make you clench and gush around his cock. You try to get on your tippy toes so you can feel him deeper inside, but Heesung is set on having you nearly flushed against the desk save for Jake’s grip forcing your chest upwards.

“I’d hardly say she’s good,” Heesung argues. “She was giving us such a hard time. Making us play with her pussy just to make sure she was wet enough. Isn’t that right, slut?” 

You muffle against Jake’s dick. Neither of them make a move to properly understand what you said, both caught in the pleasure you’re giving them. Still, Heesung continues. “Ah, now I get it. You were just playing hard to get. Calling me names and acting like you’re above this when all you wanted was to be bent like this.” He’s pumping into you harder, messier. You don't even have the coordination to suck properly on Jake’s cock anymore. Not that he minds, it seems. He uses your mouth like a fleshlight, careful not to hit so deep that your gag reflex forces him out. 

You can wiggle your hands though. A final act of retaliation to let Heesung know that he’s wrong. He sees it, to your surprise, and he laughs at your futile ministrations. “I kind of like it when you keep fighting back. It’ll make everything so much more fun when you cum on the dick you hate.”

You don't want to cum, you don’t even want to think about it. Yet, the taste of your orgasm travels in your stomach. You swear you can feel the head of Heesung’s cock touching it, the tip of Jake’s prodding it from your throat. All you need is that final push, a last magical touch to make you tip over. Strangely, you wish for the feeling of being on the edge to never stop. So this moment of twisted humiliation and pleasure lasts for a lifetime. 

That doesn’t happen though. Not when Heesung untangles one of his hands to play with the flesh of your pussy. His nimble fingers blindly travel up until they find your clit. It only takes a couple of rubs, a few harsh pinches that make you whine on Jake's dick before you flood his cock. The consistent moans vibrate the cock in your mouth and Jake doesn’t last any longer when he feels them. 

“Oh fuck. I’m cumming. I'm cumming. I’m cumming.” Both of his hands grab ahold of your face as he buries his cock deep. You sputter and gag around him, being force-fed his load that shoots down your throat. It doesn’t help that Heesung keeps fucking into you to reach his high. It makes Jake’s cock bury itself deeper inch by inch. Your eyes water, saliva and cum drip down your chin onto the desk, but Jake is content with milking himself dry in your mouth and then some. 

Finally, Heesung groans. He adjusts his stance so he can fuck harder into you. His fingers rub painfully fast on your clit and you're crying for him to slow down. The overstimulation nearly makes you want to claw your own skin before he finishes. Hot streaks of cum enter your pussy, the entrance of your womb. You pulse around him, and he pulses inside of you. 

Your hips wiggle to get his fingers off your clit, and they listen to adjust on your ass instead. Jake slowly slips his softening cock from your lips, moaning when your head thuds on the table and you gasp for air. He shoves his cock back into his slacks, wiping the sweat from his forehead when he’s done.

Then Heesung slips out of you, pulling one of your cheeks apart to watch his and your cream leak from your gaping pussy. Your hole pushes out the cum and he shoves it back in with his finger. “Mmm,” he hums. “It looks so good like this.”

When Heesung releases you from his grip you don’t dash for the door. You don’t turn around and slap him; the thought doesn't even cross your mind. Your legs turn into jelly, falling on the floor disgracefully. You can’t even imagine how you look, cum dripping down your thighs and chin as you catch your breath. Still, Heesung smiles down at you, though you know it’s far from endearing.

“See, slut? It’s not that hard to listen, now is it.”

[bokettochild]

You ever think about how Sky's entire world got turned upside down like...days before what was essentially his highschool graduation ceremony? And, like, my dude got the Skyloft approximation of a full ride to college by winning that one race, but by the time he's saved the world, it doesn't matter at all- this thing that mattered so much just days ago- because not only has he learned more than most of the professors know, but also the school is basically going to be abandoned now

They're going to the surface, they're going to live there. Sky- finished his adventure and saved his best friend, and his reward was losing everything he'd ever known in life EXCEPT Zelda.

No one treats him the same; he's the hero now. He knows things they don't. He just got out of highschool and now his teachers are suddenly the ones coming to him to ask how the world works. He was going to be a knight and he is now, butt his experience is so drastically different from all the other knights around him.

He's this huge world now, this place he only is beginning to understand, and because he's the hero, because he's been here longer, he's the one everyone else comes to with questions. He's their leader now,w hen before he was a lazy teenager they always chastised with warmth, trying to teach him to grow up.

He's still a kid, still younger than the knights, the professors, but he's also the only person whos got much of an idea what's happening other than Zelda. That's got to be weird for everyone. People will come to him with things but they'll doubt him because he's still young, or they'll want to teach him something only to decide not to because he's the hero, he doesn't need their instruction.

Like, the game ends all bitter sweet, but let's be real: by leaving Skyloft, he loses his home, his plans for the future, any conception e previously had of the world, the other half of his soul (his best friend and companion!), his childhood, and probably any sense of freedom he had now that he's got the fate and security of his people on his shoulders now.

And then he somehow ends up meeting the chain. All capable people, who (like his professors, his teachers, his neighbors) know what's going on even if he doesn't, who can handle themselves, who can protect themselves, who knows more than him and are better (seemingly) at this hero gig than him, and Sky? He can finally relax. He's silly again. He's taking naps. He's able to zone out without consequences. he doesn't need to be in control and he's fine with that. He's happy with that. As long as all is well, he's content to just exist here, just for now.

But the moment that peace and security of being with other heroes is threatened? Yeah, that's when the god-killer comes out.

......

Anyways, yeah, I think Sky's more than just a big softie and sleepy-head. Man has issues he is avoiding with the power of ignoring them and sleeping, but on some moments (like Miss Her, or the Sunset arc) we see that he slips sometimes.

Long of the short: I have Sky brainrot these days :)

[lokidjarin-7567]

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

Erik Lehnsherr x Reader x Charles Xavier After joining the First Class of Professor X’s school with your brother Hank, you realised you have a connection with two of the mutants there, and that they might also have a connection to each other… fem!reader, M/F/M, 18+ MDNI 6.2k words EDIT: I'm super proud of this one, maybe my favourite thing I've written! Thanks for all the love on it so far <3 TTPD Contents | General Masterlist | AO3

“It’s not going to happen, Charles.” You muttered, frustrated, putting all of your energy into stopping him from walking towards you, but only managing to stop his hand.

“You need to go to that place between…” He started to explain.

“Anger and serenity, I know, I know. I’m not Erik, its not working.” He sighed, moving his hand to his forehead.

“May I?”

“Sure, go ahead.” There was nothing he would see in there that he hadn’t before.

You realised early in your friendship that there wasn’t a lot of point hiding anything from him. You were never sure when he was reading your thoughts, only when he spoke to you without moving his lips, or when he would find a memory like he was doing now. You saw a few flash through your mind, recent ones. The relief when Hank had told you that there were others like you and him. The anger when Shaw had killed Darwin in front of your eyes just a few days ago. The moment your mother found out there was something different about Hank, and kicked him out, so you followed him. Your brother’s mutation was significantly more obvious than your’s, but you left with him regardless. He had always been more than family; he was your best friend, your true and sole confidant, your lifeline. Following your train of thought, Charles managed to find a memory synonymous to that - the day you found out about his mutation. The way he cried and broke down, explained the science to you to try and ensure you understood it, but you didn’t need him to. You whispered his name softly, and told him to wave at you. The perplexed look on his face, but you insisted so he did. Then you stopped his hand dead in its tracks. The shock and relief on his face, the hug you shared, the tears you both shed. It was a joyous memory, peaceful.

You wiped a tear from the corner of your eye and Charles did the same, releasing you from the memory and now you were back in the bunker underneath his family’s house, watching as he nodded to you.

“Now try again.” He moved to the other side of the bunker again, and you concentrated hard, reaching your hand out towards him and trying to stop his slow walk towards you. You were technically telekinetic, but only when the other object was moving. The lighter the object, and the faster it was moving, the easier it was to control. And generally, you would just have been able to stop it. You knew that you could move things as well once you had control over them - you had done it once, the day you had gotten your powers, but never since. And if it took that level of trauma to do it again, you hoped you never would.

“You’re moving too slowly!” You exclaimed, huffing in frustration.

“Ok, ok fine. Maybe we need to stop thinking of your powers as telekinesis.” You frowned, confused. Controlling objects was telekinesis. “Just trust me here for a moment…” Of course I trust you, you saved my life and continue to daily. “Close your eyes.” You took a deep breath, closing your eyes tightly. His voice appeared in your head, a soft whisper that immediately put you at ease.

Telekinesis is about creating movement, but you can manipulate movement. And do that, you need to be able to sense the movement around you. I can’t manipulate or read someones mind without being able to sense it, even if I can see the person. It might be the same with you. I’m standing still but I’m going to move soon - keep your eyes closed and see if you can sense me.

You focussed, reaching out into the black space and it took a few seconds, but you could feel him moving. Slowly, his image formed in your mind. You could see the way he was moving: the large, over dramatic steps he was taking, the emphatic hand wave, and you smiled. You reached out to him with even more concentration, but you surprised yourself with how easy it was to stop him in his tracks, cementing his feet to the floor so he almost fell over.

“Holy shit, Charles, you’re a genius.” You opened your eyes, releasing him and seeing the grin that had spread across his face. It was contagious, your own smile growing.

“I know I know, but we’re not done yet, you have a lot more in you…” He was pacing, thinking, and high on the adrenaline, you reached out to stop him, to play with your powers, only to find… you couldn’t. You couldn’t sense his movement. You could see him, but there was nothing else.

“I can’t…” you muttered, continuing to try as hard as you could, but nothing. He frowned, and you heard his voice softly inside your head.

Close your eyes again.

You did, and sure enough, there he was, his movement growing clearer in your mind by the second. You opened your eyes, and it was gone, the tangibility somehow lost when you could actually see him.

“Ok, ok, let’s try this…” He looked around for something, then settled on his tie, pulling it from his collar in a swift motion and striding over to you, making you blush. “We can use this as a blindfold?” He asked, and you nodded, allowing him to press the soft fabric across your closed eyes, the world going black as he tied it in a gentle knot. The difference was instant. It was as though you could physically see him still, a soft, golden glow outlining his body and his movements. Every single detail was highlighted to you.

“Try standing still?” He did, stopping dead in his tracks, but you could still see him - every miniscule shiver across his skin, the rising and falling of his chest with his breaths, the slight tremble in his fingers. “Charles…” you muttered, “I can see everything.”

“What do you mean everything?”

“Look for yourself.” You watched as he raised his hand to his temple, and you saw the subtle changes in his face as it shifted from confused to shocked, a grin spreading.

“That’s incredible. Is it easier to stop movement now as well?” You smiled, instantly halting his arm in the air as he tried to return it to his side. He laughed aloud. “You’re amazing.”

“I know.” You shrugged, letting him go, hands reaching up to remove your makeshift blindfold when you felt something move across the room. Without thinking, you reached back towards it, spinning around just in time to see the door you just felt opening slam shut.

“What the fuck?” You heard an annoyed voice from the other side of the closed door, and you laughed in disbelief. You’d done it.

“Oh my God, did you see that?” You span back to Charles, smiling uncontrollably.

“Yes I did, my dear. Yes I did.” You squealed with joy, running over to give him a hug, which he readily returned. You still had your blindfold on, and you could feel his heart beating when you were this close, even the blood rushing through his veins.

“Thank you.” You whispered in his ear, and he moved back, holding your head in his hands.

