#and then it hit me again that he’s gone | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-darklings · 2 days ago

Note

Oh god please write the timebomb fic!!! (or several lol)

ೀ pairing: ekko/jinx

ೀ wc: 5k

ೀ summary: "Always a dance with you, huh?" Or: two years after the battle versus Noxus, Ekko receives an unexpected visitor.

ೀ author notes: ask and you shall receive!!! I wrote this in one sitting in some weird ass haze and barely edited it, but this is the most fun I had in a long while so I hope you enjoy!!!

ೀ read it on ao3 | listen to the playlist

The first few days after the battle, Ekko doesn’t rest. He barely sleeps or eats, or allows himself time to think.

He can’t.

There’s too much to do. The dead are in their dozens. His Firelights took a major hit, and he knows that for the next few months his fingers will be numb from painting their pictures on the mural day in and out. So many who could have lived but didn’t. So many could have had better futures. But if he just runs, if he keeps pushing on, he can outrun these regrets and his grief, too. This way, he doesn’t remember Vi’s heartbroken expression when she pulled him into a bone-crushing hug after the fight, blood and sweat still clinging to her, her words choked when she told him—

Four seconds.

He could have saved her. He would have hauled her snarky ass out of that tunnel, ripped that bomb from her hands. He would have—

He runs from those thoughts, too. They suffocate him, and Ekko has too much to fix to be suffocated by his grief right now.

He sure as hell didn’t fight for Piltover. He fought for Zaun, for Firelights. Because he knew Ambessa Medarda would never settle for anything other than complete subjugation. She would have destroyed Ekko’s home. She was already busy murdering and imprisoning their people, and nothing but complete eradication would have followed in her wake.

Ekko did it for… her. The blue-haired symbol of defiance, of uprising. A loud declaration that they won’t live under Piltover’s oppression forever, that they’ll reach greater things one day and won’t be silenced. They won’t wait for permission to breathe again. It’s what she would have wanted, he convinces himself, even though part of him knows Jinx would have enjoyed the chaos of the fight more. Or maybe not. Not since that little girl. Not since he had to save her from herself over and over again, only to lose her anyway.

Undercity mourns her. Her visage is everywhere. Jinx the Saviour. She would have hated it, he thinks wryly. She never got to see just how loved she was.

Maybe he should have grabbed her and ran away. Maybe he should have let the world go to hell and saved her instead. The thought, born of fatigue, lingers only for a few fleeting seconds, a rare moment of selfishness amidst a day spent fixing the world around him.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. If only he had tried harder when they were kids and saved her from Silco. If only he didn’t give up on her.

She’s always been his biggest maybe. And now they’ll never be more. Not this version of them. Never him and her as they were.

Aw, are you gonna mope now, boy saviour?

“You’re not here.”

It punches clean through his chest. The realisation of it. The sheer, horrible weight. He’ll never see her again.

Constants and variables, Benzo told him once. Constants and variables, young Ekko.

A week after the battle versus Noxus, Ekko sinks to his knees inside his room, exhausted and heartbroken, and sobs.

Things begin to settle. Slowly, at first, the city might have been gutted after the battle but not destroyed, the morale low but hopeful. Hexgates are gone, and Ekko is glad when he finds out. He doesn’t want to see or hear anything about the arcane for a while. No magic in the world could fix the pain festering in his chest.

Sevika, Silco’s old second-in-command and once his sworn enemy, comes to him two weeks after the attack.

“They’re making me a council member,” she says, grunting when she falls into the tiny wooden chair inside his room.

She’s always been a threatening figure, power rippling from every shift of her body, but Ekko isn’t sure he wants to fight anyone right now. Nor does she seem interested in strangling him. She lights a cigarette, her scarred features set in a fearsome scowl.

“And?” he asks for anything better to say. “How is that any of my business?”

Sevika exhales through her nose, reminding him of an angry bull, all smoke and steely resolve. “I’m the only one presenting Zaun or her interests.”

Ekko almost rolls his eyes. Of course she is. The Council is simply falling over themselves to fix the situation. After months of harassment and oppression, false arrestments and beatings, they asked them to bleed for Piltover and its interests with nothing but the bare minimum courtesy extended towards them afterwards.

“I could use you, kid,” Sevika continues, and Ekko forces his anger away, loosening his fists. “Exactly for that reaction. You’re smart as hell, and been a pain in my ass for years. Pilties will try to walk all over us again in a few months’ time. You and I both know it. We gotta beat them in their own game. Not let them silence us again. I could use someone like you. Be my adviser. You’ll have a direct line to the Council. We’ll make an actual change. It’s better than whatever this is.”

Ekko’s expression sours at her words while Sevika’s gaze flicks around his room in contemplation. He works all day to a point of exhaustion, then passes out. It’s the only way he’s been able to continue, day in and day out. Being in a leadership position means you can’t take time off to grieve. Too many people are relying on him. It’s bad enough that he accidentally abandoned his people for months without meaning to. The guilt he still feels over everything has been nearly suffocating.

It’s a good gig, hero! You should do it and be a thorn in her side.

Ekko blinks the flash of blue from his vision, rubbing his brow just as Sevika adds: “It’s what she would have wanted, you know.”

A jolt of electricity runs through him. Everyone, even Vi, has been avoiding mentioning Jinx in front of him.

His jaw clenches. “You don’t know that.”

“Kid, I know what not letting go looks like,” she says, and it almost sounds compassionate, or as close to it as someone like her can get. “We had our differences in the past, I know as much—”

“You killed my people,” Ekko snaps. “Do you know how many lives you destroyed with Shimmer?”

“Sure do,” she replies listlessly, smoke billowing past her lips. “I won’t try to justify my actions to you. But y’know, when you were gone, Jinx united Zaun in a way I haven’t seen since Vander. Beats me how she did it, but people believed in her. Even your Firelights.”

It mirrors everything he’s seen and heard for weeks. Jinx freeing their people, Jinx the Saviour, the beacon for their new future. The one who set and lived by extreme examples, who made Piltover back off and take the Undercity seriously. Because they all finally realised that there can never be peace without a fight. She should be here to fight this battle with him. Ekko should be busy arguing with her that blowing up another building will not make things right. He shouldn’t be walking around with her ghost a step behind him, tormenting him with ideas of what could and should have been.

“And now she’s dead!”

His ears ring, his chest heaves, and he clutches his thudding heart, willing it back in its cage. He didn’t mean to come undone so easily.

“Yeah. Yeah, she is,” Sevika says, and there’s a grimness to her when she says it, an unexpected pain buried somewhere deep in her gruff voice that makes Ekko see her differently. “I get it.”

“No,” he whispers, pained. “You don’t.”

Seven months pass before Ekko finally picks up a brush for her.

He sleeps better at night but not without nightmares. Not without remembering Powder from the alternative universe and how they danced. How sweet her kiss felt. Not without that memory smearing to finding Jinx with a grenade in her hand, again, ready to disappear, go somewhere he could never reach her.

Ekko still hears the detonation in his ears, over and over, on a sickening loop. His mind likes to torture him with ideas he failed to save her. That no matter what he does, or how he mends time, she’s forever out of reach. His blue beacon, his lighthouse he can never find in the depthless ocean of reality.

Many have drawn her, but he still thinks that no one knows the exact hue of her hair or the wicked shine in her eyes better than him. He’s spent an entire lifetime examining them, looking for them in a sea of thousands.

Their city is rebuilding. He agreed to Sevika’s request after a few days of contemplation. Caitlyn Kiramman’s expression when he ambled into the Council room was worth the additional burden now on his shoulder. But she’s changed too, matured, and now fills her position as the Council’s leader well.

Ekko won’t forget how she allowed his friends to be imprisoned, tortured, and, in some cases, killed, but her regret made her side with him and Sevika more often than not during voting, and maybe he could at least one day forgive her. Another maybe. For Vi, if nothing else, who clearly loves the blue-haired woman fiercely.

The barren wall stares at him. He’s painted Powder before, but this is different. One day, his friend, his dearest friend, was simply gone. Without a goodbye, in a wake of tragedy. The life Ekko once had disintegrated beneath his feet overnight. Benzo killed. Vander dead. Mylo and Claggor too. Vi died as well. Or so he believed for years. Powder was missing until a different knife was delivered to him weeks later, when the word on the street spread about Silco being seen with a little girl with blue hair.

Ekko sighs, hanging his head. The city is healing, but he isn’t, or at least not as quickly.

He runs his hand over the white wall, picturing Jinx as he saw her last, those precious hours between talking her down from the abyss and their joint attack on Noxian forces. It felt so good to rely on her again, to stand with her, side by side. As natural as breathing.

You’re the order to my chaos, hero.

“Leave me alone,” he says quietly, head hung low. “It’s been months.”

A figment of Jinx chortles, arms crossed over her chest as she leans back against the wall. You would get bored to death without me. Ha! Get it?

Shooting a glare at her, Ekko picks up a brush, his fingers quivering. Tears burn in his eyes when he dips the brush into the paints he painstakingly mixed. He works, and works, until his eyes are dry and his wrist hurts. Ekko doesn’t stop until he loses light and when he steps back, he is looking at Jinx. Equal parts chaos and something ethereal.

He wipes angrily across his mouth when he tastes saltiness pooling there and goes home.

There’s no sleep that night.

Time is a strange thing. It weaves and flows. Without his Z-Drive, he has no control over it. Time simply goes on, and he’s the passenger in a vehicle he doesn’t want to move.

He’s important these days. He’s one of the few bright minds still left, and he’s endlessly busy with something. City of Progress needs every mind that can be spared. Wounds heal, and time dulls the memory, but not everything is so easily forgotten. Piltover moves quicker, but the Undercity erects a statue for Jinx beside Vander’s. He sees Vi at the ceremony, and they exchange strained smiles. They speak sometimes, but it’s not as often as it used to be. They’re both dealing with their grief the best they can.

At least Vi has Cait. Ekko has nothing but a cold bed and purpose.

He and Sevika make a good team. It almost makes him wonder what could have been in a universe where they were on the same side from the start. His Zaun, cracked but not broken, is resembling the bright version of the Zaun and Piltover he saw in the alternative verse. There're years of work still left, but there’s something like hope in him, fragile and misplaced as it might be.

A year passes. Then two. He visits the graves; he lights candles for those lost. Some days Ekko sees her, other days he doesn’t. He hopes for a glimpse, even when he knows he shouldn’t. It should be easier to let go of what you never had, right?

His mural for Jinx grows. Other faces join her, people who died believing in her, surrounding the one they placed their trust in. And, at the centre of it all, her, her, her.

Still her.

Always her.

He’s not sure what arouses him. He hasn’t slept well in years, perpetual exhaustion clinging to him like a shawl. Some would call it the weight of living, no doubt.

There’s a shift in the air, a disturbance that’s not enough to make Ekko jolt awake and reach for a weapon, but enough to make his eyes flutter open. He breathes the cool air, pushing his grogginess away.

There’s a shape at the foot of his bed. Small and round. It takes several seconds for his vision to adjust, for him to realise that a hooded figure sits perched on his bed, knees pulled to their chest.

Ekko hasn’t had to rely on his battle instincts in two years, but there’s enough left in him to attack without hesitation. His fingers tangle in the cloak, shoving the figure down, his knee pressing harshly into their abdominal, hands seeking the intruder’s throat—

“Wow, little man, you sure know how to roll out the welcoming mat,” the all too familiar voice drawls before his fingers tighten instinctively around the slender, warm throat.

A haggard breath forces from Ekko’s parted mouth. In the wild struggle, the stranger’s hood has slipped down, revealing a familiar face with a startling crop of blue hair. His heart squeezes painfully, forcing him away from Jinx’s apparition.

“Leave me alone,” he croaks, rubbing his eyes till his vision swims. “Just leave me alone! I don’t want to see you anymore!”

“Huh, fine. I thought after two years, the welcome would be a tad warmer. Brrr.”

Ekko pushes himself to his feet, stumbling away, watching warily as the young woman sits back up, picking at her messy hair. She looks different. A little older than Jinx from his visions or memories. Her hair is longer, though nowhere near the same length she once had braided into two twin braids. She swings her leg back and forth, another pulled up to her chest while she watches him. And… her eyes. Ekko was the last person to see her with blue eyes before their battle on the bridge. The last time he saw Jinx alive, they were a dangerous, burning violet.

Now, even with the shade of the night, they’re a muddy mix between the blue he once knew, and the piercing violet that made her so deadly. As if that restless edge in her has calmed down and settled.

Ekko’s chest heaves as he stumbles back a step.

“Soooo—” she begins.

“You’re alive.”

Jinx shrugs her shoulders. “Yup. Clearly. In the flesh even,” she crows, but it’s more muted when compared to the wildness he once faced off against.

His hand flies to his stomach, and Ekko distantly wonders if he’s about to throw up in front of a girl he’s spent his entire life loving.