“This was all you.” The moment was broken, though, by the door opening again, although slightly cautiously this time. It was Erik - you could see it was him by his movements, and the shape of his body.

“Did you just close the door on me? And why are you blindfolded?” He paused, confusion etched across his face, followed by an almost knowing smirk. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Jesus, no…” Charles piped up quickly, heart rate skyrocketing as he moved across the room to Erik, putting distance between you and him. “We’ve found a way to…”

“I closed the door with my power!” You interrupted, excited, but he did not have the same reaction as Charles did. He actually had no reaction at all.

“So… you can, what, control your power better when you’re blindfolded?” You nodded.

He cocked his head, then he stretched out his arm, and you presumed it was to see if you were telling the truth, but before you could open your mouth to tell him he’d moved, you felt something moving quickly towards you. It was your keys, and you stopped them in midair, before pulling them safely into your hand.

“Hey, that could’ve taken my eye out!” He just laughed.

“There’s a lot more where that came from.”

You often wondered about how your life would have turned out without this place. You hadn’t exactly been here long, but it had already transformed you into someone better, more powerful, more in control. You spent the day with Charles and Erik, getting to grips with your newfound power, figuring out how to use it fully, and that you should keep things on you that you could throw and move to your advantage in the field like Erik did. You felt like you could actually be helpful to them now. And only just in time. Tomorrow was going to be a big day.

You finally got back to your room, laying down almost straight away, your feet aching from the long day. It was a beautiful house, and you would always be grateful to Charles for allowing you to stay, even if it only ended up being for a short while. You didn’t have anywhere else to go, after all.

You closed your eyes, grabbing the small, metal orbs Erik had given you from your pocket, and throwing them in the air, grabbing them with your power as they visualised. You smiled, remembering just a few hours ago when he gave them to you. The way your hands had grazed, his gaze as intense as it always was. The way he had encouraged you as you practiced, and been harsh when you made a mistake.

You had to be careful with your thoughts when you were around Charles. Guarded. There were a lot of things you thought about that you never wanted him to know.

He was one of those things. Erik was the other.

You couldn’t help it; they were both so attractive in different ways. Charles was soft and kind, a smile that could warm you from the inside out and a charm that could make you do anything he asked, no mutation needed. Erik was the opposite, harsh and damaged, cold in his mannerisms, but there was a concern to him that he tried to hide. He always failed, doing everything and more to protect the mutants around him. To fight for them. And to make sure you fought for them too.

“That wasn’t good enough.” You remember a moment from your day when he nearly shouted, frustrated that you had only stopped a flying chunk of metal he had flung at you rather than moving it as well.

“I’m not used to this, Erik.”

“So? We all had to learn to control our powers quick, you aren’t special.” You huffed, clenching your fists as Charles let out a soft, warning whisper of his name, but he carried on. “You can do more than that. I don’t care when or how you got your powers, but even if you got them yesterday, you would be doing a hell of a lot better than you are right now.” While he was talking, you were steadily getting angrier, and halfway through a sentence you noticed a new piece of metal hurtling towards you. You flicked it away without any effort, hearing it smash against the wall and falling to the ground, noticing that the white hot rage had sharpened your vision. He continued to throw more and more object at you, and you continued to retaliate, not realising you were moving towards him until he started to move backwards. He reached the wall, and threw a knife in a last ditch effort. Charles cried out in warning, but you didn’t need it, pulling the knife straight into your hand and holding it to Erik’s neck.

“You have no fucking clue what I’ve gone through to get this power.” You were close enough to feel the shuddering breath he let out, and you could see the way he clenched his jaw, his eyes scanning your face meticulously, as though you couldn’t see every minuscule movement he made through your blindfold.

“I know it was bad enough that you didn’t want to use your gifts for a long time.” You felt as though the wind had been knocked from your lungs, and you stepped back, dropping the knife to the floor with a clatter, making your way back across the room.

“Again.”

How you got your powers was a memory even Charles hadn’t seen. You had never let him. Some subconscious part of you protected it viciously; the first time he had even tried, your mutation had taken over, gripping the only thing you could sense moving and stopping it. That thing just so happened to be his heart.

He hadn’t gone near that memory since.

And neither had you.

You should be trying to get some rest. You had a big day tomorrow. You were going after Shaw. Saving the world. Letting Erik get his revenge on that bastard. It was going to be difficult. You just hoped you could be helpful in spite of everything.

It was no use though. You were unable to think about anything else, so you got up and ventured out to find Hank. You just wanted to check if he'd incorporated the blindfold into your suit, and maybe to get some reassurance from your big brother, but as you wandered through the expansive house, you noticed an unusual quietness. Glancing at a clock, you realised it was later than you'd thought—you should definitely be resting too. But as you were passing the main study, you heard voices and paused, listening for Hank.

Hank isn’t here, but you can come in.

Your heart lurched, although you couldn’t tell if it was from surprise, or an involuntary reaction to his smooth voice. Concentrate, you scolded yourself, opening the door. Both Charles and Erik were sitting in the study in big, leather arm chairs, chess board in front of them and glasses of whiskey nestled in their hands. God, you needed one right now.

“Help yourself.” He said aloud, and you laughed to yourself quietly.

“It still takes me by surprise when you do that.” You moved over to the cabinet, pouring yourself a generous amount, before turning around to see another chair being moved to where they were sitting, Erik’s hand outstretched towards its metal feet. He set it down opposite their’s, and you sat gratefully, tucking your legs up and taking a sip.

“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” Charles asked, his voice strong and earnest. You frowned.

“Why do you ever ask questions when you could just see it?”

Would you really rather I was in here all the time?

“No of course not.” He already was. You took another sip. “And I’m terrified.”

“You don’t have to come, you know.” It was Erik this time. He spoke quietly, eyes never leaving the chess board.

“I want to.” You said it with finality, hoping to convey a confidence you certainly didn’t feel, but they both seemed to accept it.

“Your progress has been incredible today; you’re going to be a big help out there.” You smiled at the words but still not fully believing them, having another drink and averting your eyes to the chessboard.

“Do you want to play?” Erik asked, and you shook your head.

“No, thank you, I think I’ll watch if that’s ok.” Maybe they didn’t want you here. “Unless that would be crashing your evening, I don’t want to be a nuisance…”

“Never.” He muttered, moving one of his pawns. You smiled, settling further into the chair.

It was at times like this that you wished you had Charles’ power. They had been playing for a while now, and you wanted to know what they were thinking, their plans for the game. You tried to guess, but your chess knowledge was rusty at best, and you kept getting distracted. You hadn’t moved in the last 30 minutes - only once before that to get another drink - and they didn’t speak much when they played, so your mind wandered. Naturally. And it didn’t help that the thing your mind had been wandering to this past week was sat in front of you.

You watched as Erik’s hand gracefully moved a piece across the board from afar, the steel-tipped bishop gliding with ease, then returning to his thigh. His legs were spread slightly, hand resting on each while he continued to look at the board, shuffling slightly in his seat, his hips moving up and forwards and hands sliding further down them and you couldn’t help but think about…

Charles said your name, and you cleared your throat.

“Hmm?” You really hoped he hadn’t been in your head then.

“Weren’t you looking for Hank earlier?”

“Oh… yes I was but it can wait until tomorrow, it wasn’t important.” He’s telling you to leave. “Unless you wanted some space, sorry I totally crashed your night…”

“I promise you aren’t, darling, I just wanted to check you hadn’t forgotten something important.” Darling. He used nicknames a lot, maybe it was a British thing, but it still made your heart flutter every time.

“Thank you.” You smiled quietly as Erik stood up, offering another drink. You accepted, his hand grazing yours as he took the glass from it, fireworks dancing across your skin.

What should I do next?

His voice called out in your head, and you smiled lightly, knowing he didn’t need your help but wanting to include you nonetheless, probably after hearing you mind racing with thoughts of being an annoyance.

Bishop to F6.

I was thinking the same thing.

Erik returned, almost making you jump as the glass was placed back in your hand. Charles moved exactly as you had said as soon as Erik had sat down, and he paused, looking at the board intently, fingers running around the rim of his glass. Jesus, was he doing this on purpose? You twisted in your chair under the guise of getting comfortable to face towards Charles, but he was no better. He was stretched out, his legs wide, hand resting on his chin, shirt sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Fucking hell. It was barely anything, they were literally just sitting down, concentrating on their game, relaxing before what was bound to be a difficult day, but your mind couldn’t stop running away with itself. And to be fair to you, you were tipsy, stressed, and currently sitting in a room with two men who you happened to find insanely attractive. Of course you were going to have some thoughts. You couldn’t help it. About what they might be like. You figure Erik would be a little rougher, domineering, but Charles would talk to you, praise you. Use his powers to know exactly what you needed, to make you feel good…

His power.

Fuck.

You needed to get out of here before you just about died of embarrassment, and you could feel yourself blushing even though he showed no sign of knowing. If there was even a chance he knew, you needed to run, to leave, to literally never show your face here again. You downed your drink, a slight sting settling in the back of your throat.

“I should probably get going,” you croaked, barely managing to talk through sheer shame, “try and get some sleep before tomorrow. Thank you for the drink.” You had moved to stand, feet hitting the floor, but Charles held out a hand to you in a gesture to stop.

“Just one second…” He muttered, looking at Erik intensely. He wasn’t saying anything, but they held eye contact and you realised that he must be talking to him. Oh dear God. There was no expression on either of their faces, so unreadable it made you feel slightly insane. Oh God he saw it. What would he even think of you? Then, without warning, Charles stood up. You thought he might be going to get a drink, but he stopped behind you, and after an excruciating moment, his hands fell to your shoulders. You sighed and fell into them as he started to squeeze lightly, working the muscles that were there in a way that felt so good it was hard not to moan, so you hummed in contentment instead.

“I know it’s been a long day… maybe we can help you relax a little.” We? At that point, Erik stood up, expression still completely unreadable, and placed his fingers gently under your chin, lifting it to meet his eyes. His beautiful fucking eyes.

“Does that sound ok?” He whispered, and you practically melted.

"Yes, God, yes," you breathed. Erik closed the gap before you could finish, his lips capturing yours hungrily as his hand found your thigh. He pulled away, leaving you breathless, but before you could recover, he tilted your head back with a gentle grip on your chin. Charles' lips met yours, tender and exploratory. As he kissed you, his fingers traced soft circles on your collarbone. You sensed Erik's intense gaze, then felt his lips brush your neck—a fleeting touch, gentle yet promising more. You gasped into Charles' mouth, overwhelmed by their dual attention.

“My room’s closest.”

You made it there without bumping into anyone, a true blessing considering your hand in Charles’ and the strong grip Erik had on your hips the whole way. You had barely closed the door before he was on you again, lips on your neck and shoulder, hips grinding up against your ass, and something else too. You noticed Charles was standing just away from the two of you, watching intently with an expression close to disbelief. You smiled at him warmly, pulling him closer just as Erik lightly nipped your shoulder in a way that made you whimper. You reached back, running your nails in his hair, before pulling him towards Charles. They both smiled softly, lips meeting as you stayed in between them, both of their bodies pressed up against you. You took the opportunity to undo a few of Charles’ shirt buttons, and planting a couple of delicate kisses to the top of his chest. You felt giddy with arousal, mind completely taken away from the stress of the whatever was to come the following day, hands taking their time to explore his chest and further down as you continued to undo his buttons, his shirt falling open as you pulled him closer still, pressing his skin to yours.

Let me know if you want us to stop. There is no pressure here, sweetheart, just whatever you want.

You nodded, watching as Charles pulled back from Erik. His eyes scanned your face for any sign of discomfort, though he could surely sense the pleasure coursing through your mind — and they'd barely touched you yet. You hummed contentedly as Erik's hands found the hem of your tank top, pulling it off while Charles' fingers trailed down your arms, grasping your hands and guiding you towards the bed. Shimmying out of your sweatpants, you sat down and kicked them off, then shuffled further up the bed. You leaned back on your elbows, hoping to entice them to join you, but they remained standing, their eyes raking over every inch of you. Suddenly self-conscious, you realised that, apart from Charles' open shirt, they were both still fully clothed, while you lay before them in just your underwear. You would have to change that..

You closed your eyes tight, focusing on them. Charles must’ve heard your thoughts, and he was removing his shirt now, moving to his belt, but Erik just stood, watching you both. He looked so calm, but you could see his rapid, heaving breaths, and the desperation that was growing in his trousers. His breathing was just enough movement for you to latch on to, reaching out and starting to pull up the hem of his top, and he smirked, a grin spreading as he lifted his arms to help you, and you discarded the black material across the room. You blinked your eyes open slowly, and after a small pause where Charles glanced at him, presumably communicating where they were going to be, and finally got a good look at him before he knelt down before the bed, grabbing your hips and pulling you towards him, making you squeal.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmured, planting kisses up your thighs as his fingertips hooked under your pants, pulling them off. You sat up slightly as Charles moved behind you, resting your back against his chest. He grasped your jaw, turning your head to kiss him. "And this is quite a view…" You blushed, giggling, as Erik settled between your legs, his hands gripping your ass and angling you for access.

"So is this," Charles whispered, his hands finding your bra clasp as Erik's kisses inched closer to your aching core.

"Fuck, Erik…" you whimpered, your hand darting to his hair as his tongue delved into your folds, his hot mouth enveloping you with a groan. Your bra discarded, hands immediately cupped and kneaded your chest, making your head roll back, eyes fluttering closed with sheer bliss. Charles's lips found your neck, nipping the sensitive skin behind your ear and eliciting a soft moan.

"He thinks you taste divine, darling," Charles whispered, and you smiled, already panting as the pressure in your core built. "He does think you could be a little louder, though…" As if on cue, Erik's hands left your ass—one arm pinning you to the bed by your hips, the other at your entrance. Before you knew it, he was pushing two fingers inside you. You groaned, still holding back slightly, acutely aware of the house full of people.

Don’t be shy, I can make sure no one can hear you.

As his voice echoed in your mind, Erik's fingers inside you curled upward, hitting that sweet spot that made you melt. Simultaneously, Charles' fingers found your nipples, pinching and rolling them in a deliciously painful way that drew a guttural noise from your throat. The sound was loud and raw, tearing through your body just like the building pleasure was. Erik's tongue continued its relentless assault on your clit, never pausing. You writhed on the bed, so close to the edge it almost hurt, your moans and whines filling the room.

“Oh God… fuck I think I’m going to…” You felt Erik groan against you, and you looked down at him, seeing him peering up at you through half lidded eyes, lust on his face evident and a realisation hit you then. One of the most powerful men in the world was on his knees in front of you, and behind you was the other, lips planted on your neck, their sole purpose being to give you pleasure. It was enough to send you over the edge.

Your back arched, pressing further into Charles as a low, reverberating groan was pulled from your throat, riding out the waves with his mouth still between your thighs, and you couldn’t stop your hips from grinding into him. He finally realised you when you were done, shaking and quivering on the bed, slowly removing his fingers from you.

“You should really have a taste, Charles.” He muttered, moving up onto the bed and crawling over you to reach him, presenting his fingers to his mouth. You watch in awe as Charles took them into his mouth gratefully, sucking them clean as Erik watched, a dark look entering his eyes.

“You were right…” he muttered, hands moving to your hair and pushing it from your face as he kissed you gently. “Divine.” You hummed into his mouth and kissed him harder, tasting yourself on his tongue, which made that all too familiar ache build up in your core once again.

“Look at that…” you heard Erik start talking, alongside the sound of his belt buckle undoing, “she’s needy already.” You released Charles lips, sitting up slightly to grab a hold of Erik’s waistband, undoing the button and fly quickly and frantically, revealing the huge tent in his boxers.

“Looks like I’m not the only one…” you whispered, moving into a seated position on your knees as your hands ran gently across his bulge, seeing his hips move towards you instinctively, begging for more even though the rest of his body language said otherwise. “I can help with that.” His eyes darkened, and you wondered where he would want to be, but Charles was one step ahead of you.

He wants your mouth, darling. You smiled, guiding him back to the headboard with a gentle push on his chest, your fingers tracing the contours of his muscles before letting him get comfortable. Meanwhile, you turned your attention to Charles, putting on a show as you kissed him again, but deeper this time, your tongue taking its time to explore his mouth. Your hands deftly worked at his trousers while his roamed the lower half of your body, all eager grasps and breathless pants against your lips. You loved seeing him come undone beneath your touch, his raw desire palpable, and yours was evident by the slick forming between your thighs.

"Turn around for me, sweetheart." Erik's gruff voice rang out behind you. You obliged, settling on your knees to see a beautiful sight. He had finally taken off his trousers and boxers, and you paused to drink him in. Relaxed against the headboard, legs spread wide, his posture screamed dominance, accentuated by the small smirk playing on his lips as he watched you. Your gaze wandered down, taking in his toned body, strong arms, and down to the happy trail leading to the thing you wanted most. He was hard—painfully so, it seemed—and he stroked himself languidly while waiting for you. And he was big, bigger than you expected, and you swallowed hard at the thought of him, of how he would feel….

Charles had also stripped down completely, and he moved right behind you on the bed, hips pressed to your ass, and his erection pressed against your back.

“Come here…” Erik said, leaning forward and pulling you close by the back of your neck and smashing his lips into yours. You could feel Charles behind you, pulling your hips back and setting you up for him, his hands kneading your ass in a way that made you moan into Erik’s mouth.

Are you safe?

On the pill, I’m all yours. Erik released you from his lips and sat back, giving Charles a small nod and using the hand on your neck to keep your head up and facing him.

“Eyes on me, babygirl.” You nodded, eyes widening and a moan escaping your lips as you felt Charles press up against your entrance, fully sheathing himself in one swift motion.

“Fuck, darling, you feel so good.” He groaned, breathing ragged.

"God, so do you," you whispered, breathless as you adjusted to his size. Your eyes remained locked on Erik's, whose expression darkened as he stroked himself faster. Charles pulled out slowly, taking his time, before thrusting back into you forcefully, his hips colliding with yours. You moaned and whimpered as he set a rhythm, his hands roaming through your hair and up and down your back, murmuring praises and curses. You had finally caught your breath, and you knew it was time someone else got a little attention, so you lowered your head. Your tongue swirled around Erik's cock as his hand gripped your hair tightly. You took him into your mouth, managing just over half before pulling back, one hand moving to his base, the other steadying you on the bed. Matching Charles' pace, you bobbed up and down, drawing a growl of satisfaction from Erik that made your cunt clench, eliciting similar sounds from the man behind you. He pulled you into him by your hips, each thrust pure bliss, and you knew another climax was imminent if he just...

The telepath clearly sensed your thoughts, his hand reaching around to find your clit with precision. He rubbed tight circles in perfect rhythm, building the pressure once more. You could only moan weakly around the cock deep in your throat.

"She's close, Erik. I want to hear her," Charles said breathlessly. You could tell he was nearing his peak too as Erik lifted you off him by your hair, gripping tightly.

"Are you going to come for him, sweetheart?" Erik asked, his low tone making you whimper.

"Fuck... so close... I—" Your words dissolved into a moan as your orgasm overwhelmed you. Your eyes fluttered closed, and your head rolled into Erik's hands. Your body melted into blissful jelly, your core pulsing around Charles, and he followed shortly after, his hips faltering as he pressed deep into you. With a groan in your ear, he filled you, then bit your shoulder as you both rode out the waves of pleasure together.

You were a shuddering mess by the time he was done, barely holding yourself up as he pulled out of you with a deep sigh. He pressed soft kisses down your spine as Erik lifted your head up, lust etched on his face.

“You still up for me, sweetheart?” His fingers ran across your lips and cheek, and you nodded, still breathless.

I’m going to clean up, can I leave you two to it?You heard Charles in your head, and you sent over a yes, turning your head to kiss him goodbye.

“Shall I clean you up before I go, darling?” He asked, clearly having asked Erik the same thing, before standing and moving over to him, kissing him deeply.

“I think we’ll be ok.” Erik muttered, a mischievous look on his face. You smiled, forcing your weary legs to move towards him. He held you up by your hips as you heard the bathroom door close, a quick have fun thrown into your head. You kissed him softly, tenderly as you sank onto him, a sweet, low growl filling your mouth as your hips met his—a surprisingly easy feat despite his size thanks to what had been left behind by Charles. Your legs trembled, worn out, but you pressed your body close to Erik's, draping your head over his shoulder as he guided your movements with his hands. It was intimate - hands tangled in hair, soft, short breaths mingling with deep, grinding strokes that quickly brought you to the edge yet again. Panting and whining in his ear, you tried to tell him how close you were, but the sensation overtook you before you could form the words. Your nails dug into his back as pleasure washed over you. He whispered your name in a dark, husky tone, and then he was coming too, deep inside you. Somehow, he ground even deeper as you managed to lift your head just enough to kiss him.

You both stayed like that for a moment, catching your breath, bodies intertwined. Erik's hands traced lazy patterns on your back, sending shivers down your spine. As your heartbeat slowly returned to normal, you lifted your head to meet his gaze, finding a mix of satisfaction and tenderness in his eyes. With a soft smile, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering on your cheek. You wanted to stay like this forever, feeling his heartbeat against your chest, but the moment was broken by the shower turning off. You blushed, climbing off him slowly, slumping next to him on the bed, feeling empty without him inside of you. You knew you would have to go and clean up soon, but you felt so comfortable with his arm draped around you, you didn’t want to move. He pulled the blanket from the bottom of the bed up, draping it over you as you waited for Charles, your eyes fluttering closed peacefully.

“Well, this is nice sight.” You smiled, opening your eyes to see him in the doorway to the bathroom, wet hair hanging over his face and towel wrapped around his waist.

“This is a pretty nice view from here too.” You replied. “Can I…?”

“Go ahead.” Erik muttered, planting one last kiss on your lips as you headed to the bathroom. You had just closed the door when you heard the bed creak, and they started talking.

“We got lucky with her, didn’t we?” Charles muttered, and you heard Erik sigh.

“Yes, I think we did.”

[oakgreenoak]

Something I've always found kinda interesting about Red and Green in gameverse is how they turn some of the Stock Shōnen Protagonist/Rival tropes on their heads.

This is really long character analysis of these two and various media counterparts of theirs, so I'm gonna stick it under a cut.

In some ways they fit their roles quite well - aside from the obvious colour associations, you have Red as the hero whose sense of justice is stronger than his sense of self-preservation, and you have Green as the privileged rival who cares about beating Red above all else.

But, if you look at it another way - Green's got the light spiky hair, the hot-headed and boisterous personality, the drive to Get Better And Win. He's designed to read as really open and chipper, yet snarky. Sure, he isn't dumb, but he's arrogant, and he's got something of a one-track mind; the guy finds himself in the middle of a hostage situation because he's just that hellbent on fighting his rival, and does not seem to be thinking about anything else. He's also got a motivation - given how the Professor talks to him in the championship room and supplementary material like his Generations appearance, it's not a stretch to think the reason he's so driven to Get Better And Win is to prove himself to his grandfather. It's shown in later games and supplementary works that he's become somewhat of a mentor as he got older and wiser.