Mercifully, his stomach settles, but his heart beats so loudly he can hear the blood rushing in his skull.

“You’re alive,” he repeats, harder this time. “It’s been two years.”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t offer more than that, but there’s a shadow over her narrow face. She’s healthier. There’s more weight on her bones, her skin has lost some of the pallidness. As if someone took Powder and Jinx, split them clean down the middle, and fused them into one body. Stronger, more self-reassured, less teetering on the brink.

“Would have written but mail is crappy where I was,” she jokes, her voice a familiar, drawling litany. “Besides, this is so much more mysterious—”

He closes the distance between them in two steps. His room isn’t big but he would have walked, ran, sprinted if needed to close the distance between them. His arms wrap around her and Ekko squeezes her so tightly he hears a small breath escape Jinx. She’s solid and warm. Smells faintly of sea and something metallic. Ekko buries his face in the soft crook of Jinx’s neck, gasping for breath.

“Woah, hero, you’re gonna break my ribs,” she whispers, but her arms wind around him, more careful, unsure. “I thought you hated me?”

Even when he releases her, Ekko’s hands linger on her, go to her face, examining her through the crack of light illuminating his room.

“I saw you,” he breathes, devastated. “I saw you everywhere. I hoped to see you everywhere.”

Something flickers over her face, an unknown thing, secretive and distant as she’s always felt to him.

“Geez, seeing things? And they call me crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.”

There’s such vehemence in his voice it startles them both. Jinx nibbles on her inner cheek, searching his face cautiously. “I thought you’d be mad.”

Ekko laughs, a low huff of amusement. “Do you think I care for you so little, huh?”

Too late he realises he’s without a shirt, and is, in fact, mostly bare before the girl he’s harboured a crush on for years. Near boyish shyness forces Ekko back, making him clear his throat. His hands tremble when he reaches for a discarded t-shirt, hoping it doesn’t smell bad when he pulls it over his head. When he glances at her over his shoulder, Jinx is still there, still watching him, though there’s a thoughtful air around her.

When she notices him looking, she offers him a sarcastic grin.

“No need to get shy, stud.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles.

He plops down on his unmade bed, watching her watch him. Her face is half hidden by her arms propped on her bent knee, but the silence between them isn’t awkward. They’re taking each other in, taking in the changes that have touched them both in the last two years.

“Why come back now?” he asks, eventually.

Jinx blinks, near feline-like, dropping her head back to stare at his ceiling as if it may offer an answer. “I’m a crappy friend, but not that crappy. Happy birthday, wonder boy.”

There’s a creak in his heart, a lightness in his ribcage, a balloon of affection despite their troubled history that inflates just for her. “You remember my birthday?”

She makes a sound at the back of her throat. Glances at him from the corner of her eye. “Well, we picked it together, silly, so sure I do.” Shadows fall over her features when she angles her head away. “I… I never thought I would come back—that it was better this way.”

“I’m glad you did.”

Something close to a smile ghosts over her face at his response. Ekko can’t rip his gaze away from her. He fears that if he does, he’ll wake up and she’ll be gone again, and he’ll have to relive the agony of losing her again.

“Does Vi—”

“No. No. And it’s better this way.”

“But—”

“Drop it, Ekko. Please.”

He does. Because this is too good to be true, and he doesn’t want this to end. Emotions mix inside him, battling for dominance, so he sits there, letting them all wash over him.

“You’ve been busy,” she says abruptly, nodding her head in the general direction of the outside world. “Their new wonder boy. I’m not surprised. You’ve always been good at creating things. Good things.”

“And you’ve always been good at fixing them,” he says.

Ekko thinks back on the countless times she helped him to fix up old rubbish others have discarded and sell them in Benzo’s shop as small treasures. It feels, now, like a lifetime ago. In a sense, it has been.

She snorts; it’s an ugly, hateful sound. “Not always.”

There’s weight to how she says it. Pain lingers in each syllable, more so a whispered confession. She’s thinking of others, those lost through accidents or her own direct involvement.

“I’m sorry about Isha,” Ekko says carefully, thumb pressing into the hollow of his bare knee. He itches to take her hand, to smooth his thumb over her knuckles instead, but he doesn’t. She’s never been his to touch. “Vi told me about her.”

Jinx shrinks, turning away and he mentally curses. A sore spot even years later. Understandably so.

“I… shit. Sorry.”

“What’s with the long face?” she exclaims suddenly, jumping to her feet and twirling. Her hands drop to her hips and she grins at him, all mischief. “C’mon, we gotta get out of here.”

Ekko squints. “Uh, what?”

“It’s your birthday, silly,” she says, like it should be obvious. “We’re going to spend the day together.”

Jinx keeps her hood up, her gait steady. Any sign of blue tucked away. She’s changed her attire to draw less attention, and as they walk in the hazy dawn light towards the bridge separating the sister cities, it feels almost normal. Casual. Not at all like the last time they spoke, they were about to fight side by side in a battle for their lives. Not at all like he spent two years thinking she’s dead. That still stings, but knowing how she felt back then, the state she was in before he talked her down from the edge, the pain she’s been through, Ekko can’t bring himself to feel resentful. He only wants to hold her and tell her it’ll be okay because she’s not alone.

“You’re not saying, are you?” he asks, hands in his pockets.

“Nope,” she replies, popping the p. “Can’t.”

Words rush to his tongue. Insistence that she can and should stay—that there’s space here for her, not just in his life, but in the new Zaun he’s helping to shape. He almost admits it to her then. That he’s built this for her and the ones they lost along the way.

Ekko continues walking, staring at the ground, noticing too late she’s fallen behind. He peers over his shoulder and freezes when he notices what’s caught her attention. The mural. Welcoming anyone coming into Zaun. Her face, slightly younger but now immortalised, peers back at them.

“You drew this.”

He loosens a breath. “Yeah, I did. I, uh, just…”

Jinx reaches for her own face, fingertips ghosting over the painted wall. There’s tension on her face when she turns to look at him, something piercing and hard and thoughtful. Same pinch to her eyebrows he saw earlier in his bedroom.

“I won’t let them take you,” he says softly. “If they came for you. I would fight for you.”

She doesn’t break their eye contact. “I know. You shouldn’t, but I know you would.”

“Then stay.”

She saunters forward, stopping only when they’re almost chest to chest. “I’m not her, y’know? The other me. The one you love.”

He smiles, huffing a small breath, refocusing on her and her small pout. Ekko reaches forward, tucking a few stray strands back under Jinx’s hood, lingering for a beat. “I wasn’t her Ekko, either. That’s why I came back. I like this version of you just fine. But just so we’re clear, every version of you is a pain in my ass.” He tugs on a small braid, grinning when she shoots him an annoyed glare and slaps his hand away. “But I won’t have it any other way. Wait, no. It sure as hell would be simpler if you didn’t try to kill me anymore, but I guess I’ll deal with that, too.”

Jinx snorts, absently reaching for the spot he touched, her gaze softer than before. “Ha! You hit like a girl, by the way. I never got to tell you.”

“You tried to blow us up.”

“Eh,” she whines. “That was one time. You gotta let that go.”

Ekko exhales a small laugh and realises he hasn’t smiled or laughed this much in years. Joy was leeched from him with her absence, and while he did his duties, there was no security of Jinx’s usual push and pull to keep him balanced and focused. Even when they were enemies, hunted each other down and attacked each other, they existed on opposite sides of a perfectly balanced sphere.

Her nearness, the relief of having her there, overshadows the darker recollection of that afternoon when she tried to blow them up more than once. Memories so painful Ekko wishes to scrub them from his mind forever, yet they remain seared into his psyche.

She grabs his elbow, dragging him forward, breaking the surrounding gloom. “Come on then,. Things to do, things to see.”

And Ekko does what he’s done since they were young. He follows her. Because they might not have tomorrow.

The day goes by too fast. Almost a blur. A series of snapshots Ekko will lock away in his mind forever. He never expected he’d get to do this again. This is something his younger self could have only dreamt about once. When they dreamt of simpler things; flashy toys and delicious sweets, things only a young boy could fantasise about, aside from a loving home, because at least that much he had.

They walked and talked and joked around, eating street vendor food all day. Ekko knows they’re pushing their luck, but he can’t help himself. Jinx grew up here. This is her home too, and he wants to show her the progress they’ve made. There’s something comfortable about her snarky commentary and ill-timed jibes at the Council members. She asks about Vi only once, in relation to Cait, and Ekko tells her the truth.

They’re happy. They’re together. She nods, satisfied, and moves on.

“We should go see Jericho next.” It’s an offhand suggestion while they walk the newly paved river path. Now people from the Undercity can enjoy the same luxury of having a peaceful sidewalk to take their kids down. It’s amazing how it’s the small things that bring people happiness.

“Can’t,” Jinx replies, glancing towards the setting sun. Her smile twists; it’s still a smile, but it’s sad, in a way. “Sorry, hero.”

He takes several seconds to speak. “So, you’re leaving anyway.”

“Yes. I told you I can’t stay.”

“It’s a pity, then.”

She tilts her head. “Why?”

Damn her for even asking. Damn her and all the shitty circumstances for keeping them apart. Damn her for picking him during that game of hide and seek years ago. Damn her for being there for him and not being there at the same time. Damn her for being his entire world for years. Even when Ekko thought he hated her, he wasn’t free of her. He never could be. His girl with blue hair.

He’s in love with her, in every possible way, but they both know they can’t work like this. There’s too many ghosts for Jinx here, and despite the changes, Ekko can’t promise her she won’t get dragged off to Stillwater the moment authorities find out she’s alive after all.

Ekko frowns, clenches his fists, and walks away.

But she’s like an anchor to him. He stops several paces away, tied to her. “You’re gonna break my heart.”

They’ve been everything from friends to enemies and strangers to reluctant allies again. So much of his life has revolved around her. Continues to revolve around her. Past and present. But if Jinx sends him away now, if she walks away, Ekko will let her go. Because he can finally rest easy, knowing she is alive and well, even if they’re apart.

“In any other universe, I might have loved you,” she breathes.

He pivots towards her, his nostrils flaring. “Love me in this one,” he insists, reaching for her. Ekko cups her cheeks, tilting her head until her hood slips back down, exposing her blue hair to the setting sun. He’s glad there’s no one in sight because he can’t think straight right now. “Choose me now. Ask me to go away with you. Ask me.”

He presses his forehead to hers. Jinx’s empty gaze appears glazed over, her thoughts far away no matter how hard he tries to grip her and hold her close.

“I don’t deserve you, boy saviour,” she whispers emptily. “You’re good.”

“No one decides for me, Jinx. Not even you.”

She blinks owlishly, searching his wild stare, a pained expression on her face, her fingers knotting against her chest. “What if you don’t want me after a while? I’m… different and if I get bad again... What if—”

“Ask me, damnit.”

Jinx loosens a shaky breath, jumping through a hundred micro-expressions in a few seconds. A painful mix between hope and dread.

“C…” Her eyes squeeze shut. “Come with me.”

Ekko sags in relief. “Yes.” He holds her, wraps his arms around her despite the unsure way she folds against him. As if she’s unsure where to put her hands. If she should. “Yes, I’ll come with you. I don’t care if you’re different. I want you as you are, okay? No matter where we are.”

A tremulous breath wheezes past Jinx’s lips. But with that, she melts into him, burying her face against him. Her embrace grows desperate and tight, a tremble shuddering through her body.

“Always a dance with you, huh?” he says after a moment.

She chuckles, the sound warming his collarbone. “And you still got two left feet, boy wonder.”

Constants and variables, young Ekko, Benzo told him once. Everything bad that can happen in this universe might come to pass, but so might everything good.

----

an: ahh I know this isn't really my usual offering but I really hope you guys enjoyed, it's been a while since i've cared enough about canon/canon ship to do this.

#arcane #ekko x jinx #timebomb #ekkojinx #arcane fic #asks #thank you for asking anon!! just a tiny 'sort of fix-it'

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galacticghoste · 3 days ago

Text

THANK YOU

Just let people complain its not like their opinions are gonna change anythings what's done is done it's not changing so just let me complain on what they could have done

Me rambling

AS MUCH AS I LOVE each episode on their own

bunce of ships becoming Canon!!!

And the art was gorgeous through out the whole series and the music chefs kiss to both

But seriously I don't get what people's deal is with someone not likeing the ended of a show like if you love it good on you bro that your opinion

For me NOPE it's not bad I can deal with cliffhangers that's not the issue here

(I KNOW NOT EVERYTHING GONNA BE PERFECT)

But seriously though for me personally it's didn't hit.

There's SO MUCH potential wasted and so many characters died but we don't get enough time to fully process their loss bc nope time limit

Me and my friend went on for like an hour on what could have gone differently

(I know they have a limit on money and time)

This obviously needs more episodes to actually fully tell the story

LIKE ISHA KINDA DIED FOR NOTHING what was the point of the beautifully painful scene of her sacrificing herself only for Vander to be revived once again WTF?!?

We don't even see what happened after that because we only learn it by characters say what happened after we don't even know what they did with her body we only know Jinx got REALLY depressed

It felt like we could have had a episode dedicated to vector more focusing on him and Jayce and how he tried to change that fate so many times kinda like homora from madoka magica did

Also what was that homeless guy Vi finds name anyways i don't remember it and we GOT NOTHING ON HIS BACKSTORY I really thought we would get an episode on that since he seemed important

SAME WITH ISHA I DONT KNOW WHY SHE WAS BEING CHASED OR WHAT HAPPEND TO HER FAMILY we don't get anything on that either

She kinda in a way existed just for Jinx to get better just to get hurt again by her lose

I think since multiple storys were happening at once it was struggle to find a way to fully close it correctly so what better way then killing off most the characters

Also

WTF happend to HEIMERDINGER??? Like is he dead? Bc he just poof and dissappear not even fluff was left behind

by the way. people are allowed to complain about this season feeling rushed. i don’t know when it became a thing in this fandom to completely jump people who have valid complaints like YES arcane is a fantastically produced and beautifully animated show and nobody will be able to top it but they did start things with some characters only for it to never go anywhere so it can all be wrapped up in three episodes 😭

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mcrdvcks · 1 day ago

Text

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 2003 - i can see us lost in the memory

chapter summary: After searching for answers about his past, Logan comes back to the mansion after finding nothing at Alkali Lake. When he comes back he sees you, the only thing he can remember.

word count: 6.9k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: i skipped x1 (mostly because i felt like i couldn't place reader into the story and have her actually make a change in it) so we're starting with x2! don't worry, next chapter is going to make you sick with tooth rotting fluff

(also thank you for 700 followers!! and happy thanksgiving to those who celebrate! <3)

warnings/tags: follows events of x2 (strays slightly), reader is a mutant with time manipulation powers, reader wears glasses, shy!reader, light violence

series masterlist - chapter 6 → chapter 8

Alkali Lake held nothing. No clues, no leads, nothing. And because of that he’s still drifting, unable to remember anything but you.

He’s not sure when the last time he saw you was, he can only remember that he’s had you 5 times and lost you 5 times.

But now… now he has nothing but fragments, barely more than dreams, and a dull ache he can’t ignore, even if he can no longer remember the details. He knows you were there, remembers the way your touch soothed him, the warmth of your voice—and each time he replays those memories, he feels something deeper, sharper, tugging at the places in him that will never mend.

---

Logan opened the doors to the mansion, Rogue walking towards him. “Logan!” She went up to hug him before quickly pulling back.

“You miss me, kid?”

“Not really.” She shook her head sarcastically.

“Hmm. How are you doing?”

“I’m okay. How are you?”

“Who’s this?” Logan gestured with his head behind Rogue.

Rogue turned around, “oh, this is Bobby. He’s my- ”

“I’m her boyfriend.” Bobby cut in, shaking Logan’s hand using his ice powers, “call me Ice Man.”

Logan pulled away with a slight scowl, “right. Boyfriend? So how do you guys…?”

Bobby and Rogue shared a look, “well, we’re still working on that.” He said.

“Look who’s come back. Just in time.” Ororo spoke, as she walked down the stairs.

“For what?” Logan questioned.

“We need another babysitter.”

“Babysitter?”

“Nice to see you again, Logan.” Ororo said kindly.

“Hi, Logan.” Jean spoke, announcing herself as she walked down the stairs.

Logan briefly looked her way, “Jean.”

“Uh, I should go and get the jet ready.” Ororo said quietly.

“Yeah, well, it was good to meet you.” Bobby grabbed Rogue’s hand, “come on, let’s go.”

“Bye, Logan. I’ll see- I’ll see you later!” Rogue called out.

Jean walked in front of Logan, “Storm and I are heading to Boston. We won’t be gone long. The professor wants us to track down a mutant who attacked the president.”

“So it was a mutant.” Logan responded.

“You’ll be here when we get back- unless you plan on running off again.”

Logan tilted his head slightly. “Oh, I could—” His words trailed off as he caught sight of you. The stack of papers in your hands wobbled as you came down the stairs, muttering under your breath. He watched you, the tilt of your head as you pushed your glasses back up, the way you carefully balanced the papers in your hands.

You. He knew you. He knew that face, that presence. It hit him like a punch to the gut, an undeniable recognition buried beneath layers of fractured memories. You were the only thing that came back to him clearly in all the chaos. The short-lived lives you had, and every time it ended up with you dead in his arms.

He blinked, processing, as if you’d vanish if he looked away. You glanced up, catching his stare, and you stopped mid-step, eyes widening a little.

“Oh, uh… hi,” you said, awkwardly adjusting your glasses.

“Hi,” he echoed, still staring, as if searching for something familiar in the way you moved.

You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, then tried a smile. “You’re… Logan, right?”

He swallowed, feeling something catch in his throat. “Yeah. Logan.”

Breaking the tension, Scott walked down the stairs, “find what you were looking for, Logan?”

Logan barely acknowledged Scott’s words, his gaze fixed on you. The room, the people around him, the mansion itself—they all blurred, faded, became nothing more than static in the background. He knew you. The only thing he remembered clearly, despite all the fog in his mind, was you.

The stack of papers shifted in your hands as you glanced between him and Scott, your unease clear. It was like you sensed something, too, even if you couldn’t put a finger on it.

“Uh, no, not exactly,” Logan finally replied, his voice gruff, his eyes still on you. “Thought I’d… found something. Guess not.”

Scott didn’t seem too interested in probing. “Well, welcome back. Make yourself at home.”

But Logan barely heard him. He watched as you attempted a shy smile, not quite meeting his eyes. “I… I should go.” You hesitated, lifting the papers as if they’d shield you. “It was nice meeting you, Logan.”

He nodded, his throat dry. “Same.”

You hurried past, your steps soft but quick, almost like you were escaping.

Scott raised an eyebrow at Logan, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Didn’t know you were one for the shy ones.”

Logan shot him a look that could’ve split wood, but Scott just shrugged and walked off, leaving Logan alone with his thoughts.

For a moment, Logan debated following you. He’d known you before; he was sure of it. And even if he couldn’t recall the exact details, there was no mistaking the pull he felt, the way his chest tightened just being in your presence. He couldn’t remember much, barely fragments, yet you were a constant. And every time, he’d lost you. Every damn time.

---

After double checking that everyone was out of their rooms, whether taken or already escaped, you made your way to the secret tunnel, hitting the paneled wall as it opened.

You saw Rogue, Bobby, John, and Logan running down the hall. “Go on,” you said, letting the kids go through before you did. You noticed no one behind you as the door slid down, closing.

“Logan!” Rogue called out.

Bobby and John had already started to run down the tunnel while you stayed by the wall, ear pressed against it trying to hear what was happening.

Rogue stayed by you, clearly worried about Logan. You opened the door quietly as Bobby and John came back. It was quiet in the hall, Logan was walking slowly toward the older man as your eyes briefly fluttered shut, pausing the intruders in time.

“Logan, come on. Let’s go.” Rogue yelled out.

“Logan,” you said gently, as he finally turned his head towards the group.

“Go. I’ll be fine.”

“But we won’t.” Rogue responded.

Logan contemplated for a few moments before walking towards you, ��go. Keep going.” Logan entered the tunnel as the door closed behind him while you un-paused the men in the hall.

The five of you ran down the tunnel before climbing up a ladder to the garage. “Come on, get in. Get in!” Logan said.

You went to open the passenger door to the back when a large, warm hand landed on your waist, the grip warm and familiar even though you knew you'd never been this close to him before. Your breath hitched, and you glanced over your shoulder, only to meet his intense gaze as he gently nudged you toward the front seat. His hand lingered a second longer than it needed to, his touch almost hesitant, as if he was committing the feel of you to memory.

“Front seat, Y/N,” he murmured.

“R-Right. Thanks,” you stammered, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks as you slid into the passenger seat. He followed, taking his place behind the wheel, while Rogue, Bobby, and John piled into the back.

“This is Cyclops’s car.” Bobby said.

“Oh, yeah?” Logan unsheathed a singular claw, stabbing it into the ignition and turning on the car. The garage doors opened as the car sped out.

“What the hell was that back there?” John finally asked.

“Stryker.” Logan answered. “His name is Stryker.”

“Who is he?” Rogue questioned.

“I can’t remember.” Logan said quietly.

Rogue, after a few moments of silence, took off the dog tags around her wrist, passing them to Logan in the front, “here. This is yours.”

Even though you couldn’t see the kids in the back, you could tell they were uncomfortable with the silence. John leaned forward, “I don’t like uncomfortable silences.”

“What are you doing?” Rogue asked from beside him.

John turned on the radio as music played loudly from the car’s stereo’s, “bye, bye, bye…” Everyone groaned at the loud intrusion as John promptly turned it back off.

But, a small compartment opened, revealing a sleek metal device. “I don’t think that’s the CD player.” John said.

Logan grabbed it, twisting it in his hands. It blipped once, “whoa,” he muttered. Logan looked at John momentarily, “sit back.”

“Where we going?” John asked.

“Storm and Jean are in Boston. We’ll head that way.” Logan answered.

Bobby looked off to the side, “my parents live in Boston.”

“Good.” Logan said.

---

It was morning when you arrived at Bobby’s parents’ house. He unlocked the front door and stepped inside, “mom! Dad! Ronny! Is anybody home?” No one responded, the house was empty. Bobby looked at Rogue, “I’ll try and find you some clothes.” Bobby then looked over at John, who was continuously flicking his lighter open, “don’t burn anything.”

Logan was in the kitchen, trying to get the phone, or comm device he wasn’t sure, to work. He put it to his ear, “hello?” Static crackled over the device, “hello?” Logan asked again. “Come on, Jean. Where are you?”

You had just freshened up a bit when the door opened, Bobby’s family entering the house, looking at Logan in the kitchen with an open beer bottle.

“Hey, Ronny, next time you…” Bobby’s father started, but stopped when he saw Logan. “Who the hell are you?”

“Uh…” Logan pointed at the stairs as Bobby ran down them.

“Bobby…?”

“Honey, aren’t you supposed to be at school?” Bobby’s mother asked. Rogue quietly walked down the stairs.

“Bobby, who is this guy?”

“Uh… this is Professor Logan.” Bobby paused before speaking again, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

Soon, you all ended up in the living area, the kids and Bobby’s parents sitting down on the couch with you and Logan standing in the doorway.

“So, uh, when did you first know you were a… a…” Bobby’s mother trailed off.

“A mutant?” John spoke up, still flicking his lighter open and closed.

“Would you cut that out?” she said.

“You have to understand, we thought Bobby was going to a school for the gifted.” his father spoke.

“Bobby is gifted.” Rogue cut in.

“We know that. We just didn’t realize…”

His mother cut off her husband, “we still love you, Bobby. It’s just… this mutant problem is a little…”

“What mutant problem?” Logan interrupted, leaning against the other side of the doorway as you with his arms crossed.

“…complicated.” she finished.

Bobby’s father spoke again, “what exactly are you a professor of Mr. Logan?”

“Art.”

“Well, you should see what Bobby can do.” Rogue said.

Bobby leaned forward, gently touching his mother’s teacup with one finger as the tea turned to ice.

“Bobby…” his mother trailed off. She flipped the teacup on its side as the ice slid to the plate.

“I can do a lot more than that.”

His mother shakily put the plate and teacup on the glass table as the cat jumped up and started to lick the ice. Bobby’s brother Ronny left the room with a quiet anger.

“Ronny?” His mother called out as he went up the stairs. “This is all my fault.”

John spoke up, “actually, they discovered that males are the ones who carry the mutant gene and pass it on, so it’s his fault.”

A few moments later, the comm device started to beep. “Oh, God…” Logan took the device out of his pocket and started to walk to the sliding door, “it’s for me.”

“Bobby… have you tried… not being a mutant?” His mother asked.

Logan came back inside and locked the sliding door, “we have to go now. Now!”

“Why?” Rogue questioned. “Logan, what’s wrong?”

He walked to the front door, claws extended and you and the kids following to come face to face with police officers on the front lawn, point guns at you.

“Drop the knives and put your hands in the air.” An officer ordered from their right.

“What’s going on here?” Logan muttered.

“Ronny.” Bobby answered, coming to the realization.

“I said, drop the knives!” The officer ordered again.

Glass shattered from inside the house, “turn around! Up against the wall! Up against the wall!” An officer ordered Bobby’s parents, still in the living area.

“This is just a misunderstanding.” Logan said.

“Put the knives down!”

Logan turned to look at the officer, “I can’t. Look,” he raised his arm slowly as the officer fired a shot, straight into Logan’s forehead.