Red, on the other hand, is a quiet loner whose only motivation seems to be to get stronger for the sake of getting stronger. He's level-headed and dark haired, his cap rounding off his edges and obscuring his face. He's heroic, but not really sociable, as evidenced by the fact he spends the Johto games alone on a mountain without having told anyone where he went. He seems isolated in a way that later games' protagonists really don't. He may have always been a step behind Green, but he's always better.

Equally fascinating to me is how other adaptations have changed the base designs around and rewritten personalities to suit different purposes, while still being visually recognisable as counterparts to their game-selves.

For example: Red and Green's counterparts in Special slot WAY more neatly into their stock shōnen roles, with Red as the boisterous hero and Green as the broody rival, and it's reflected in their new designs.

Red's hair becomes spiky to reflect his more excitable nature. His hat, in turn, never obscures his face; it's always either tilted back to accommodate his fringe or turned backwards. Green's hair, on the other hand, is not quite as spiked upwards and instead falls into his face, frequently obscuring his far eye in the same way game!Red's hat does.

And then, of course, the anime balanced them in a totally different direction.

Instead of scrapping Green's personality wholecloth, it's become exaggerated in Gary. He's not the broody antihero rival, he's the arrogant, privileged, better-than-you rival. He's always ten steps ahead of Ash, always pisses him off, and is ALWAYS better until the end of his run. The anime also emphasises his intelligence far more, with him doing things like rattling off dex info and the speed of light in mph off the top of his head, to further contrast him with Ash.

Ash, who is of course THE shōnen protagonist. He's dumb, but determined, and always ready to help people in need. Unlike game!Red, the power of friendship (with more than just pokémon) is central to him; any given season of the show is defined as much if not moreso by his travelling companions and interpersonal relationships as it is by whatever he's actually doing.

It's funny to me, though, how most adaptations seem to find the fact that gameverse Red and Green have swapped some stock roles as something to fix. Even Origins, which is probably the closest a high-profile adaption has come to game-accurate, made its version of Red louder and more standard-hero-esque.

I'm not knocking any of these things, of course, just observing. I adore both Special and anipoke. I just think that the way the game characters are written could lead to some interesting dynamics were it to be explored more.

[rosenclaws]

Stronger || Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: after failing your last mission you start to over train yourself in secret but Logan notices the bruises and cuts and wont leave you alone about it.

warnings: angst to fluff, patching up fic, the reader is very hard on themselves, injury, blood, insecurity, sweet logan, reader pushes themself too much.

a/n: I had this idea at like 1:30am last night and I wrote it when i woke up oops. I just love fluffy patching up logan fics what can I say.

There it is again. Logan's nose twitches as you walk by. You smell like dirt and sweat but most of all blood. He locks eyes with you as you walk past the kitchen door.

Theres a limp in your step. It's subtle but there. You're wearing long pants and long sleeves despite it being hot outside and you're hiding your hands in your pockets. There's bags under your eyes and the smiles you give people aren't real.

Logan narrows his eyes at you and you look at the ground. Hurrying away from his pointed gaze. He wants to go after you but he hears your door slam and lock.

No one else has picked up on this except for him. He brings it up in passing but he's brushed off every time. Something is up with you and he's going to figure out what.

You sigh as you lean against your door. Your body aches like crazy and all you want to do is collapse onto the bed and sleep. But you force yourself to the bathroom. You need to scrub off all the evidence of everything from the night before. The blood and grime washed off but the bruises stayed.

"Damn." You mumbled as you took in the injuries from this time.

The person displayed in the mirror looked like a stranger. Your eyes were sunken, bruises on your body, you looked tired and felt worse. But you had to keep going. You needed to be strong, to prove yourself and this was the only way.

At least that's what you think. You crawl into bed and pass out the moment your head hits the pillows. Unfortunately the nightmares start then too.

You're back on your last mission. The whole reason you've been pushing yourself so hard. You were weak, lost, a burden to the team. You weren't like everyone else at the mansion. You didn't come here as a kid.

In fact you were well into your adult life when Professor Xavier found you. You had no training, no experience. You got stuck into classes with kids who had already mastered their powers. You felt silly, a fool to think you could be apart of this world. You didn't belong.

So when you got the chance to go on a mission you were excited. It means they thought you were ready, that you had something in you that could help.

The mission went terribly. You were overwhelmed and could barely keep up. Tackled to the ground you cried out in pain. A sharp blade against your neck caused you to freeze. You tried to conjure your energy blasts but a foot on your wrist stopped you. It was digging into you, crushing you. You closed your eyes as you braced yourself for what was to come.

It never does.

The pressure is released all at once as Logan tackled the man who was on you. Digging his claws into him until he's limp on the ground. He runs to you, checking you injuries. You couldn't speak. You couldn't warn Logan that someone else was coming. Then it all goes black. You're too late.

You sit up, Logan's name on the tip of your tongue as you wake up. Fuck. You take in your surroundings and try to calm down. Slowly sinking back into your bed. Reminding yourself that everything fine.

That the last mission didn't really end that way. Logan is okay, you're okay. But what if things had played out different.

If you could have held your own then Logan wouldn't have had to come to your rescue. He carried you back to the jet and while everyone was nice, you knew that you disappointed them.

You haven't been asked to go on a mission since. It hurt, you wanted to go. To be apart of the team. So you took it upon yourself to train. Your powers were trained in lessons with the professor but he never lets you go past a certain limit. So instead you decided to sneak out at night to the nearby forest and train there.

Honing not only your powers but your hand to hand combat as well. Trees were your only partners but it worked. They were strong and sturdy. Every night you'd sneak out. Practice with your powers which drained you and then practiced everything else after. It left you bloody and bruised but in your mind it was worth it.

Glancing at the clock you see that you've slept through most of the day. The sun had already set. Quietly you get dressed and sneak down the hallways. Most everyone was already in bed and if they weren't they were socializing in the living room. All you had to do was sneak by and you were home free for the night.

Laughter is the perfect distraction as you sneak past the doorway. Opening the door slowly and sneaking outside, running to the safety of the woods. What you don't notice is someone following you.

Logan caught your scent the second you stepped out of your room. Whether he wants to admit it or not he's always searching for you. He smelled your shampoo wafting past the door and eyed you outside. You were quick but he could still see you. Enough of this. Whatever the hell you were doing was killing you. Slowly but surely it was ruining you physically and mentally. He slipped away from the rest of the people in the living room and followed you.

As he got deeper in the woods he became worried, just what could you be doing out here? His ears perk up as he hears you. Peaking through the trees he finds you in a small clearing. You were clearly exhausted but you kept pushing. Creating energy from your finger tips and blasting them at a tall redwood.

Logan smells the blood that trickled from your nose. You were pushing yourself too hard. He's about to reveal himself when the loud creaking of a branch stops him.

You were too wrapped up in conjuring another blast that you don't notice a large tree branch cracking from the force of your powers. Logan springs in to action.

"Watch out!" He growls as he launches himself at you. Grabbing your body and wrapping himself around you the best he can. The branch falls right onto his back. It snaps in two as it falls to either side of you.

"Logan?! What are you doing here?" You ask as you stare at the fallen branch. Kicking yourself for not noticing it fast enough forcing Logan to put himself in danger for you again.

"What am I doing here? What the fuck are you doing out here?" He yells as he lets you go. Taking in just how bad you looked.

"What the hell is wrong with you? What if I wasn't here? What if that branch fell and hit you and no one would know that you were bleeding out in the fucking woods!" Logan snarls. His fear and worry being masked by anger. How could you be so reckless? So stupid?

"I didn't ask you to fucking follow me!" You bite back. Shame creeping up as he scolds you. Logan scoffs and grabs your face firmly.

"Do you even see yourself right now?" He grabs your wrist and holds it up. Staring at your bloody knuckles. It fucking hurts. It hurts for him to see you like this and it hurts him that you were doing this to yourself.

“You're tearing yourself apart, why?" The anger starts to fade, his real feelings breaking through.

"Because I'm weak." You admit, your voice cracking as the adrenaline starts to drain. Instead being replaced but complete and utter exhaustion.

"What?" Logan asks in disbelief.

"I failed the last mission, I could have gotten you hurt, I was a liability. If I got stronger, If I was better."

"Stop. Just stop. You really think all that?" Logan has let go of you by now, his eyes are looking at all your bruises. All the damage you've done to yourself.

"You don't?" You ask, afraid of his answer.

He doesn't say a word. Instead he takes your holds your hand, you try to ignore the butterflies growing in your stomach as he leads you back to the mansion. Taking you up to his room where he pulls out a first aid kit.

He doesn't need one but every room has one, of course you had already used up all of yours. Silently he patches you up, wrapping your knuckles in bandages and wiping up the blood from your nose.

"If you wanted train you could have come to one of us, to me." He should have noticed sooner, said something. Stopped you from doing this to yourself.

"I thought I had to do it on my own."

"You don't. It took me a while to figure it out too but you don't." He would be a hypocrite to scold you for going off alone but he doesn't really care.

"I'm sorry." You mumble. Logan cups your face and to your shock kisses your forehead gently.

"Don't ever do this again do you hear me." Logan can help you, he can protect you.

"I won't." You promise him. He smiles and picks you up.

"Logan!" You yelp as he drops you into his bed.

It smells just like him and you can't deny the instant comfort that comes over you as you snuggle into his sheets.

"You're going to rest for the next week. Anything you need you just call alright?"

"But what-" He stares at you and you stop talking, he wasn't fucking around about this.

"When you're healed and rested. Then we can train together." He doesn't leave room for argument, not that you wanted to argue with him anyways but still.

"Thank you Logan...You didn't have to do this."

He could have turned his head, pretended he never saw anything. Its what you expected him to do if you were being honest. But he didn't. He saw you struggling, pushing yourself and he couldn't let you hurt yourself any longer. He cared about you, a lot.

"I know." He says simply.

"Will you stay, while I sleep. I've been getting these nightmares and well..." Logan nods his head.

He shuts off the lights and crawls into bed with you. Kind of, more like he's half hanging off the edge of the bed. But you're comfortable and that's good enough for him.

It doesn't take long for you to fall asleep. The comforting aura of Logan was enough. He hums as you curl closer to him. Logan chasing away any nightmares that threaten to hurt you and for the first time in a while your dreams are quiet.

A smile on your face as peace finally overcomes your dreams.

[makeupbychio]

THE suit // logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

Summary: Now that you are officially part of the x-men team you need a suit. After the help from Hank and Charles to make the suit you kept the final result as a secret to Logan until he saw you in your first mission in THE suit. More than one time you needed more than one suit, not just because Logan will rip off a lot of them, but for other reasons. 

Warnings: Jealous Logan and being a little bit of a brat, Hank and Charles cameo, insecurity towards your body and powers, use of your powers (ecokinesis), Logan being the best protective and comforting boyfriend, mentions of smut, suggestive language, mentions of pregnancy.

Words: 1.9k 

A/N: So thanks for the anon for the request!! Once again, a reminder that english is not my first language. I put angst, fluff and mentions of smut so I hope you like this. Also, reminder that this is a safe place for all body sizes so that's why I don’t mention specifics measurements for the suit. ALSO, you can read this with my previous Logan fic TRAINING SEASON, this is them days after you are officially an x-men. Enjoy, love y’all!! <3. 

italics = past. 

— — —

“Hold on, wait. Hank is going to do your suit?” Logan stopped the conversation. You two at the cafeteria grabbing a late night snack. You took the pause to give a bite to your apple. 

“What about it? The Professor told me Hank did all of them” you answered him without any worry in your mind and didn't  understand why he had that frowning look on his face.

”I think Storm should be in charge since your powers are related to nature too”. Logan suggested, trying not to be an asshole. You understand where this was going when he sighed. 

“But Lo, the Professor designed the suits, Hank is just going to sew it and for that he needs to take the correct measurements” you refreshed Logan’s mind, like if it wasn’t obvious that a suit was not going to sew it itself. 

So after that Logan just stopped insisting about it. He trusted Hank of course but something was itching his brain. If he knew you already had an appointment with Hank last week to take the first measurement and the Professor explaining to you how he designed it for you and your powers. 

“So, Y/N. If you didn’t know, Hank came up with the idea to make the suits bulletproof and for your powers we needed to incorporate more resistance to heat changes in case your whole body is on fire or ice. So we needed to play with all of the opposite and different scenarios of the element you were going to manipulate or become, please try it on”. Charles explained to you the work behind your suit. You just nodded, but the Professor can read your mind and know your excitement when you ran to change your clothes and came back with the suit on.

“So you can basically turn into stone one moment and then disappear like air, so we create something that can resist that range of changes, and also of course something to be comfortable for you”. Hank added, proud of the technology he put in the suit while you looked at yourself in the mirror. “You can try it and test what I’m talking about”. 

So you did it, always careful not to hurt them. They were so happy with the final results and you couldn’t thank them enough and can’t wait any longer to wear it. 

“See you next week, Y/N”. The Professor reminded you about the final meeting to correct some details. 

So after that late snack, you both went to bed and before your appointment with Hank, Logan just stopped by his office and greeted him with a casual smile. 

“Logan, how can I help you? Y/N is not here” Hank thought he was there to be with you once you tried on your suit. 

“Don’t worry, she’s still in bed sleeping in our room” Logan gave a cocky smile and highlighted the ‘our’. “Actually I’m here to help YOU. In case you needed help with her suit, just to let you know that I made you a list of her measurements” Logan handed him a piece of paper with the different sizes of the clothes you have. He really thought that was going to work. “You’re welcome, so you don’t have to take the measurements yourself” He smiles proud of himself. 

Hank laughed and didn’t want to ruin Logan’s intention. He just thanked him, if Logan knew the suit was ready in the lab for you to try it and make the last changes. 

“Oh! I almost forgot” Logan turned to Hank before leaving his office. “She’s the smartest person I know, don’t get offended so I’m pretty sure she’s going to give you some ideas for the suit” he made a pause imagining you giving instructions to Hank. “And her favorite color is purple” Logan finally leaves the room without letting Hank answer. Heading himself to the dining room proud of his work. 

Hours later, you went directly to the lab where Hank and the Professor told you to meet. “Okay Y/N so tell us how you feel it, if you want to change something” Hank looked at you looking in the mirror. 

It was really comfortable even when it was really tight to your body. You felt so much confidence, you saw the x mark on it, that wasn’t on the suit the last meeting you had. Also it made justice to your figure and your beautiful curves. 

“Thanks again, it fits perfectly. But Hank I just wanted to ask you if it’s possible if you could add something to the suit…” Hank is paying attention to you. “If there could be like- I don’t know- something for you guys to know which element I’m manipulating or about to, so you don’t get yourself hurt out there during a mission” you asked him nervously because they are the experts.

”Mmmhh, it’s a really good idea but the enemy can use that information too against us to advance an attack” Hank really liked the idea but they had a surprise for you. 

“So dear, we also wanted for you to try this suit too” the Professor went to reach the suit he was talking about. Hiding it inside a box that was wrapped like a gift. 

“Guys, what is this?” you were in total awe when you opened the box. They know how easily you get emotional. Tears are already forming in your eyes. 

“We wanted for you to have your own suit, something that will be just for YOU…” Hank started explaining. “All of us have something that characterizes ourselves and our powers, so someone told us your favorite color is purple and it contrasts perfectly the green that represents your powers…” Hanks kept talking because you went speechless. “I know it sounds cliché to add green for your ecokinesis, if you don’t like it we can change it” he suggested.

You just ran to hug them because it was perfect. “So for your ideas you gave us, we design this…” the Professor handed you another box, but this time smaller. You opened it so fast. “We created these gloves for the changes of elements. So you can use it in the field or on a daily basis” you tried on them immediately and it blew your mind the technology it has, how it’s connected to you to change the colors related to the element, it sparkles so that makes them AMAZING.

“The gloves are more for the missions, because with the suit you hold your powers in case you are not conscious. Also the gloves help you to give your attack a precise target. We’ll learn more about both items while training” Hank explained. 

So when you first wore the x-men suit, you were so nervous about the mission, about everything so you changed clothes in your room. Thinking if this was a good idea. Literally everyone was waiting for you to step into the plane. 

“I’m going” Storm was about to go and search for you when you stepped into the ship. “There you are! K’ let’s go” Storm yelled at Scott to go.

Logan almost fainted, his claws making an appearance without previous warning. He quickly put them back, he was so excited he couldn’t resist to stay close to you. His flirting helped you to stop your nerves. “Sugar, you look amazing…” he gave you a kiss on your check, sitting next to you on the ship. He came closer to your face, whispering “I hope they made like a hundred suits because as soon as we're back in the mansion I’m going to rip it off. God, I can’t wait” You tried to hide the redness of your face, you warned him to behave. 

“Logan, I’m pretty sure the Professor can read your mind, I don’t want to be kicked out of the missions. Or give us separated missions. Do you want me to be paired with Scott instead?” you asked him with a teasing smile. 

“I’m sorry, love. But did you see yourself in the mirror before coming?” Logan really insisted but not too much. “Don’t worry, you’re going to kick asses today and I’ll protect you till the end of times” 

Like I said before, Logan after that would take any opportunity to join you for fittings. Especially if something is different. Logan would be there next to you when you are not comfortable with your body. If you are not comfortable with your powers every time you discover something new about them. After years, he will always be there for you, sitting in front of you looking at you with awe and comforting you even when you’re were not feeling it. 

The only time you skipped a mission was when your suit was not crossing your figure. You tried on your x-men suit and your own suit they made you and it was not stretching enough. The team was on a rush so they let you stay at the mansion. 

Logan asked you when they were back about what happened and you just told him you were feeling under the weather. The Professor already knew the real reason. You distracted Logan enough for you to go to Hank's office. 

“Hi, Hank. Can I ask you something?” you stepped into the room worried. Hank welcomed you worried about your absence in the last mission. “I had a problem with the suit, actually both suits. Is it possible for the fabric to be even more stretchable?” you asked him. 

Next day, after telling Logan the truth about you expecting and how suddenly a big bump you had appeared. That time he almost fainted too. So both of you were in the lab, the Professor and Hank giving you the congratulations when Hank was taking notes of your new measurements for your suits.

“Be careful there, big boy” Logan growled at Hank when he put the measuring tape around your belly. Logan was so protective over you and now your baby. You laughed at him telling not to worry, Logan looking at you with charming eyes while you rub your belly looking at yourself in the mirror. So this was really happening, starting a family.

Hank explained to you your new suits, which were going to be more comfortable for you considering the bump was going to grow even more. But the only thing Logan could think about is to protect you even more out there in the field. 

“Lo, look at me. I can do this” you hold his face when back in the room he told you to reject some missions that were too dangerous just to be cautious. He was scared that if you got injured really bad in your state. He was not going to stop you from going to the missions, because he knows you are one of the strongest and with a single snap you can beat your enemy but he can’t help himself from worrying. “And if I’m not feeling good or at my best to fight I’ll stay here”. you kissed him to calm him down. 

“I know, mama. You are the baddest out there. They could never beat you even if they tried” Logan kissed you back and kneeled to kiss your belly. “I wonder which powers our baby is going to inherit”. Next time Logan went to Hank’s office was to ask for a tiny x-men suit to surprise you. Hank couldn’t say no to Logan because he found a really cute gesture from him even when he had a lot of work left to do. 

[hivemuthur]

The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 1.

viktorxfemale!reader mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes)

AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor

Ch. 2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12.

word count: 4,3K

tag: #the game of teaching body

summary: Reader is a second-year science student that had just switched schools to escape the suffocating love of her parents and Viktor is being a black cat all the way through. A 12-chapter story of two emotionally problematic people falling in love through acknowledging each other's imperfections.

author's note: This is less introspective than my other fics, attempts to be lighter and funny at times. World is completely made up, even though contains some real things in it. Viktor's disability is present, but decreased (no back brace and breathing affliction). I will soon create fic masterlist and pin it on my blog and will be linking chapters with future updates.

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

You sat wedged between a hot, doe-eyed girl named Sue who was going to be your roommate, and some skinny guy whose name you hadn’t caught—Callum, maybe? Your friend Hale had ditched you to join his theatre group on the other side of the campus, leaving you to navigate introductions with your new course mates alone. Changing universities mid-degree was stressful, but staying back in Sheffield with your parents had been worse. So, yes, it had been the right call. A very good call, you reminded yourself.

Camden had a tiny science department with a handful of brilliant professors. It wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t Sheffield. And it had Hale, who had convinced you to come down south with promises of freedom, self-discovery, and the chance to reclaim your status as the unstoppable friend power-couple you’d been in high school (not that you had mattered at all back then, of course).

The room buzzed with overlapping conversations and sporadic bursts of laughter, the faint thrum of inoffensive pop music humming from a Bluetooth speaker in the corner. The second-year welcome party was more like a casual gathering, hosted in one of the university lounges with just enough couches and harsh fluorescent lighting to feel awkwardly cozy. You sipped from a plastic cup of lukewarm cider, your attention flitting between three different conversations happening around you.

To your left, Jayce was in the middle of an animated retelling of how he’d nearly blown up a lab during his undergrad years. His booming laugh and sweeping hand gestures kept everyone engaged, even those who had only half-heard the setup to his punchline. You found yourself smiling despite having missed most of the story. You vaguely recalled his introduction earlier in the evening—Jayce, one of the TAs for your course this year. From Sheffield, like you. Big personality, bigger grin.

On your right stood Viktor, the second TA, his hands resting lightly on his cane. He exuded a quieter kind of presence, his sharp amber eyes scanning the group with an air of detached curiosity. He’d joined the circle mid-conversation, offering the occasional dry comment that earned chuckles from those paying attention.

“You’re training to be a geneticist?” Viktor asked, leaning slightly toward you. His accent caught you off guard—it was Slavic, you thought, though you weren’t confident enough to guess further. You made a mental note to ask him about it one day.

You blinked, surprised to be addressed. “Oh, yeah,” you replied quickly, nodding. “Second year. Still deciding whether I want to focus on medical or research applications, though.” You paused. “You’re in bioengineering for your PhD, right?”

“Correct,” Viktor said with a slight upward quirk of his lips. “It is refreshing to meet someone undecided. Most claim they will change the world before finishing their first term.”

You laughed nervously, unsure if he was mocking you or just making an observation. “Yeah, I’m saving that for third year.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, his expression hovering somewhere between amused and sceptical. “Ambitious,” he said dryly.

Before you could respond, Jayce turned toward you, pulling the group’s focus with him. “What about you? Have you had Professor Albin yet? He’s a character, let me tell you. Loves his experiments more than his students.”