Rogue screamed and you gasped as Logan hit the patio floor.

“All right, the rest of you- on the ground now!” The same officer ordered.

You, Bobby, and Rogue slowly sank to the ground, but John stayed standing.

“Look, kid, I said on the ground!”

“We don’t want to hurt you, kid.” The officer on the other side said.

“You know all those dangerous mutants you hear about on the news?” John flicked open his lighter as you murmured his name, “I’m the worst one.” He blasted fire at the officer who shot Logan, sending him off the patio. He turned and did the same to the woman on the other side, then inside the house at the two officers.

John turned forward, blasting fire at the officers on the front lawn, the car exploding, before doing the same to another police car. A siren sounded down the street, coming to the house, as John blasted another stationary car by the front lawn, throwing the moving car off track. He blasted that car too.

Rogue, on the ground in front of you, took off her white glove and grabbed John’s ankle. The fire in his hands died off as Rogue stopped the fires surrounding the police cars and lawn.

The bullet popped out of Logan’s head as he woke up, the Blackbird slowly landing in the street. Logan stood up, cracking his neck. Bobby and the kids rushed off the stairs first, heading to the jet.

Logan instinctively put a hand on the small of your back, not pushing you or guiding you just… resting there. You took a quick glance up at him before reverting your gaze back to what was ahead of you.

John was the first one to walk up the ramp, and the first one to see Kurt turn in his chair. “Guten tag.” Kurt greeted.

The rest of you got onto the jet, buckling in, “who the hell is this?” Logan asked.

“Kurt Wagner. But in the Munich circus, I was known as the Incredible Nightcrawler.”

“As, save it. Storm?”

“We’re out of here.” The engines powered up as the ship jerked slightly while taking off.

---

“How far are we?” Logan asked, walking up behind Jean’s chair.

“We’re actually coming up on the mansion now.” Jean replied, as the console started to beep.

“I’ve got two signals approaching.” Ororo said, “coming in fast.”

“Unidentified aircraft, you are ordered to descend to 20,000 feet. Return with our escort to Hanscom Air Force Base. You have ten seconds to comply.”

“Wow, somebody’s angry.” Ororo commented.

Logan looked back at John, “I wonder why.”

“We are coming up alongside you to escort you to Hanscom Air Force Base. Lower your altitude now.” The two planes come up on both sides of the jet, “repeat-lower your altitude to 20,000 feet. This is your last warning.”

The planes started to fly behind, “they’re falling back.” Ororo spoke. Rapid beeping sounded out from the console. “They’re marking us.”

“What?” Logan asked.

“They’re going to fire! Hang on!” Ororo started to fly the jet in a defensive position as they buckled into their seats. “I got to shake them.”

The jet briefly flew upside down then righted itself, “please don’t do that again.” John said.

“I agree.” Logan remarked. “Don’t we have any weapons in this heap?”

The sky started to darken as dark clouds formed, quickly turning into tornadoes. The jet started to shake from the heavy winds as Ororo tried getting the two planes off their tails.

Once their radar was clear, Ororo stopped, the sky brightening back to its natural state.

“Everybody okay back there?” Jean questioned.

“No,” Logan answered simply.

Rapid beeping sounded out from the console once again, “oh, my God, there’s two of them,” Ororo said. Jean used her powers and took out one of the missiles, “there’s one more.” The remaining missile continued flying closer to them, “Jean?”

Jean gasped, “oh, God!” At the last second, Jean directed the missile slightly up, causing the back end of the jet to blow open.

Rogue, who wasn’t buckled in, flew out the back as Bobby yelled for her. Kurt briefly looked back before disappearing and then reappearing in the jet, right by the pilot’s seat next to Ororo and Jean as the jet nosedived.

The panels in the ship began to crackle as metal creaked and the back of the jet repaired itself. “Jean?” Ororo asked.

“It’s not me.” Jean answered, as the jet suddenly stopped, hovering over an older man and woman you didn’t recognize.

---

You had your head and arms buried deep into the jet's console, a strand of hair falling in front of your face as you tried to twist one more wire into place. The tech was scrambled from the missile hit, panels still flickering with bursts of static, and while it wasn’t exactly in your wheelhouse, you knew enough to give it a try. Besides, it kept your hands busy while the rest of the team talked to Erik around the fire and the kids set up tents.

After some time, you walked down the stairs of the jet, mostly for a small break from the incessant lighting and saw Logan smoking a cigar by the ramp. You almost turned around and walked back up, until he turned to look at you, more than halfway down the stairs.

You gulped and played with the tool in your hands as Logan looked at his cigar briefly, noticing the smoke was frozen in the air. He turned his gaze to the trees nearby also taking note that they were frozen as well; no wind blowing through their leaves.

“Ya always freeze time when you get nervous?” Logan tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched you, trapped in your own nervous suspension of time. You gave a tight, embarrassed smile, the tool in your hands twisting around your fingers as you took a deep breath and forced yourself to let go of the freeze.

“No. Only sometimes,” you admitted, feeling your cheeks heat. The trees resumed their gentle sway, and the smoke from his cigar curled upward lazily again. Logan watched the subtle shift, something almost playful glinting in his gaze.

He took another drag of his cigar, eyes not leaving you. “So, what’s got you nervous?”

Your fingers fumbled with the tool. “It’s, um… I don’t usually come across people who…” You trailed off, looking down at your hands.

Truth was, he made you nervous. Why wouldn’t he? He was… a lot of things, and in the few days you have known him you couldn’t help but feel more reserved than usual.

Logan leaned back against the ramp, watching you with a calm expression, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Care to be more specific?” He seemed content to let you fumble, patient in a way that only made your pulse quicken more.

You shrugged, pretending to focus on the tool in your hands. “I don’t know, maybe it’s the… whole mysterious, intense thing you’ve got going. That, and the fact that I accidentally freeze time whenever you look at me like that.”

He raised an eyebrow, letting out a low chuckle. “Like what?”

“Like…” You trailed off, finally looking up at him. “Like you’re trying to figure something out, but I’m not sure I want to know what.”

“Maybe I am,” Logan said, taking a drag of his cigar. His eyes softened a bit, and you felt a warmth settle over you. He didn’t push, didn’t pry—just waited. After all, patience was one of the many things he’d perfected over the years.

You shifted on your feet, glancing down to where your fingers had turned the wrench over and over, antsy. “Maybe I just don’t know what to make of you,” you murmured, feeling the weight of his gaze again.

“Guess that makes two of us,” he replied, his voice low. There was something unspoken in his words, something you couldn’t quite name.

The silence stretched out, and then, because there was something about the way he looked at you that felt like an invitation, you spoke. “Why’d you come out here, anyway? I thought you were all about avoiding everyone else.”

Logan flicked some ash off the end of his cigar. “Maybe I was gettin’ tired of avoidin’ things.” He paused, looking out toward the treeline, then back at you. “Or maybe I just wanted to see if you’d freeze time again.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Not exactly something I can control.”

“Good to know,” Logan replied, smirking. He took another puff, the smoke curling up in wisps around him. “So, are you fixin’ that thing, or just givin’ it the ol’ college try?”

You looked back at the jet, the half-repaired panel flickering with static. “Oh, definitely just winging it.”

Logan chuckled, the sound rich and deep, and for a moment, the tension seemed to ease. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a ‘wing it’ type.”

You shrugged, biting back a smirk. “I’m full of surprises.”

The easy conversation brought a hint of a grin to his face, something warm and fleeting, and he tilted his head toward the jet. “C’mon, let’s see what else you can do, winging it.” He raised an eyebrow, as if challenging you.

You looked at him, then back at the jet, a bit of excitement tingling under your skin. “Alright, Logan. Let’s see what we can fix.”

---

“Stay with the kids.” Jean said. You opened your mouth to argue, you weren’t a child, yet it seemed like every mission you were treated like one. Never allowed on the field, never even brought in on a debriefing.

The rest of the group, other than Mystique who was already in the base, were outside the jet, making their way into Alkali Base. You were supposed to stay behind with Rogue, Bobby, and John.

“But, Jean—” you started, voice catching on the frustrated protest that lingered in your chest.

Jean turned, a hand on her hip and an exasperated look that was all too familiar. “We’ve talked about this, Y/N. You’re here to look after them.”

“Right,” you muttered, crossing your arms, your gaze falling on the others, who were half paying attention, half pretending not to notice. Rogue’s worried glance lingered on you; Bobby looked between you and the hallway where the rest of the team had disappeared.

Jean’s expression softened just slightly. “This isn’t a punishment, okay? The kids need someone they trust to keep them safe.”

You glanced at Logan, who gave you a slight nod, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “Fine,” you mumbled, “I’ll stay with them.”

Jean pressed a reassuring hand to your shoulder. “We’ll be back soon.” She turned to catch up with the others, her footsteps echoing as they faded into the depths of the base.

Logan lingered for a moment, gaze unwavering. He looked at you for a beat too long, and something tightened in his expression. He gave a faint nod before heading off.

As the rest of the team disappeared down the corridor, John grinned, clearly amused by your frustration. "Looks like you got a babysitting gig, huh?"

You shot him a withering look, but Rogue was quick to jump in. "It's not like that, John."

“Could be worse,” Bobby added, trying to lighten the mood, “at least we’re safe here.”

You leaned against the cold metal wall, fingers tapping the console out of habit. “Yeah,” you replied, though your voice held none of the certainty you tried to convey.

From the depths of the corridor, Logan’s scent still lingered faintly in the air. You felt the tug of something unexplainable—a pull toward him that you’d noticed ever since he first set foot in the mansion. It was like trying to remember something you knew you’d forgotten.

Your hand, almost of its own accord, clenched into a fist, feeling the temptation to slow time, to buy a few seconds to gather your thoughts and process what lingered between you and Logan. But with Rogue, Bobby, and John right there, you resisted, focusing on keeping things steady.

And, yet, as you listened to the faint sounds echoing down the hall, a deep sense of restlessness settled in your chest.

---

“She’s controlling the jet!” Storm said, as the jet started to lightly shake.

“You, get her, now!” Logan told Kurt.

Kurt briefly phased, “she’s not letting me.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Charles spoke. “This is the only way.”

Scott leaned down next to Charles seat, “Jean? Listen to me. Don’t do this.”

“Good-bye.”

The jet started to hover above the water as a bright light shone briefly from the water before disappearing as quickly as it came.

“She’s gone,” Ororo said quietly.

The vision broke your focus as you flew the jet, the emergency landing protocol activated as it landed harshly, Rogue and Bobby standing in the cockpit by your seat.

A whoosh made you turn to the side to see Kurt putting Charles down in a seat. Kids started to climb up the stairs into the ramp as Ororo came by your side, “I got this, Y/N,” she said gently.

You let out a few more heavy breaths before standing up from the pilot’s seat, letting Ororo take your place.

As Scott fiddled with some of the controls, Charles spoke up, “Scott, we’ve got to get to Washington. I fear this has gone beyond Alkali Lake.”

Logan finally climbed up the stairs, a young boy in his arms, “Bobby.”

“Hey, I got him,” Bobby replied, carefully taking the boy from Logan’s arms.

Logan watched for a moment as Bobby wrapped an arm around the kid, murmuring something reassuring to him. When the boy seemed to relax, Logan shifted his gaze to you, lingering just a beat too long, that same unreadable look in his eyes.

The jet was buzzing with energy as everyone settled in, but his eyes never left yours. You felt it, that weight, the unspoken thing hanging between you both ever since you met. The others didn’t seem to notice—Bobby was focused on the kid, Rogue was buckling in, and Ororo and Scott were adjusting settings on the console. But Logan, he was watching you, something intense simmering beneath his stoic expression.

You tried to brush it off, focusing on the quiet hum of the jet as it prepared for takeoff. But that pull was there, like something forgotten tugging at your memory, or maybe… not forgotten, exactly. Maybe something you’d never known.

Finally, unable to help yourself, you looked back at him. “What?” you asked softly, half a smile on your lips to cover the nervous energy prickling at the base of your spine.

Logan didn’t smile back. “Nothing,” he replied, voice rough. But his gaze softened, just barely, and there was a glimmer of something warm. “Just making sure you’re alright.”

His words were casual, but you caught the faintest edge of something… familiar. Like a memory you couldn’t quite touch. You felt your fingers twitch, the familiar itch to pull time in around you, but you held back.

“I’m fine,” you said, brushing your hair behind your ear as you tried to shake off the strange feeling. “Thanks for asking.”

Logan nodded, but his gaze didn’t waver. He watched you for a beat longer, almost as if he were searching for something. Whatever it was, he didn’t find it—or maybe he did but decided not to say. Instead, he moved forward to Ororo, where her and Scott were trying to power the engines.

“What’s wrong?” Logan questioned.

“Vertical thrusters are offline.” Scott answered.