You grinned, drawn into the shift in energy. “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard about him. But wait, is he the one who smokes under the laboratory fume hood?”

Jayce snapped his fingers in mock recognition. “Exactly! Last year, he almost caused the whole building to evacuate because he didn’t realise the hood was broken.”

The group erupted into laughter. You found yourself relaxing, leaning into the easy rhythm of the conversation. You missed the glance Viktor cast your way, faintly bemused.

He cleared his throat, a subtle gesture that drew only a few eyes. “Albin may be forgetful, but he has published groundbreaking work on single-cell RNA sequencing. One might forgive the eccentricities, no?”

The remark hung in the air for a beat, slightly out of sync with the conversation’s playful tone. Jayce, quick to keep the mood light, grinned and waved it off. “True, but it doesn’t make his lectures any less painful.”

The laughter resumed, bubbling back up with ease. You smiled, but something about Viktor’s expression lingered in your mind—a subtle tightness around his mouth, almost imperceptible but impossible to ignore once noticed.

You thought to say something, maybe steer the conversation back toward him, but Jayce was already pulling your attention with another question, his energy impossible to resist. The moment slipped away, and with it, that fleeting glimpse of something unreadable in Viktor’s eyes.

The party dispersed shortly after midnight, and you went to find Hale for the promised cigarette and your earlier-agreed session of impression comparing. You spotted him by the fountain, his tall figure hunched over in his velvet vest, already smoking.

“My darling!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms wide in a theatrical flourish. “So, spill the tea—how was it? Anyone hot? Anyone you already hate? Good decision? Bad decision?”

“Uh… Can I bum a fag? I forgot my pack in the room.” You patted your pockets distractedly as Hale swept you into his arms, spinning you around dramatically. He placed his own cigarette between your lips with a flourish.

“I’m going to burst if you don’t tell me right now. Your mother already hates me—I need to know you don’t hate me too!”

“Joanne is going to be fine,” you replied, rolling your eyes but letting yourself be twirled in your exaggerated tango. “She already sent me, like, a thousand affirmations for my ‘new beginnings.’”

Hale dipped you low, grinning. “And?”

“I… don’t know,” you sighed as he held you in the dramatic pose. “It’s a bunch of nerds, like me, so I guess I’ll be alright.”

Hale gave you a pointed look, his brow furrowing. “You are not just some nerd. You are brilliant, and they are not ready for you.” He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, his voice gentle but firm.

“Alright, alright,” you muttered, waving him off with a small smile. “Full report is as follows: Sue, my roommate—hot and completely oblivious about it. Nobody else really standing out. It’s an even mix of guys and girls.” You started pacing along the edge of the fountain, ticking details off on your fingers. “We’ve got two TAs: one would make you drool, and the other one would make you run for your life.”

“I have to meet them both,” Hale declared with a dramatic flourish, grinning mischievously.

Hale twirled you one last time before pulling you upright with exaggerated care. “You’re lucky I’m such a gracious dance partner, darling,” he said, letting you go with a flourishing bow.

You laughed and brushed your hair out of your face. “Oh, you’re too kind. I didn’t know you’d start your evening in full drama mode.”

Hale smirked, looping his arm through yours as you strolled around the fountain. The air was crisp, the faint glow of the nearby building lights reflecting off the water. “I’m always in drama mode. You know this. Now, tell me—what’s the plan tomorrow? More parties? Some secret nerd ritual?”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him with your shoulder. “Yes, we are totally raising someone from the dead tomorrow,” you smirked. “The TAs are swinging by each room tomorrow to hand out schedules and do a quick orientation. Viktor mentioned it tonight in passing.”

Hale gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Viktor, you say? Is that the one who would make me drool or the one who’d send me running for my life?”

You laughed. “The latter. He’s got this whole ‘intimidating genius’ vibe going on, but I can’t tell if he’s just really smart or if he practices those broody stares in the mirror.”

“Oh, I have to meet this man,” Hale said with a gleam in his eye, spinning you around. “And what about the one who’d make me drool?”

“That’s Jayce,” you replied. “Big, loud, charming. Like a golden retriever who also happens to be jacked and into science.”

Hale pretended to swoon, leaning on you for support. “Be still, my heart. This place might actually be worth sticking around for.”

You smirked, brushing ash off your borrowed cigarette. “Speaking of sticking around, how was your night? Any tragic love stories waiting to happen?”

Hale shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Same old faces, same old dramas. Nothing new. Nobody around here who could really crush my heart, but you know me—I’ll eat anything when I’m starved.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “That’s the spirit. Settle for mediocrity!”

“It’s a survival skill, darling,” Hale replied, grinning as he plucked the cigarette from your fingers and took a long drag.

You walked in silence for a moment, your steps slow and unhurried. You glanced at the fountain, its gentle ripples catching the light, and exhaled a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“I think it was a good decision,” you said softly, breaking the quiet.

Hale raised an eyebrow, handing the cigarette back to you. “Camden? Or letting me drag you here tonight?”

“Both,” you admitted, a small smile playing at your lips. “Thanks for making me come. For once, I actually feel… scared of something. Not stuck.”

Hale’s expression softened, and he threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “That’s because you’re brilliant, and the world doesn’t stand a chance against you.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into the gesture, taking one last drag of the cigarette before flicking it into the fountain.

“Here’s to not being stuck,” Hale declared, lifting an imaginary glass.

“To not being stuck,” you echoed, laughing as the two of you turned and headed back toward the dorms.

***

The sound that woke you and Sue was impossible to describe—a cacophony of metal being violently banged together, accompanied by a high-pitched whining noise. Then came loud banging on the door.

A soft groan came from Sue’s bed as she rolled out, stretching her limbs before sinking onto the floor and curling into a foetal position. “I think it’s the TAs,” she said weakly, yawning.

You decided to be brave, though your first instinct was to shove a pillow over your head and wait for the monster to go away. Dragging yourself out of bed, your head pounding from the cider and cigarettes you’d had with Hale the night before, you trudged to the door. Your expression was one of pure pleading as you opened it and asked, “Is this really how you guys want to start this relationship?”

In front of you, Jayce froze mid-motion, one frying pan held in each hand. Viktor stood just behind him, clutching a bicycle horn and smirking mercilessly.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Jayce boomed, lowering the frying pans slightly but keeping his grin firmly in place, like a weapon. “Ready to seize the day?”

You squinted, shielding your eyes from the hallway light as though it were a personal attack. “Seize the day? I’m about to seize your frying pans and toss them out the window.”

Jayce laughed, completely unbothered, while Viktor raised the bicycle horn and gave it a sharp honk. “Consider it your wake-up call,” Viktor said smoothly, his smirk deepening. “Promptness is a virtue, no?”

“I’m promptly considering murder,” you muttered, glaring at them both.

Behind you, Sue groaned from her spot on the floor. “I’m not coming out. Tell them I’m dead.”

Jayce leaned sideways to peer into the room. “Good morning to you too, Sue!” he called cheerfully.

“Sod off,” Sue replied, her voice muffled by her arm.

Viktor glanced at Jayce, shaking his head slightly as though disapproving of his partner’s antics. Then he turned his attention back to you. “We are here to distribute schedules and perform a brief orientation,” he said, his tone more measured but no less smug. “You should be grateful. Only the science department students receive such... personal service.”

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, I feel so special. Is banging cookware a requirement of this personal service, or is it just a special treat for us?”

“Just for you,” Jayce said with a wink. “And hey, it worked, didn’t it? You’re awake.”

You sighed, stepping back to let them into the room. “Fine. Come in. But if you touch anything, I’m calling security.”

Jayce sauntered in like he owned the place, plopping the frying pans onto the desk with a loud clang. Viktor followed more quietly, his eyes sweeping the room in a quick, assessing glance. He placed the bicycle horn next to the pans, the absurdity of the scene making you shake your head in disbelief.

“You’re like two chaotic sitcom characters,” you said, rubbing your temples. “And I’m the poor, sleep-deprived protagonist who has to deal with your nonsense.”

Jayce grinned. “I like to think of myself as the lovable goofball.”

“And Viktor’s the straight man?” you guessed, glancing at him.

Viktor’s lips twitched, but he didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he handed you a neatly folded piece of paper. “Your schedule,” he said. “I trust you can manage to read it despite your current... condition.” He gave you a once-over and added, “Nice pyjamas.”

You looked down at yourself, remembering too late that you were wearing red cotton pants with white hearts and an oversized Nirvana sweatshirt. It was a damn nice set of pyjamas—what was the problem? You snatched the paper from him, your mouth twitching into a reluctant smile despite yourself. “Thanks. I’ll try not to faint from gratitude.”

“Much appreciated,” Viktor replied dryly.

Sue, still sprawled on the floor, finally raised her head and groaned. “Do we at least get coffee with this torture?”

Jayce perked up. “Now that’s an idea! Viktor, we should’ve brought coffee.”

“I am not your barista,” Viktor deadpanned.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the morning starting to chip away at your hangover. “Alright, alright. Give us five minutes, and we’ll join the rest of the poor souls you’ve terrorized this morning.”

“Make it three,” Viktor said, his smirk returning as he turned toward the door.

Jayce followed with a wave. “See you downstairs!”

As the door closed behind them, you turned to Sue, who was now sitting up, her hair a wild mess.

“So,” you said, leaning against the door. “Drool-worthy or run-for-your-life?”

Sue blinked, still half-asleep. “What?”

“The TAs,” you clarified, holding back a grin. “Jayce and Viktor. What’s the verdict?”

Sue rubbed her eyes, yawning. “Jayce is like a golden retriever on caffeine. Viktor... is something else. Sharp. Kinda scary. But, like, in a hot way?”

You snorted, tossing the schedule onto your desk. “I’m just trying to survive their weird buddy cop energy.”

Sue flopped back onto the floor with a groan. “Wake me up when it’s over.”

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “It’s never over, Sue. Welcome to Camden.”

***

Orientation and the first classes passed in a blur of introductions, schedules, and information overload. By the time the fifth person introduced themselves, you’d already forgotten the first three names. Professor Heimerdinger, perched at the front of the lab like an animated encyclopaedia, launched into an overview of the semester: rules for grades and exams, expectations for in-class behaviour, and a note about optional after-class activities for the particularly ambitious—or masochistic.

You braced yourself for the inevitable repeat classes like chemistry and biophysics, but it didn’t bother you. Repetition wasn’t so bad if you could zone out without missing much.

Jayce and Viktor drifted through the room during the lecture, their presence oddly complementary—one buzzing with boundless energy, the other moving with deliberate precision. They pointed out key locations: lab glass, gloves, coats, goggles, and the cabinets you’d definitely forget the moment you walked out. They handed out maps of the department and listed their office hours. Standard procedure. Functional. Dandy.

When it was finally over, Sue nudged you, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Wanna head to the bar nearby?”

“You want to drink again?” You raised an eyebrow, though her expression hinted at ulterior motives.

Sue tilted her head, all innocence. “Or… maybe I want to go to the bar to spy on our TAs,” she said, her gaze trailing after Jayce and Viktor as they left the room.

You sighed, exasperated but amused. “By my calculations, we have about a week to live before we’re buried in coursework.”

“Exactly! We should enjoy it while it lasts.” Sue clasped her hands together and unleashed the puppy eyes. “Please?” she added, her lower lip quivering with Oscar-worthy conviction.

You rolled your eyes, defeated. “I am genuinely terrified of you. And convinced I’ll never be able to say no to you. Fine. One condition: I get to drag Hale along.”

“Is Hale your hot theatre friend?” Sue’s excitement was palpable, her grin wide enough to make you laugh.

“Yes, and he’s also gay, so don’t get your hopes up. He’ll break your heart,” you warned, pulling out your phone to text him.

“I am desperate for a gay boyfriend, so please drag him along whenever you feel like it,” Sue replied, already on her feet, coat slung over her arm.

Your phone buzzed almost instantly: I know the place – seedy shithole. Be there in no time! Hale’s response sealed the deal. You were officially going to a bar to “spy” on your TAs.

The bar was, indeed, a seedy shithole, but it had a quirky charm. Posters plastered the walls, advertising plays, gigs, and questionable student endeavours. Lamps made of beer bottles cast a dim, golden light, and the furniture was an eclectic mix—like someone had raided every grandmother’s attic in a three-mile radius. A fireplace crackled in one corner, surrounded by mismatched cushions for floor seating, and a jukebox stood proudly by the bar, humming with potential.

You approached the bar with Sue, scanning the menu. Sue’s brows furrowed in confusion as she searched for something that wasn’t beer. The bartender, a man with a weathered face and a disarming smile, leaned in. “What can I do for you, honey?”

Sue’s voice turned soft and sweet, almost like a fairy casting a spell. “Do you have anything… sweet?”

The bartender paused, giving her a look like he’d climb mountains to fetch whatever she wanted. For a moment, you wondered if he might actually run to another bar, buy something sugary, and bring it back. The thought made you chuckle as you watched Sue charm her way to a perfect drink.

“Let me surprise you,” the bartender said, flashing Sue a sweet smile before turning to you. “And for you, darling?”

“I’ll just have a pint, cheers,” you replied, your gaze lingering on the heartwarming interaction between the adorable Sue and the massive, tattooed bartender.

“Ah! Let me get this,” you registered an arm sliding between you and Sue, holding a credit card. “Since we forgot the coffees this morning,” Jayce’s familiar grin soon followed, putting a face to the offering hand.

“I’ll be the one buying drinks for my pookie today,” a strong arm wrapped around your neck and shoulders, and you immediately recognized Hale’s voice from above you. “Let me guess… drool-worthy and”—his eyes shifted toward Viktor—“run-for-your-life?”

“I’ve also been called ‘the straight man,’” Viktor remarked, giving you a questioning look.

“Ah, I can see why,” Hale replied, on the verge of ruining your chances for any semblance of dignity this semester. Then he turned to Sue. “And you must be the hot Sue?”

“Oh my god, did you say that?” Sue squeaked playfully, leaning over to grab your hand. “I think you’re hot too,” she added with a wink.

You wanted to sink deep underground and let the demons of hell swallow you whole.

Waiting for your drink to be poured, you watched Jayce, Sue, and Hale drift toward the fireplace sitting area, Hale’s arm already wrapped around your roommate as they chatted animatedly.

“You seem to have a lot of opinions already formed,” Viktor’s voice came from above your shoulder as he reached for his drink—a vodka on the rocks.

“Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll indeed run for my life,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Is that so?” His tone was smooth, with just a hint of challenge.

“Absolutely,” you replied, leaning in slightly with mock seriousness. “You’re giving off dangerous, 'I’ve got a sarcastic comment for everything' vibes. It's a threat.”

Viktor chuckled, the sound warm and surprisingly disarming. “A threat, huh? I’ll have to be careful then.” He took a sip of his drink, his eyes glinting. “Don’t worry. I won’t bite.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile forming at the edge of your mouth. “I wasn’t worried.”

For a moment, you both stood there, the noise of the bar buzzing around you. Viktor’s gaze lingered a moment too long, making you feel slightly off balance. Then, with a casual shrug, he turned back to the group by the fireplace.

“Let’s go join the chaos,” he said nonchalantly, throwing you a brief glance over his shoulder as he walked away.

You followed, still trying to shake the unexpected buzz of the encounter. It was weird how Viktor could throw you off without even trying.

By the time you approached the group, Hale had already charmed Jayce and Sue, effortlessly pulling them into his world with animated tales of his theatre exploits. He gestured enthusiastically, his voice rich with excitement. “So, we’re doing Rocky Horror Picture Show this year for the mid-semester final,” he announced, his theatrical tone drawing everyone in. “We’re looking for actors—are any of you up for it?”

Sue, looking both intrigued and a little unsure, glanced over at Jayce, who was already grinning. “I’m afraid that my singing would have you fail the final, Hale,” Jayce said with a laugh, clearly weighing the possibilities. “I will gladly come and watch, though?”

Hale grinned wider. “I’ll put you in the front row! And Y/N’s been trying to convince me to take on Frank N. Furter’s part, which made me think she’d make a killer Janet.”

At that, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, your playful tone cutting through the banter. “Only if I can play Magenta,” you said, tossing your head back slightly. “Otherwise, it's a no-go.”

The group chuckled, but Jayce, who had been half-listening as they continued talking, suddenly perked up. “Wait, hold on. Are you both actually from Sheffield?” He leaned forward slightly, clearly curious.

You smirked, folding your arms across your chest and leaning in, dropping the playful façade for a second. “I don’t have my Pulp T-shirt on me today,” you quipped, “but I can show you my ID?”

Raising an eyebrow, you knew full well that a bit of playful sarcasm could spark a reaction. Viktor, standing just a few steps behind, glanced over at you as your words hit the air. His eyes flicked between you and Jayce, his attention sharpened but still calm, like he was quietly enjoying your back-and-forth with the others.

Jayce laughed, shaking his head. “You really are from Sheffield, aren’t you?”

“Born and bred,” you shot back with a grin, your hands slipping into your pockets. “Don’t let the accent fool you.”

Viktor took a small sip of his drink, a glimmer of amusement flickering in his gaze as he continued to watch you. You had a way of carrying yourself—like you knew how to hold your ground, even when teasing. And now that you had mentioned it, there was a non-Sheffield accent lingering underneath your words.

“Eh, it’s not a place for stars like us,” Hale mused, giving your thigh a playful squeeze.

“My darling, brilliant man, you know all I wish for you is to never step foot in that shithole again and rise to stardom so fast the bystanders get their eyes burned,” you replied with a dramatic flourish, your grin wide and teasing.

Jayce laughed, raising his beer. “Well, before anyone dies burned by Hale’s halo, I guess we could all drag along back for Christmas together?”

“Jayce, if there is anything to drag by then, be my guest,” you responded with a quiet clank of your glass against Jayce’s.

“Oh yes, Christmas is a must. I have to bring a peace offering to Y/N’s mother for stealing her precious daughter away from the family nest,” Hale said, making an exaggerated frightened face when mentioning your mum, Joanne.

“Hale, repeat after me: Joanne is going to be fine. It’s about time she grows up.”

***

Jayce and Viktor walked down the dimly lit street, the buzz of the bar still echoing in their steps. The night air was cool, and the muffled sounds of laughter and music faded behind them as they made their way back to the dorms.

“I love freshmen,” Jayce said, a grin tugging at his lips.

Viktor shot him a sidelong glance. “That’s disturbing.”

“Come on, they’re cute.” Jayce shrugged; his tone playful. “Good idea with the morning orchestra, by the way. Got them all riled up.”

Viktor’s lips twitched at the memory. “The girls sure have their eyes on you.” He looked at Jayce, raising an eyebrow. “You planning on visiting Y/N’s family for Christmas already?”

Jayce laughed. “I don’t know, man. I have a feeling her eyes are actually on you.”

Viktor paused mid-step, narrowing his eyes. “She literally called me 'the straight man' and the 'run-for-your-life-one.' I highly doubt it.”

Jayce nudged him with his elbow. “You know nothing about girls, Viktor.” Viktor gave him a sceptical look, but Jayce’s grin only grew wider, and for once, Viktor couldn't help but wonder if Jayce was right.

[vampiredaisiesss]

❝ all a ghost can do

is haunt ❞

— part one

★ dofp! logan howlett x younger reader

tags & warnings - mentions of domestic violence and daddy issues, age gap, (reader is in her early 20s), mentions of logan being referred to as an 'old man' and him calling the reader a 'kid', fluff, itsy bitsy angst, time has softened logan a bit.

word count - 1.7k

part two

★ ★ ★ ★

The whiskey burns, but not enough. Never enough to dull the edges of memories that cut deeper than any blade could. 

Logan sits at the kitchen counter of the mansion, darkness pressing in from all sides. His demons always seem to find him here, in these quiet hours when the world narrows down to silence.

Even the adamantium in his bones feels heavier tonight.

He catches your scent before he hears you—that vanilla body lotion you always use. Your bare feet pad against the hardwood floors, and he takes a long gulp of his Jack Daniels when he feels your eyes land on him.

Your eyes are full of worry, as they often are for him. You can’t help it. You both know he drinks too much, smokes too much, gets angry too fast and doesn’t sleep enough. You might be a lot younger than him, or seen half the world he has, but that doesn’t mean you are incapable of distinguishing his self-indulgent tendencies from self-destructive ones.

"You're brooding again," you murmur, voice soft in deference to the midnight hour. The gentle concern in your tone makes something in his chest twist uncomfortably.

"Ain't brooding, bub. Just thinking." The lie tastes bitter, worse than the whiskey.

"Same difference with you," There's no judgment in your voice as you pad closer. You slip onto the stool beside him, close enough that he can feel the heat of you against his arm. "Share your demons with me, old man."

Logan's grip tightens on the bottle, knuckles white. "They ain't your burden to bear, kid."

"Seems like they should neither be yours to carry alone anymore," Your hand finds his forearm, fingers gently coaxing his own to uncoil from the bottle. "They’re tearing you apart, Lo."

“I’ll heal,” his voice turns assertive.

For the first time since you walked in, Logan looks at you. There’s no real heat behind his hazel eyes, but the intensity of his gaze makes your mouth go dry. 

Logan's the kind of handsome that gets better with age, with grey starting to streak through his dark hair at the sides. You've spent more nights than you'd care to admit thinking about running your fingers through that hair, wondering if it's as soft as it looks. 

“There are some scars that can’t heal on their own.” Your voice catches, vision blurring as memories surface. His expression softens, recognizing your demons as they dance in front of your eyes.

You grew up in a small house on the outskirts of town, where the screams couldn't carry far enough for neighbors to hear. Your father worked construction, coming home with anger burning through his veins, fueled by whatever poison he'd picked up at the local store. The bruises started small—a grip too tight around your wrist, fingers digging into your shoulder. By thirteen, you'd mastered the art of layering clothes in summer without breaking a sweat.

Your mother watched it all happen through a veil of willful blindness. She'd whisper "I love you" while dabbing antiseptic on split lips, promising "things will get better" as she covered the marks with a drugstore concealer. But she never left, trapped in her own web of shame and financial dependence.

The day Charles Xavier found you was the day your powers manifested. 

Your father had been in one of his rages, when something inside you finally snapped. The resulting telekinetic burst had sent him flying across the room. You ran, terrified of what you'd done, of what he'd do in retaliation. That's when the professor's black car pulled up, offering sanctuary within the walls of his school.

Xavier's became more than just an escape—it became home. A home with an unlikely collection of mutants who’d soon turn into family. As far as you were concerned, Charles Xavier was your father and Storm had taken on a motherly inclination when it came to you.

And then there was Logan… gruff, protective Logan who understood you without you having to explain. You both sat in this very kitchen the night you finally told him everything.

You'd watched his knuckles whiten, saw the rage build in the set of his jaw—not at you. Never at you. You remember thinking that your father wouldn't survive the night if Logan decided to pay him a visit. But instead of violence, Logan had offered something far more precious than revenge.