“So fix ’em.”

“I’m trying.”

“Hey, has anyone seen John?” Rogue called out.

“Pyro?” Logan asked. “Where the hell is he?”

“He’s with Magneto.” Jean replied.

“…but I don’t know how long they’re going to last.”

“I’m trying to override, but it’s not responding.” Scott grunted, “come on!”

“Oh, no, we’ve lost the power.” Ororo said.

“It’s coming. Come on!”

“There’s power in the fuel cells. They’re just not connected.”

“Okay, I’ll try to reroute it this way.” Ororo continued, but your gaze was focused on Jean, who was looking at the ramp of the jet. “Scott, the engine control system is shot.”

“Which part?”

“All of it!”

“Can’t you override?”

“Yes. It’s going to take some time.”

“Jean,” you whispered under your breath, too scared to act, fearing what would happen if you intervened. Instead, you watched as she walked down the ramp of the jet, glancing at the group one last time.

Charles tilted his head slightly to the side, “Jean?”

“Wait, where’s Jean?” Logan asked.

“She’s outside.” Charles said.

Scott bolted up from his seat to the ramp, but it closed as he got there, separating Jean from the rest of them. The consoles lit up as the engines came back online.

“No! We’re not leaving! Lower the ramp! Storm, lower it!” Scott yelled.

“I can’t!” She replied.

The water finally washed over to them, but because of Jean and her telekinesis it went around her.

“She’s controlling the jet!” Storm said, as the jet started to lightly shake.

“You, get her, now!” Logan told Kurt.

Kurt briefly phased, “she’s not letting me.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Charles spoke. “This is the only way.”

Scott leaned down next to Charles seat, “Jean? Listen to me. Don’t do this.”

“Good-bye.”

The jet started to hover above the water as a bright light shone briefly-

“-power in the fuel cells. They’re just not connected.”

“Okay, I’ll try to reroute it this way.” Ororo continued, but your gaze was focused on Jean, who was looking at the ramp of the jet. “Scott, the engine control system is shot.”

“Which part?”

“All of it!”

“Can’t you override?”

“Yes. It’s going to take some time.”

As Jean walked toward the ramp, you reached out and grabbed her forearm, halting her determined steps. Her head turned, meeting your gaze, and for a moment, her eyes softened. There was a weariness, a resignation in her look that you couldn’t ignore.

“Jean,” you whispered, tightening your grip. “There has to be another way.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she looked away, staring into the distance. The ramp was only steps away, but she hadn’t pulled her arm free. “It’s the only way to save everyone,” she said, her voice barely audible, as if speaking louder would shatter whatever resolve she had left.

“I’m not gonna let you die,” you spoke quietly.

Jean tilted her head, looking at the cockpit one more time before back at you, “you rewound. Didn’t you?” She hadn’t tried to pull away, and you could feel the rapid beat of her pulse through your grip on her arm. She knew. Somehow, she’d pieced it together—how you’d rewound, maybe even more than once.

“Yes,” you replied softly, your voice barely audible over the hum of the jet, “but this time—”

“This time won’t be any different,” Jean cut in, a trace of regret in her tone. “Some things… you can’t just rewind.”

You tightened your grip, not willing to let go. “I don’t believe that. I don’t believe it has to end like this.”

Her gaze softened, but there was a sadness in her eyes that you couldn’t bear. “You have to let me go, Y/N. You can’t keep holding on to something that’s already gone.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “We’re a team, Jean. You can power on the jet, and I can pause the water.”

She looked away, clearly weighing every word you said against her own grim resolve, then back at you with a look of resigned understanding. "You don’t understand, Y/N. This—" she gestured to the waters crashing around them, then down to her own chest, her hand resting over her heart—"what’s happening to me... it’s too much. It’s a flood I can’t hold back.”

You could feel her pulse, still wild beneath your hand, and the memory of her last words echoed in your mind. "You have to let me go, Y/N. You can’t keep holding on to something that’s already gone.”

But she wasn’t gone, not yet, and the desperation that rose inside you felt like a fight against fate itself. “Jean, I’ve seen things go wrong before.” The words slipped out, the ghost of a memory that you couldn’t quite catch. “But I can feel it this time… we don’t have to lose you. Just trust me.”

For a moment, Jean’s gaze softened, and her grip on her resolve wavered. “Y/N…” she started, and you caught a glimmer of something in her eyes—gratitude, or maybe even hope. Her hand rested lightly over yours, though you could feel her power humming beneath her skin. “Alright,” she whispered finally, her voice barely audible. “But if something goes wrong… if it’s too much…”

You cut her off, squeezing her hand tighter. “Then we find another way. But you don’t have to do this alone.”

With a quick nod from Jean, you focused your energy, feeling time ripple and bend beneath your skin. Jean closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as she took in the extra moments you’d gifted her, enough to gather her power without tearing herself apart in the process.

Outside the jet, the water slowed, hovering just a few inches away from the plane, frozen in time. Everyone held their breath, the hum of the jet's engines amplified in the stillness. Scott turned back to the controls, guiding the jet forward through the suspended water. “It’s working,” he murmured, almost to himself. "We’re moving.”

In the cockpit, you felt your pulse race as you held the time bubble steady, feeling the strain build in your bones. This level of control was more intense than anything you’d managed before, but you pushed yourself to hold on, the determination to keep Jean and everyone safe steeling your resolve.

The jet jolted slightly as it broke through the edge of the water and rose higher, out of immediate danger. But the strain was starting to build, the sheer amount of energy it took to hold everything at bay beginning to wear on you. Your hand slipped, and you nearly stumbled, but before you could lose your focus entirely, a strong hand caught your arm.

Logan was at your side, his face mere inches from yours, concern laced in his voice. “You good?” he asked, his grip grounding you.

“Yeah… just give me a sec.” You took a breath, focusing on the feel of his hand, the warmth in his touch that felt familiar in a way you couldn’t explain. With that small, grounding connection, you found the strength to hold the time bubble for a few seconds more.

When the jet was finally clear, you released the grip on time, and the rush of water resumed its course beneath them. You staggered slightly, feeling a rush of exhaustion course through you, but Logan’s arm was still steady around you, even as you fell to the ground, your eyes fluttering shut.

Logan’s grip tightened as you slumped back, your breath shuddering as exhaustion swept over you. His hand was warm, rough fingers gently brushing against your cheek, bringing you back just enough to the moment. Your back was draped over his knees, your pulse still racing as you struggled to catch your breath. The world was a muted blur, but his voice broke through, steady and low, anchoring you.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, his thumb tracing a slow circle on your cheek. “You’re alright. I got you.”

It was only his words, and the softness in them, that made you blink back the haze of exhaustion. As your vision cleared, you saw his face just inches from yours, an intensity in his gaze that seemed to search for something… something deeper than he was saying.

“Logan,” you whispered, not sure why his name slipped out so easily or why it felt so familiar, as if you’d said it before, in another life or another time. But the look he gave you held a weight you couldn’t name, a history you couldn’t remember.

“You with me?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper, but beneath it, there was something else, something almost pleading. He waited as you blinked up at him, your pulse slowly settling, tethered by his touch. “Y/N?”

“Yeah…” You tried to push yourself up, but the strain of holding time around the jet had left your muscles aching, feeling drained in a way you’d never experienced before. Logan’s grip on your shoulder tightened, steadying you, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into him, feeling his warmth.

His face softened, a flicker of relief crossing his expression, though he didn’t let go. “You pulled us out of that mess,” he said, his voice low, and for a second, something raw flickered in his eyes. “What were you thinking? Freezing the water like that—it could’ve knocked you out cold.”

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t just watch Jean go.” You inhaled deeply, your voice barely above a whisper as you glanced toward the cockpit, where Jean’s quiet breathing filled the jet with a fragile peace. “I couldn’t let her do it alone.”

Logan gave a slow nod, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. You felt the intensity of his gaze, as if he was seeing something beyond what you could understand. There was a warmth to it, one that made your heart stutter, something deep and unexplainably familiar. He paused, his voice quieter, almost hesitant. “You’ve always been this way… haven’t you?”

“What do you mean?” you asked, thrown by the hint of something personal, something he couldn’t quite put into words. He dropped his hand from your face, settling it on your shoulder, but you could still feel the warmth lingering where he’d touched you.

“Never mind.” He looked away, his expression unreadable. But his hand remained steady on your shoulder, grounding you as the jet finally stabilized, the engines humming to life. You could hear the others bustling around, but for this moment, it was just the two of you, a silent understanding hovering between you.

“Logan…?” you started, not sure what you wanted to say or why his presence felt so deeply familiar. He turned back, a question in his eyes, as if he were waiting for something. But the words wouldn’t come. How could you ask him about a feeling you didn’t understand? About a memory that didn’t exist?

Instead, you exhaled, letting the silence fill the space between you. “Thank you.”

He watched you, his gaze lingering on your face, as if there were a thousand things he wanted to say. But he only nodded, a soft look crossing his face, one that felt almost like longing.

“Anytime,” he murmured, his hand finally slipping away, leaving a chill in its place.

“Y/N, you good back there?” Ororo’s voice broke the spell, and you managed a nod, giving her a thumbs-up.

“Yeah. Just… catching my breath.” You gave her a small smile, forcing your muscles to relax, even as your heart was still pounding. Logan stood, his gaze lingering on you for a beat before he moved to check on the others. But before he left, he looked back at you, his eyes holding a silent promise, a feeling that maybe—just maybe—he was still there, still watching over you.

---

A storm crackled outside thanks to Ororo and everyone around the group was frozen in time courtesy of you.

“Good morning, Mr. President.” Charles said. The President looked over to the side where Kurt was crouched on a small table. He began to stand up slowly, “please, don’t be alarmed. We’re not going to harm anyone.”

“Who are you people?”

“We’re mutants. My name is Charles Xavier. Please, sit down.”

“I’d rather stand.”

“Rogue.” Charles briefly glanced over at her, as she placed a large file onto the President’s desk. “These files were taken from the private offices of William Stryker.”

The President started to flip through the file, “how did you get this?”

“Well, let’s just say I know a little girl who can walk through walls.” Charles said, as the President looked over at Kurt who let out a quiet snicker. He finally sat back down.

“I’ve never seen this information.”

“I know.”

“Then you also know I don’t respond well to threats.”

“Mr. President, this is not a threat, this is an opportunity. There are forces in this world, both mutant and human alike, who believe that a war is coming. You’ll see from those files that some have already tried to start one. And there have been casualties. Losses on both sides. Mr. President, what you are about to tell the world is true. This is a moment. A moment to repeat the mistakes of the past, or to work together for a better future. We’re here to stay, Mr. President. The next move is yours.”

“We’ll be watching,” Logan said.

logan is around 171 years old (but at this point in the story, he doesn't really know how old he is so it's kinda irrelevant now) and reader is around 26 years old

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic #i love you in every time

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weltraum-vaquero · 13 hours ago

Note

i was scrolling through pinterest and i came across a prompt: “i can’t focus with your damn hand on my— ooh..” i IMMEDIATELY thought of jayce 🫢 can i request sumn like that? i love your work so much 😭😭

Hi anon, this prompt drove me insane. Thank you so much!

Play (dirty)

Jayce Talis x GN Reader

Summary: A fancy play at the Piltover Opera is a good excuse as any to deck out. And an even better excuse to have some fun with your partner.

Word count: 2.5k

MDNI. Mature content under the cut.

Tags: Sub Jayce, slight exhibitionism, dry handjobs, heavy petting, alcohol consumption

Jayce could never stand still. There’s something in him that’s constant, restless, relentless. Always the type to fiddle, to twirl his pen between his fingers, to scratch at his own scruff in thought, to chew the inside of his cheek, to bounce his leg. His mind is a hyperactive, brilliant thing; equal parts blessing and curse.

He does it now, too — bouncing his leg, that is, under the fine silk of his prettiest burgundy slacks (his ass, though nothing to write home about, never failed to look tremendous in those. Something about the thin, generously revealing material seaming to the humble curve of his ass in a salacious display). Jayce taps his fingers on the sturdy oakwood of the theatre chair as he stares at the still lowered curtain, crosses his legs, sighs, uncrosses them, bounces his leg again.

It’s the final stretch of the second intermission, though the play isn’t particularly doing it for you, mainly because you’ve seen this exact rendition before, with Jayce at your side. Just… not from up here: an opulently designed balcony, all to yourselves, just shy of the stage. Generous courtesy of Salo for a favor taken rather than given from Jayce, a situation that’s been stressing him out something fierce these past few weeks. You digress. That’s not what matters anymore — he’s earned a break. He’s earned something good.

It’s a lovely opportunity to spend some time with him outside of the confines of his lab or your shared home, which is growing increasingly rare. It’s a lovely opportunity to put on your shiniest clothes and make a pretty sight for one another.