Understanding. 

And that was the first time you fell a little for him. 

Logan lets out a breath that shakes more than he'd like to admit. "Been thinking about Stryker. The lab." His voice roughens as he admits. "Sometimes it all just... comes back. Can’t close my eyes, for the life of me."

You don't flinch from the roughness in his voice—you know too well how memories can become monsters in the night. Instead, your fingers slide down to cover his hand, "Would you like to spend the night with me?"

"That's how rumors start, you know." The corners of his eyes crinkle, and his hand turns beneath yours, rough fingers catching against your skin. He shouldn't enjoy your touch this much, shouldn't let himself notice how perfectly your small hand fits in his giant one.

"You worried about your reputation, Howlett?" You lean closer, unable to help yourself. Everyone else might see your relationship as purely paternal, but the thoughts that race through your mind when he looks at you are anything but daughterly.

"Hell nah, never been." His voice drops lower, rougher, allowing himself this small indulgence. "You sure you wanna be associated with a sleazy old bastard like me?"

"I'm afraid it's too late for that." The words come out playful, but your mind floods with memories. 

Ever since you joined the team, Logan's been your shadow, protecting you during every mission. You think of training sessions in the gym, how good his hands feel when they’re adjusting your stance. You think of the day he carried you through the mansion when your leg broke after a mission gone sideways. You'd been mortified at first, but when you felt him cradle you against his chest, you'd buried your face in his neck.

When it comes to Logan, it's more than just physical attraction. It’s the way he’ll jump in any fire to save you. It's the way he'll sense your fear and comfort you whenever you have nightmares. It’s the way he can make you laugh just by raising that eyebrow in exactly the right way at exactly the right moment.

You felt safe with him. You wanted him to know he could feel the same with you too.

Logan watches you lose yourself in thought, fighting the urge to brush back the strand of hair that's fallen across your face. 

He's spent too long trying to convince himself that his feelings are purely protective, that the way his chest tightens when you smile at him is just paternal instinct. But there's nothing fatherly about the way his body responds when you're close, about how often he finds himself thinking about the sound of your laugh.

"And call it daddy issues or whatever," you add with deliberate casualness, though your heart is hammering against your ribs, "but I like older men. So you're in luck, old man."

Logan knows he should say no. Should keep his darkness away from your light. But when you stand and offer your hand, he takes it, letting you lead him through the silent halls like a ship following a lighthouse home.

He has been in your room before, though never like this. Your room is almost the same as his. Almost, with bits and pieces of you sprinkled throughout. A huge antique bookshelf, courtesy of Charles, is one of them, covering an entire section of the four-walled space. 

You watch Logan from your perch on the bed, the way his hands are curled into loose fists at his sides. "It's okay," you let him know softly. "Let me help."

He draws a breath at your words. His hand falls from the doorframe, and the door closes behind him with a soft click, separating the two of you from the rest of the sleeping world.

The mattress dips beneath his weight when he finally sits. You resist the urge to immediately touch him, letting him arrange himself comfortably, until he's lying down with his head in your lap. 

His breathing is too measured, too even to be natural. You watch his hands, curled still into loose fists against his chest, and wait.

Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the rigid line of his spine begins to soften. He drapes his left arm over your legs, and your fingers find their way into his hair. And fuck, if it isn’t as soft as you imagined. 

"Is this okay?" you ask softly, working your fingernails through his scalp; The first stroke sends a shiver down his spine.

He responds with a barely perceptible nod.

"You're safe here," you murmur, tracing patterns against his scalp. "No labs, no Stryker. No pain. Just you and me."

His eyes flutter close, though he fights it at first but all protests die in his throat. Your fingers continue their gentle journey through his hair, across his scalp, and you feel him surrendering inch by inch to the comfort he's denied himself for so long.

"Those memories? They're just ghosts now. They can haunt you, but they cannot touch you. They can't hurt you anymore, because you survived. You got out, Logan. You're here. You're loved. You're safe."

A soft whimper escapes him. Slowly, so slowly he almost doesn't notice, the tension begins to leak from his muscles. The metal in his bones feels lighter now, smoothing the worried crease between his brows.

"That's it," you whisper, and he feels the smile in your voice. "I've got you, Wolfie. Rest now."

Wolfie, he smiles sleepily. The nickname is the last thing he registers before sleep claims him whole.

★ ★ ★ ★

a/n: Do we want a part two???

[codnriddlewhore]

Don't do this | a Tom Riddle oneshot

A/N: HII soo this is my first attempt at fics, dont hesitate to say anything, good or bad

k have fun :))

tags: professor tom riddle/professor reader, marriage, angst, horcruxes, sorry if i forget any

wc: 1,584

They've been together, inseparable for 3 years, married for 2 and a half. 

Tom saw her as an equal as much as someone like him could, she entranced his very being. They talked about subjects he was interested in, in a very objective and intelligent way and he was in awe when he realised he found a match, someone that could understand his fascinations and obsessions. She mostly didn't share them but she was open, he could ask her at 2 in the morning which one of the unforgivable 

curses she'd use to get information from someone and she'd genuinely give it some thought. 

Her fascinations lay more in the zoological department, muggle and magical. She spent hours in forests and jungles, the beings holding her attention for hours. Though, like Tom, she found it hard to open up to people and find like-minded individuals not just regarding creatures but life in general. When he asked to come with her on one of her shorter research-trips, she felt her body and sould levitate. Her greatest wish has always been to grow old with someone loving by her side, someone who she'd love back with her whole self.  Is it him? She hoped so and prayed every night.

He felt the same when she asked about his sketches and faveorite books. Tom Riddle, the usually selfish and greedy man, suddenly interested in the eccentric and always joyful zoology professor? He cursed himself for it, a good 5 months before talking to her for the first time. 

Now she is staying at his home in the country, a dark penthouse by the sea. To be specific, it is not as dark now, he found that she brought more light into it than any possible lamp. 

As dreamy as this may sound, but like in every married life, there's always small and petty arguments. Like now, her sitting in bed and reading, not giving him half an ounce of attention while he looked at her from the doorframe. 

He mentioned horcruxes and the sheer idea of immortality a few times, even on the day they met, but she simply laughed it off. Who would want to be soulles? It seemed absurd. 

But yesterday evening, when he explained that he wants to go through with his plan of doing so, she couldn't bare to give him more than a gulp and ignorance. He was being mean.

"Apologise, so we can spend at least the evening as a couple. It's cold to sleep without you in my arms." Tom meant it genuinely, but his tone was rough. He didn't understand her problem.

She simply kept on reading, like he didn't even exist. He groaned in annoyance and that did it. 

"I'm sorry, did my back damage your knife in any way? Do excuse me", he winced and didn't know if it was because of her closing her book shut loudly or her words. Probably the latter. 

"What do you mean?"

She exhaled in confusion. Did he actually not see the problem? 

"Tom. You outright told me that you want to split your soul from your body and divide it into 7 different parts. Oh and that you want to live forever. Do you not understand why I'm upset?"

"I'm going to be honest, no, I don't. I find you're being ridiculous, this is a marvelous discovery. "

"Well it is, which on the other hand doesn't mean you have to partake in it!" she says as she sits up straighter in the bed. 

He sees that and mirrors her reaction, standong up straight and putting his hands in the pockets of his pyjama pants. 

"Why not? It would help me be more focused on my work and goals and I wouldn't be occupied with unnecessary matters."

"Like me?" His wife didn't know if she regretted saying that, but it came out in the same second he ended his sentence.

Quiet.

"Don't do this. Of course not like you, you matter a huge deal. This would benefit me in every part of my life, I'd be the most powerful wozard that ever lived. There's been noone else more powerful than Death in the history of wizardry and it could be your husband, how are you not the least bit proud?"

"Proud!? You want me to be proud!? What else should I do, throw you a party and congratulate you on a life of pure damnation!?"

She was now standing approximately 1 horizontal man away from him, on a good way to become furious. 

"Damnation? I hope you mean admiration and being seen with respect, fear and devotion for the rest of time."

"Tommy?" She only called him that when she felt truly helpless or frustrated.

"Yes darling?"

Her voice went almost inaudible, "Where am I in that wonderful way of living you so dream of?"

"By my side." He was sure of that and knew he needed her in this. She'd be his queen in the whole thing.

She breaks into a series of scoffs, some distrustful and some humorous, she found the situation quite absurb. What were they even discussing? 

"I'll age! I'll age and be old and grey and wrinkly and youll still be thirty! It'll look ridiculous."

Was it embarrassing he hadn't thought of that? 

"There's plenty of spells to slow down aging." Stupid Riddle.

"Great Havens. If we put that aside, what about your soul? You'll be a shell of the man you truly are. How do you explain that?"

"What? Thats foolish, I'll be myself!"

"You'll be a soulless man! Only goal driven and shutting out everything else! We'll never again talk about life and the universe late at night, you'll never again appreciate me making you tea when you forget the time in your study and we'll never joke about the future and raising an army of baby wizards who we'll name after the imaginary friends we had as children. We'll never go to the city again and you'll never pick out a flower I adore and buy it behind my back to surprise me later although I'd always catch you and we'll never buy cheesy and ironic books for each other in that beautiful old book store we love. Now call me crazy and soft, but I happen to cherish these things."

It was hard to look him in the eyes during saying all that, but she needed to get her point across. She also despised herself for tearing up at this very moment, walking towards him with a pointed finger.

"Tommy, I swore to support and love you in everything you do, but- but taking the soul of the man I love from me-", she hesitated, wanting to stop her voice from breaking and breath from hitching.

He gulped. This was unfair.

"Don't do this."

"-taking that; now that's too much for me. I can't stand behind that."

"You're being cruel."

"I'm not the only one."

That stung, it stung them both at the same time. In the end, they were both just people. She was now standing very few inches infront of him, pointing at his chest, barely holding herself together. 

"You know what? Do it. I wont stop you or hold you back. That was never my goal."

"I don't understand. Forst you can't stand behind it then you say go ahead."

"If this makes you happy, what I truly doubt, you'll do it without me."

That made his dinner almost come up slightly, it was never an option. 

"You can't just leave now, you know I love you. Do you not love me anymore? Is that what you're trying to say?", he knew it spounded mean but he hoped to get the point across, he was genuinely wondering.

"Oh don't twist this. I'll always love you with every part of me, body, soul, mind and all, as long as I live, that's why I can't-

that's why I can't watch you do this..."

"So what are you going to do? Just leave? You know you can't do that." He didn't quite believe that she would. Was it cowardly to start a fight rather than comfort her or express his own feelings? He'd have to look into that.

She breathed in, deeper than ever before. It was important that she stays collected now.

"Fine. I'll leave when you do it. That way you wont miss me."

Tom Riddle never got dizzy, he was too aware of his surroundings for that. Yet, now he was holding  onto the doorframe next to him with such strength, that his knuckles turned paper white. He was also afraid to touch her, even breath in her direction, because she might fully disappear already.

"You can't...you can't be serious..." It was more of a whispered plea than a threat. 

She on the other hand, felt that she needed to touch him or else this stupid boat of too many emotions for both of them would sink to the bottom of the deepest point in the ocean. His cold cheeks warmed at the touch of her palms. In that very moment he also exhaled briefly, still finding deep-rooted comfort in her, even at this time. Her eyes filled with tears, to the brim this time and she ignored them, it was no time to sob now. Her right hand caressed his hair; like it was any other moment they shared before.

"I'm sorry Tommy. I really wanted us to get grey and wrinkly together."

to be continued...