Undeniably, that’s been the best aspect of it. Jayce has been sneaking looks at you the whole time — perhaps bored with the play, perhaps too enticed with you. And you can’t exactly blame him, because you’re not doing much better either.

How are you meant to do anything when you have a much more captivating sight to take in, sitting tensely in the chair next to yours?

A dark shirt that hugs the proud swell of his chest just right (certainly something to write home about), a pretty burgundy jacket just the same warm colour as the fruity merlot he’s finished sipping on, lingering on his plump lips. Silk curling at the seams, stretching under the heft of his now thicker thighs as they rest on the seat, tie loosened just so, and he’s good enough to eat.

You lay a warm hand on the inside of his leg, and Jayce, as he always does, yields. Less on thought, more on instinct, always so eager, before he turns to look at you with a question in amber eyes gone chocolatey dark in the low light of the room.

“Hm?”

His cologne hits you in a peppery-sweet, floral wave as he leans in, leans closer, and gives you the attention you’re so clearly demanding.

“Should I get us more wine?” You make feeble conversation, more eager to hear his voice than his thoughts. He’s been sharing most of them in whispers throughout the play so far as is.

Jayce shakes his head, flashes a conspiratorial, boyish little smirk. “If I have any more, I might um,” he breaks out in a short, clearly tipsy giggle, “do something I really shouldn’t be doing up here.”

His hand finds yours, pinkies twining together in a near juvenile but vulnerable display of his affection, a plea for affection. And, oh, his eyes, though his pupils are blown wide, glitter mischievously like a cat’s about to pounce. Two can play that game…

“Mm. That would be a terrible look on you,” you emptily agree. “Think of the headlines… Man of Progress caught moaning during Winter Solstice play, Man of Progress bent over the railing on the opera’s most lavish balcony…”

Jayce nods, a little drunkenly. Leans in for a kiss before he breathes: “Terrible.”

You let him have it — how could you not? Let him sloppily lick at your mouth like an overeager puppy for a long, dizzying, smooth-merlot attempt at a kiss. He smiles into it, as if in thanks.

Before you give a gentle little push at the plush swell of his chest with your other hand, pacing him, pulling away to leave him in a dazed little stupor. His breath hits your now slick lips in a warm, wet brush.

“Intermission’s about to end.” You pat his thigh less sensually, more like you’d pat an obedient dog for a trick well done. “Better keep quiet and focus on the third act.”

It looks like it pains him to settle back into his velvet seat, so you leave your hand on the top of his now still thigh — a reminder, a promise. It keeps Jayce on his toes more than the narrative unfolding before you does. Well worked sinew draws so tight you can feel it vibrate even under the soft layer of plush fat on his thighs, and as the action in the play begins to find its inevitable build, you find your hand wandering.

Just to the inside of his thigh, first, where he’s softer, which he gladly offers up to you. Fingers draw patterns more intricate than the paisley on his vest, until poor, tormented Jayce begins to shift in his velvet seat. Tilts his hips this way, then that, then readjusts his whole frame in the seat with an awkward clear of his throat when it creaks.

The rich tones of a singular violin crescendos in sync with the dip of your hand further, up, up, until you reach that tense tendon on the inside of his leg, where his thigh seams to his hip.

And further inwards, his straining cock nudges the back of your knuckles through the silk of his pants. Jayce jumps with the contact… Poor, poor thing.

“Aw, Jayce...” It’s both pity and reprimand, a whisper so low he can barely hear it. The flesh of his thigh spills from between squeezing fingers; it has him lowering his head in shame and trying to breathe through it. If not for the sacred quiet of the imposing room, for the performers playing their instruments as deftly as you’re about to play him, he would have at the very least whined for it. A low, pleading, dog-like sound.

Instead, he shoots you a look. Desperate and dazed and wide-eyed all at once in the dark of the room, before it turns into a kind of anger that does not and will not bite. Nibbles on you like an angry puppy, more like.

“How d-do you expect me to focus when your damn hand is—“ and you give him what he wants, “o-oh.”

Grabbing a handful of the straining outline of his dick through his pants, rubbing just once, from the wet patch on the tip to as far down as the silk allows.

“Better?” You ask.

Jayce breathes a terrified, shivering sigh.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

“I can stop,” you remind. He knows it to be the truth intimately; though he aches to please to a fault, Jayce has learned a thing or two about respecting his own boundaries by now. You trust that if he needs you to, he will give you the word.

“Don’t.” Armrests gripped so tight they could splinter, eager hips raise off the theatre seat to chase your hand until your palm cradles his leaky tip once more. Wide eyes flutter closed and cherry slick lips part in a muted expression of bliss.

“Then don’t make a mess,” you breathe into his ear. “And keep quiet. Can you do that, baby?”

Jayce nods desperately, and does a surprisingly great job at swallowing another moan as you twirl your fingertips around what should be the crown of his cock, silk gliding under your hand akin to well oiled skin. He lets it happen gladly, spreads his legs in welcoming especially when you reach further down, until the dainty weight of his balls sits cupped in the groove of your palm. There, you linger, simply holding him where he’s most sensitive, unmoving.

Jayce exhales shakily, baby doe eyes flicking between you and the hand between his legs in questioning, in hope. The soft, still cradle of your palm turns greedy as you feel him up, fingertips curling around the heft of his bulge, his cock pressing into your hand. All of him trembles with how he stifles a gasp into the back of his fist.

You simply knead at him idly, the way a satisfied cat would as it purrs, and make a show of diverting your attention back to the play you couldn’t care less about. It gets him off, in some capacity, to be touched but not paid attention to. It had made him soil his pants so quick, once, simply letting him have his pleasure against your thigh while you were busy with a book, and it’s a technique you employ on occasion since. Coupled with the fact that Jayce, touchy and needy as he is, hasn’t gotten much chance at release lately, you know for certain he will find it now, and fast.

The glossy silk has gone sticky wet at the very tip of his dick, so much so it even leaves your hand damp after an indulgent squeeze at it. Below, horns blare with the oncoming climax of the play, music daunting in its grandeur even from up so high. In spute of such an enticing distraction at hand, you can’t help but marvel at them as you palm Jayce’s cock. And you recognize the melody the very next moment, the thrill of hearing it for the very first time; just as you know the end Jayce is approaching with intimate familiarity, so do you remember the next part of the play.

It will go quiet for a long, breathtaking moment to draw the audience to the edge of their seats, the calm before the storm — and Jayce, judging by the sweat on his brow, the way he almost tears into the back of his fist with his canines, Jayce will not, cannot be quiet.

The realization must hit him at the same time as it hits you, because his free hand grabs yours in a death grip, a decidedly desperate attempt at halting the inevitable.

“S-stop,” he whispers, his lips meeting on the p just moments before the entire orchestra quiets.

You can hear every bated inhale in the grandiose room — but none of them as sweet as Jayce’s. The whole room buzzes, alight with the anticipation of the audience.

Jayce squeezes your hand vehemently, like the weight of his barely contained orgasm threatens to crush him. His thighs clench around your hand, his body curls, he exhales in a silent cry, before he presses his hand to his lips so hard it makes you wince. You lean in close enough to be able to hear his thoughts, let him hide his face in the fabric on your shoulder.

“Breathe,” you coo at him like he’s in pain, stroking your thumb up, then down the aching outline of his cock. It makes his hips jump. “Once the music starts again, I’ll take care of you.”

You can feel him nod his head against your shoulder, can feel his grip slacken, can hear the tension in the room crackling like lightning when a violin starts a short-lived solo that is soon joined by the rest of the orchestra in a tsunami.

Jayce lets go of your hand, spreads his legs as if to offer himself up on a silver platter to you — full, complete trust. You slip the buttons of his pants out of their eyelets fast, aided by the near oily slipperiness of the fabric, the press of his cock, which have the front flap popping open the rest of the way.

Your hand slides down the bump of his soft, fuzzy tummy, into his pants, his underwear, easily, because it’s warm, familiar territory. Cradling all he’s worth in your hand, you scoop both his cock and his balls from the confines of the silk, laying them out vulnerable and exposed to the cold air.

It forces a gasp from Jayce, fortunately lost to the music, instinctually going to cover himself with both hands at the sensation and the prospect of being at the mercy of such a grand, full room.

“I’ve got you,” you remind him. Deft hands reach for his breast pocket, stealing away his handkerchief from him. Even dazed like this, Jayce understands your intention easily, and wins another battle against his instincts as he lets his hands fall away from where they’re cupped over himself protectively. One hand fists the silk of his pants, and the other wraps around your forearm not in guidance, but in seeking, of your presence, of you, grounding himself.

Jayce goes perfectly still as you stroke his dry cock, from root to swollen tip. It can’t be satisfying, you know so by just the feel of your hand around him, the way his foreskin drags with the grip you have on him, up, over his leaky cockhead, then down, exposing him where he’s most sensitive. It can’t be good, but it’s enough, because Jayce whines, quiet and half-terrified as he hides his face against your shoulder, before he goes rigid with your next upward stroke.

And you do that thing he likes so much — his tip’s smeared in enough of his precum to facilitate an overstimulating twist of your palm around just the ruddiness of his crown. His mouth falls open in a silent wail.

Jayce is so easy. Shoots his load into the handkerchief you bring up to his cock just in time, lets you milk all his overwhelming orgasm’s worth into the fabric until he can’t help but clench his thighs around your still moving hand. Trembles in time with his twitching cock as you wipe the strings of cum off his sticky, swollen cockhead and stuff the handkerchief back into his breast pocket.

The orchestra quiets once more, for good this time, and the audience’s applause roars. There won’t be much time until the lights come on, so you make quick work of tucking him back into his pants, and once Jayce regains some of his mental footing, he helps you button them back up.

Just in time — the lights blind you, but not as much as he does. Sitting low in his seat, slick with sweat, disheveled in his best clothes, and smiling at you so wide and dopey he shines, Jayce is brighter than any light, any sun. His chest rises and falls at a fierce, breakneck pace as he catches his breath.

You lean in to grant him a well deserved kiss to the cheek, one he chases with his mouth instead, and smiles into when you lick what remains of the by now long dried merlot from the ridges of his lips.

It makes him smile wider, a blush that matches his suit perfectly blooms on his cheeks. He takes the hand you’d stroked him with, intertwines your fingers like the lovesick fool that he is. You squeeze back, like the lovesick fool that you are, and can’t help but gaze into his eyes even as the eager applause slowly fizzles out.

“They clapped for the wrong performance,” you whisper to him. “You were far more glorious than any play.”

#jayce talis #jayce x reader #jayce talis x reader #arcane jayce x reader #jayce arcane #jayce arcane x reader #arcane jayce #arcane x reader #reader insert #my writing

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mymegrokosmos · 2 days ago

Text

it's silent when you enter the apartment. the sound of your keys dropping into the bowl by the door echoes so loudly you could swear they were much heavier. you've never heard it this quiet before.

you peek into the kitchen, expecting him to be scrolling through recipes but the radio is off and his apron still hangs in its place by the pantry. no sign of him in the living room either.

you try the garden next, your little patio of green things and colourful vegetables. he's not sitting at the table reading or sipping a coffee.

you find him in the bedroom, asleep on top of the covers with his phone clutched in one hand. you smile softly and move to slide it out of his grip gently. the moment you turn around from setting it on the nightstand you're met with sleepy brown eyes.

he rubs his face, yawning, and you sit on the bed beside him. he clings to your waist, nuzzling his cheek against your stomach and sighing contently.

you run a hand through the honey brown of his hair. "aren't you cold?"

a soft sound you take to mean no as he buries his face in your oversized crewneck. it's one of his but it probably smells like your perfume.

"shua, baby, at least let me change first okay?"

he huffs but lets you go.

"worn out?"

a soft hum. his eyes peek open just slightly as you shuffle over to the closet to change into one of your many sets of matching pyjamas.

"you okay?"

he sighs, curling up into himself and resting his head on his clasped hands. "not really."

you throw your hair up and come back over to join him again. "what's wrong?"

"i think..." he yawns. "the jetlag hit me just as hard as the post tour adrenaline drop."

you smile softly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as you curl around his back. he lets you pull him into you, happy to be the little spoon this once. you fold the covers back over you both.

"how about a nap and then I'll cook and we can just have a cozy night in catching up on all the one piece episodes we didn't get to watch together while you were gone?"

his voice is already scratchy, raspy with sleep as he slurs out. "that sounds perfect darling." before his breathing evens out and he drifts back off.

#seventeen x reader #joshua #hong joshua #hong jisoo #svt fluff #svt drabbles #svt #svt x reader #seventeen

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letsgoletsgetit08 · 2 days ago

Text

ateez soft hours pt. 2

how they would treat you while you're on your period

maknae line

warning: mdni, period sex, smut

word count: 3.4k

ao3 link: maknae line

author's note: I uh. yeah.

choi san: "What's up, babe?" He sounds out of breath over the phone, "I'm finishing up at the gym."

"Everything hurts and I want to die." You whine.

"Oh, no, my poor baby! Do I need to bring you any supplies on my way over?" His voice was sweet, always so attentive. You felt lucky every day that he grew up with an older sister.

"No, I'm okay with all that, but thank you. I just want you to come lay on top of me with your entire body weight."

"Anything you want, honey. You know you could come join me at the gym, exercise helps relieve cramps, allegedly." He was mainly joking.

You groaned, "Ugh, Choi San stop talking about exercise right now or I'm going to turn homicidal. You know any other day I would have gone with you."

He laughed at your dramatics, "I know, precious. I just had to tease, I'm sorry. I'll be sweet the rest of the night, promise."

"I mean if you really want me to break a sweat, I have some ideas for cardio we could do later." Heat curls in your aching abdomen at the thought of it. Glad your boyfriend has never been squeamish about period sex.

"Oh?" He asked, you were silent until the implication hit him, "Ohhhh. Well, yes, of course." His voice lowered so he couldn't be heard by anyone around him, "You know I'll take care of you, baby. Make you feel so good. No touching yourself until I get there, okay?"

Your thighs clenched together at his words, "Okay, yes, I'll be good." Your voice was breathy, already laced with lust.

"Mmh, good girl. Already getting all bothered for me, aren't you? I'll see you soon, honey." He didn't give you a chance to reply before the line went dead.

San was so good at picking up on your cues, happy to take the lead or to follow, depending on your mood. You liked him any way you could get him but your favorite was when he gently took the reins, giving you soft but stern instructions and showering you with praise all night, talking you through every orgasm. The thought of it made it hard for you to keep the promise you had just made to him.

You decided to shower instead, waiting for him to come home, feeling a little yucky after being in bed all day.

By the time you emerged in nothing but a towel, San was already there.

"Hi, gorgeous." He enveloped you in a big hug. He had showered at the gym, it seemed, hair still damp, cheeks rosy, comfy in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

"Sannie." You sighed into his chest.

He pulled back and trailed his hands down your arms, "Look at you, all clean just for me?"

You nod, looking down, feeling shy and exposed. Hormones, probably.

He pulled the towel open to look at you, "Oh, honey. I'll never get over how stunning you are." He pulled the towel all the way off, tossing it over the still-open bathroom door, reaching for you again, hands warm as they fell to your slightly boated tummy. He always made you feel so beautiful even when you felt like a hot pile of dog shit. "I brought something." He kissed your forehead then went to his backpack, pulling out a bottle of massage oil, "Thought this might be nice. I know your body is achey. Does a massage sound nice?"

"It sounds incredible." You smile at him, tears in your eyes, feeling especially grateful for him in that moment.

"Come on then, jagi." He leads you to your bedroom, grabbing a new towel on his way, to keep the massage oil - and whatever other potential bodily fluids - off of your bedding.

He has you on your stomach, deft hands turning you to putty at their touch, paying special attention to your lower back, where he knows carries extra tension. You're nearly in a trance when he wipes one hand on the towel, still kneading one ass cheek with his other hand, evidently able to tell what the massage was doing to you, your core becoming wet with arousal. He removed his other hand and you hear a squirting noise. When his hand returns, you realize the noise had been him applying lube to his fingers, which were now teasing your already slick slit, up and down, movements slow. Your legs parted further on instinct.

"Yes, baby, that's it. This is what you wanted, hm? Don't worry, I'm going to make you feel good." San’s voice was low and you felt yourself grind back into his fingers at it. "Patience, love." He chuckled, "We have all the time in the world."

His fingers found your clit, applying pressure to either side of it, before finally brushing over the top, just briefly before they slid down your folds once again, his other hand spreading your ass cheek as he held his fingers to your entrance. He didn't have to apply much pressure at all, you were so turned on that your cunt sucked him in greedily. He thrust them in and out a few times before curling them forward, hitting your sweet spot. Your back arched at the sensation and you could tell he was smiling behind you, "Mmh, so responsive, jagiya. I could do this for hours."

And you believe him, too. He sets a pace but slows down when you try to fuck yourself back onto his fingers, "No, no, sweetheart. Let me bring you there. I want you as relaxed as you were when I was massaging you, okay?"

"Yes, sir." You manage, face squished by the mattress, brain floating towards another planet already.

"Good girl." He says, fingers returning to continue their ministrations.

At some point, his thumb finds your tight ring of muscle, taunting him as it sat there within reach right above your now absolutely quivering cunt, circling it and adding just a little pressure. A gasp leaves your mouth at the sensation, surprised at how much you like it. "Mmh, so sensitive. You like this don't you?" You were so wet, every nerve alight at his touch, seconds from falling apart, holding on because you knew he would want to tell you when to let go. "You've been so good for me, angel, why don't you go ahead and come? On my fingers like a good girl."

Your body obeyed immediately, pleasure rolling through you. You thought your orgasm might never end, it was unlike anything you had ever felt before. "There we go baby, just like that. God, you're stunning." You were still clenching when he removed his fingers, just long enough to strip off his boxers and tank top, climbing back up and guiding the tip of his cock to your absolutely drenched core, letting you suck him in, inch by inch. The way he filled you had you immediately working up to your second peak, "Christ, honey, you're so wet. So. Fucking. Tight." He punctuated his words with the snap of his hips as your walls clenched around him again and again.

"Sannie-" You cried out in pleasure.

"I know, kitten, I'm right here with you." He purred. By the time you're worked up to your third release, he's cumming in perfect time with you, cock quivering as he pumped you full. "Oh my god, yes, fuck." He cried out. "You were made to take me, weren't you, baby? So fucking good for me." He praised you as he pulled out, collapsing beside you and dragging your limp body over to lay on his glistening chest.

"Sannie, that was... fuck." You couldn't form proper words, "Thank you."

"No need to thank me, jagi." He kissed your forehead, "The pleasure is all mine."

song mingi: He barely stirs as you roll on top of him, body aching, too early to do anything about it.

"Mmh, baby," Mingi’s morning voice is deep, raspy, one of his big hands pulls your leg up over his hips, the other tugging you closer to his chest.

You fall back asleep for a while. When you wake up, your head is a little more clear, and you realize you've bled through your underwear onto Mingi’s boxers. Heat flushes your cheeks in embarrassment and he stirs as he feels your body tense.

"'S wrong, jagi?" He rubs your back as his eyes blinked open slowly.

"Mingi, I'm so sorry, I-" you move your leg and he realizes what happened.

"C'mere." He pulls you back down into a slow kiss, apparently immune to your morning breath. You can't help but let out a moan as his hand finds your ass cheek, helping your hips grind into his thigh. "Yeah, you like that?" He all but growls into your ear as his hands work your stained underwear off, following with his own swiftly behind.

He rolls you over wordlessly, spooning you from behind, his already hard length in hand as you open your legs for him. He drags the head of his cock from your clit up to your soaked entrance, repeating it a few times until you're whining, grinding your ass back, begging to be taken.

"Oh, really?" He whispers, kissing down your shoulder, "You want me that bad, hm?"

"Please, Mingi, yes." You beg.

He holds his cock to your entrance, "Don't worry baby, I've got you." He pushes forward slowly, tip barely buried inside of you. "Go ahead, then." He instructs. You obey, working yourself down rather easily with the extra lubrication as you stretch over his large dick. You can tell he's watching himself disappear inside of you, his hair tickling your shoulder.

"Ah, fuck, jagi. You take me so well." He moans, beginning to lay long, lazy strokes. You knew when you first saw him dance on stage that his stroke game would be incredible, and you were pleased to find out how right you were when you started dating. It's only improved as he's gotten to know you better.

His hand reaches around to find your clit, fingers bumping into his shaft as he pleasures you, the perfect amount of pressure, circling and stroking. You were cramping so bad when you woke up but now your ab muscles had been given something real to focus on. You lean back, head falling to his broad shoulder as your whole body spasms in release. "Fuck yeah, just like that, baby." Mingi growls, his pace picking up as he works you through it, hips pumping harder and faster until he finally stills, and the feeling of his cock pumping you full of his seed is nearly enough to have you on the edge of coming again. All he has to do is play with your tender nipples and lay a few more strategic strokes and you're clenching around him again, breathless, whole body boneless, insides jellied.

You both caught your breath for a minute before Mingi spoke again. "Baby, I know we had plans for the farmers market today, but I'm sore from dance practice yesterday and I know you don't feel well. What if I make us some breakfast and start a load of laundry and then we can stay in all day and watch movies until I have to go to the studio tonight?"

You crane your neck around to kiss him, off-kilter from the odd angle, "That sounds perfect, baby."

"Mmh, good, I'm glad." He kissed you again, "Let me go grab you some Midol and start the shower, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you for being so sweet to me."

"Of course baby," He smiled as he extracted himself from your back, "I'm happy to. You always take care of me, it's the least I could do."

jung wooyoung: Hands on your waist startle you as you're washing dishes, audio book playing through your headphones concealing the noise of Wooyoung letting himself in.

“Ah!” You nearly drop the bowl in your hands, “Jesus! You scared the shit out of me!”

You feel yourself relax into his touch as he hooks his chin over your shoulder and moves one headphone off of your ear, “Baby, you're shouting.”

You huff as you place the bowl onto the drying rack, “Whose fault is that?”

He begins tickle you, “Not my fault!”

“Youngie!” You whine as you turn around in his arms, trying to evade his attacks, “Stop it!”

“Aw, grumpy,” his pout matches the one on your face.

You slap his chest playfully, “Hey, I have the right to be grumpy, my period just started.”

His expression turns sympathetic immediately, “Oh, jagi.” He kisses your forehead, “How can I help?”

You considered it for a second, “Well, I bought ingredients to make dinner but I really don't feel like cooking, so I was thinking about ordering in instead.”

“No way.” He grasped your face in his hands, “I'm gonna get you set up in the living room and then I'll get started cooking, okay?”

“Are you sure? You don't have-”

He cuts you off with a swift kiss, “No protesting. I'm happy to do it.”

You watch one episode of the show you've seen a thousand times, curled up on the living room couch, but as you see the preview for the next episode, you realize it's one you don't care much for, plus, the smell coming from the kitchen is calling your name. You turn off the TV and walk in right as Wooyoung is bending down to put the food in the oven to bake, making yourself right at home behind him on the island. He shuts the oven door and removes your light pink oven mitts- which look adorable on him - turning to spread your legs open so he can stand between them, arms caging you in as he presses his forehead to yours.

“Hi, beautiful.” You've always found his voice endearing, but it's especially so with the slight rasp it gets when he's jonesing for a you fix.

“Hi, handsome.” You barely get the words out before he's kissing you. Slow, deep movements from his mouth draw a moan from yours.

You can already feel heat pooling between your legs at his proximity and you pull back to ask, “Baby?”

“Yes, darling?” He smiles, eyes dark with desire, reveling in how he knows he drives you crazy.

“How much time do we have?”

“Twenty minutes,” His hand skims the waistband of your loose sleep shorts, sending shivers down your spine, “Plenty of time.”

You don't get a chance to reply before his fingers find their way inside your underwear, circling your throbbing bud slowly before dipping down to gather the slick that has gathered at your entrance, taking his time as he trails them back up, exploring your folds before resuming his ministrations at your clit.

Your hand finds his waist to hold onto for support, getting carried away with the sensations he's providing.

His thumb takes over for his fingers as they work their way south once again, circling your entrance before plunging them inside, curling them to hit your sweet spot.

“Wooyoung-” You gasp, your muscles already tensing at the magic he's working.

His lips tickle your earlobe as he whispers, “Shh, jagi, I've got you.”

Your head falls to his shoulder as his fingers set a pace, the sound of how wet you are at his touch only serving to double it.

You whimper as your walls start to clench around them and you can almost picture the smirk he's wearing, “That's it, pretty, just like that. Come on my fingers.” His words only intensify the sensation of pleasure as you clench around his fingers, panting as you call out his name.

He pulls his hand out when he's sure you've ridden out the waves, holding his slick fingers, streaked in some places with blood, in front of his face, devilish look on his face, eyebrow cocked.

“Wooyoung!” You scold him, “Don't you dare-”

But it's too late, he's popped his fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean, eyes rolling back in his head at the taste.

Beep-beep! Beep-beep! Beep-beep!

The timer goes off, interrupting you from further chastising him.

“What?” A smile takes over his face, “You taste good all the time, honey.”

You roll your eyes, but secretly find it cute.

He insists on feeding you bites of your dinner later, wiping the corners of your mouth with a napkin when you're finished.

Later, in the shower, you let him bend you over and hit it from behind, pulling out last second to finish, hot liquid landing on your back, your ass. He helps you wash your body to make up for it.

Once in bed, he kisses you all over, making you giggle and squirm before finally relenting and tugging you to his chest, stroking your hair as your breath evens out and you drift off to sleep.

choi jongho: You almost wonder if the man has logged into your period tracking app on his phone, uncanny in how he can pretty much always predict it. Eyes studying you a few days out as you tear up unexpectedly at a particularly sappy car commercial. You find your cabinets stocked with your favorite snacks the next day.

The next morning, you wake up bloated, cramping, and grumpy. As you head into the bathroom, you realize Jongho has re-stocked your pain killers and period supplies. You call him when you get back into bed.

He answers on the second ring, “Hi, princess, how are you feeling today?”

“I swear you're more accurate than my tracking app, you fortune teller.” You can't help but be amazed at his abilities.

He chuckles, “No, peach, I just pay attention.”

You smile at the cute pet names. He's always trying out new ones on you. You can hear traffic in the background, “You're the best. What are you up to?”

“I'm about five minutes from your apartment.” He answers.

“Choi Jongho!” You giggle, “How did I get so lucky?”

“I'm the lucky one, jagi. I'll see you soon.”

He's good to his word, chocolate and a teddy bear in his arms, backpack slung over one shoulder when you open the door to let him in.

“Baby!” You all but squeal, “You're too good to me.”

He puts his things down on the coffee table and pulls you into a big bear hug, “Anything for my perfect girl.”

You pull back and he traces your cheek with his thumb before leaning in to kiss you, his lips slow and careful, hands gentle as he pulls you close. Your tongue probes into his mouth and he allows it, a moan coming forward from somewhere deep in his chest. He detached his lips, “Do you want to go to your bedroom, sweetheart?”

“Yes, please.” You simper.

He scoops you up bridal style and carries you to your bed, placing you gingerly onto the bed, climbing on top of you, kissing you into the mattress.

“Baby,” You stop him as he reaches for the hem of your shirt.

“What's up?” He falls to the bed beside you, not wanting to crowd you.

“I'm probably going to sound crazy and too needy-”

“Hush, don't talk about my girlfriend like that. Tell me what you need, ma chérie.”

You giggle at his attempt at French, “I don't really want to like… have sex. Because I feel icky. But I still want to. You know.”

He smiles fondly at you, “Where's your vibrator, gorgeous?”

You blush, pointing to your bedside table drawer.

He is relentless with your favorite toy, talking you through multiple orgasms, leaving your legs jellied, panting and sweating.

“So good for me, darling. I love watching you come.” He praises you as he switches the vibrator off, placing it on the bed beside him, pulling your boneless body to his chest.

“Thank you for understanding,” you murmur into his chest, “Sorry I didn't feel like doing more.”

“You never need to apologize for something like that.” He kisses your forehead, “Promise I'm happy to do it anytime. Anything to help my baby feel good.”

The teddy bear he brought is the weighted kind you microwave to help alleviate cramps, which he fixes up for you before curling up with you on the couch, chocolate within reach. He turns on your favorite comfort movie without being asked, humming the score softly. The sound of his voice melts your heart. You feel yourself drift off to sleep before the movie ends, with Jongho’s strong, warm hands moving absentmindedly across any expanse of skin within his reach, heart feeling fuzzy with affection towards your sweet boyfriend.

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho #ateez soft hours #ateez period sex #period sex

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citrus-writing · 2 days ago

Note

Hello-hello

In your headcanons, Chrollo is very careful with reader, afraid to scare her away with some thoughtless actions or words. Especially when it comes to intimacy

But could something happen that would make Chrollo just take her by force?

Perhaps something made him very angry or upset, but that wasn’t fault of the reader herself?(He’s a leader of the Troupe after all…)

Will Chrollo blame himself the next day?

Spoilers for the yorknew and succession war arcs!

Warnings: nsfw, non-con

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

I imagine there are a few things that could upset Chrollo so deeply he acts impulsively, and when it comes to his darling, the impulse he’s constantly holding himself back from is taking them by force. Because he wants them so badly, and normally he has a great deal of self control, but when his grip on his emotions start to slip, so does his control over his more innate desires when it comes to you.

The deaths of his fellow troupe members hit him hard, harder than he’d like to admit, and as much as he tried to push the despair from his mind, it left him reeling. How someone could be there one moment and then gone the next- of course he’d always know this, but to lose so many so dear to him so fast has him desperate for something to ground him.

And of course, it’s you. You’re all that he needs, he knows this, he’s always known. Just to hold you close, smell the scent of your hair, feel your soft breath on his skin, listen to the soft beating of your heart. It’d be enough. It’d be more than enough.

Chrollo wraps his arms around you tight, pulling your back against him as you lay together in his bed. It’s not uncommon to lay like this together, but you can tell something is wrong. His breathing is a little off, and his heartbeat is pounding.

His hands trace little patterns on your skin, inching over your bare arms and across the fabric of your nightclothes. It’s not like him, to get so handsy with you. It’s so unlike him that you squirm a little, uncomfortable with the advances he’s making.

“Chrollo-” you whisper, unsure what’s gotten into him and scared of what it could mean.

“Forgive me, my love.” he whispers against the back of your neck, before pressing an open mouthed kiss against your skin.

He’s been holding back for so long, wanting you for what seems like an eternity but never able to have you. But tonight he can't resist you, whatever it is that draws him to you is too strong and he cant stop himself from indulging in you. Surely you’ll hate him for this, surely all the progress he’s made will be lost, but he needs you- more than he’s ever needed anything.

He pins you down beneath him, body caging yours against the bed, and before you can let out a noise of protest his lips are on yours. Gone is the way he normally kisses you; so soft, so sweet.

The way he normally gently caresses and touches you is gone, replaced with this new side of him, hungry and desperate.

It’s not that he’s rough with you- even now, he hates the idea of having to hurt you. But if you insist on making this difficult, he won't be able to hold back. But he’d much rather have you willing beneath him. Or, if not willing, then at the very least, not defiant.

He kisses you again and again, his tongue sliding into your mouth when you try to gasp. His body presses up against yours, hips moving against yours in a desperate attempt for friction. This is what he needs- all of you. And soon enough he can wait no longer; pulling at your clothes to free your body to the night air, delighting in the sight of you finally, finally, bare to him after all this time.

He knows he’ll hate himself tomorrow, he knows he’ll fall to his knees and beg you for forgiveness, plead for you to give him another chance. But with you beneath him like this, tomorrow seems so far away.

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

#hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #hxh #yandere #x reader #not sfw #smut #chrollo lucifer x reader #chrollo x reader #hxh chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo

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enjoythesilentworld · 2 days ago

Text

Love Will Tear Us Apart

part 1 | part 2

“No.”

“Simon—”

“No.” He sits up, sad eyes turned angry. “It’s not my fault. Why are you doing this?”

Wilhelm sits up, too, and tries again, “Simon—”

“It’s the Crown. Not you. Not me,” Simon spits. “Ten years. I’ve stayed ten years because I love you, you asshole. Ten years it’s been us, but I leave if I choose. You don’t get to tell me—”

His anger cuts off into a broken sob, and Wilhelm can’t stop himself from reaching out this time. His skin is so cold, shaking body pressed flush against Wilhelm’s. Ten years, his curls still smell the same, still feel the same when Wilhelm buries his face in them.

“I don’t know what to do,” Wilhelm whispers. “We can’t keep going on like this.”

Simon has gone silent again. Wilhelm’s mouth tastes like ash.

“I can’t do this to you any longer.”

Simon clings tighter. His voice is so small, a plea of, “Please.”

The word splinters through his heart, and he thinks he might be dying. All the pain, all the times he watched Simon give and give and give, losing himself in this life, Wilhelm withering away right alongside him, hits him all at once. The past ten years flash before him in fragments, losing color as he watches their love slowly spiral out into this, this thing, all the life sucked out of it. Before that, worries from his own childhood, of this lifeless future.

His worst nightmare, and he brought them here. Dug his claws in, bound Simon to this fate that should’ve been his alone.

All his life, only one fate offered. But, there is another, isn’t there? The other path had been too terrifying. But, what great unknown could possibly be worse than this?

“I’ll step down.”

Simon wrenches back.

Only ever a dream, a whisper of a possibility quickly stamped down by the weight of a thousand years of his blood. By a poisonous word. Legacy. What of his own legacy? Of Simon’s? Of theirs together?

“What?” He shakes his head. “Don’t do that for—”

Wilhelm grabs his face. “For me. For you. For us.”

“Wille…”

He runs his thumbs over Simon’s cheeks, wiping away the tears that are still falling. In his eyes, Wilhelm can see the battle, can see Simon fighting down the hope, not allowing himself to feel it yet.

“For us.”

Simon blinks. Then, he nods.

“For us.”

#and everyone cheered #yr ficlet #wilmon #yr fanfic

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atenea585 · 1 day ago

Note

23 with Dean plss!!! 🫦

Oh, I know what you are looking for and I will give it to you😏

Prompts: “Is there some space left in that bathtub?”

Tags/Warnings: 18+, smut, Dean being a menace, sex in the bathtub.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

You were sitting in the bathtub, eyes closed. Dean had gone on a hunt and this was your only way to relax and not think about his well-being. That's why you always said goodbye to him with a kiss and a hug, wishing him luck and asking him to return safely. You knew he was a professional and knew how to handle himself, but the fear was still there.

You were so deep in thought that you didn't hear Dean open the bathroom door. The first thing he had done when he arrived was look for you and when he didn't find you, he went to the room you both shared. He saw the closed bathroom door and the light peeking out from underneath and a mischievous smile spread across his face. He placed his bag at the foot of the bed before walking to the door.

Your body was so relaxed that your sixth sense failed when Dean approached.

“Enjoying your time alone?”

You jumped, opening your eyes in surprise. The water in the tub swayed, some falling to the bathroom floor. You put a hand to your chest, feeling your heart racing.

“God, Dean! Why do you have to be so quiet? You almost gave me cardiac arrest.”

Dean just laughed and raised both hands in peace.

“I'm sorry, honey, didn't mean to.”

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest, drawing Dean's gaze to that spot.

“So…” He looked over your body.

"So?"

They exchanged glances and he ran a hand over his mouth.

“Is there some space left in that bathtub?”

You smiled sideways and shrugged.

“I don't know, maybe.”

"Maybe?"

"Maybe..."

He nodded and placed his hands on his hips.

“Well… We better find out.” He said before taking off his shoes along with his socks.

You laughed as he stepped into the tub still dressed, standing in front of you as the water rippled back and forth.

"What are you doin’?"

He took off his shirt and lowered himself until he was close to your face, keeping his balance by gripping the edges of the tub.

“You look beautiful like this, doll.”

He closed the short distance and kissed you, his tongue immediately intertwining with yours. You didn't waste your time, not after having him away. You ran your hands over his hard chest and lowered them to his belt, taking it off before unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them and his boxers down as far as you could.

Seconds later, he was inside you, water spilling around you as you moaned. Your nails scratching his back as his cock hit the inside of your pussy again and again, rubbing against your walls wonderfully.

“You feel so good, doll.” He rested his forehead on yours as he watched your expressions.

“I missed you.” You muttered.

“I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.”

And as it all built you felt comforted beneath him, most of your body submerged in the water, your legs around his hips and his breath on your face.

You wished it would last forever.

Special Hundred Followers

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#fanfic #spn #supernatural #jensen ackles #jensen ackles smut #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester fic #dean winchester smut #dean x reader #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #jensen ackles characters #drabble

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little-jana · 2 days ago

Text

"In the Depths of Thoughts"

Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x f!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none

Words: 950

Summary: Reader forms a quiet, emotional connection with Spencer as they work together on a case.

It was an ordinary day in the office of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, yet everything felt different. The flickering screen in front of me, the quiet conversations of the other team members, the soft clicks of keyboards – all of it was background noise in a symphony of thoughts that only I seemed to hear. And my thoughts, they belonged only to him.

Spencer Reid.

He sat there, at his usual spot, which wasn’t just his corner of the office but the center of my universe. It was hard to explain why, but every time I looked at him, it felt like time slowed down. Like every moment I spent in his presence was more precious than the last.

I knew how he thought. I understood the way he immersed himself in his books, the way he used words to explain the world as though it were an endless puzzle only he could grasp in its depth. He was so brilliant, so unique – and so incredibly vulnerable.

Lately, I’d caught myself sneaking glances at him more than once. The way he talked to the others, how his hands moved when he developed a theory that seemed incomprehensible to most of us but was so natural to him. It was almost as if I could physically feel the flow of his thoughts moving through his body, as though his intelligence was a tangible presence.

“Have you gone through the new profile?” I suddenly heard his voice behind me. It was calm, almost too calm, as if he didn’t want to disturb me. I turned around and met his gaze. For a moment, I was frozen. It was as if his eyes were piercing right through me, as if he could read what I couldn’t bring myself to say.

“Yeah, I just finished it,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady and professional. But it was difficult when his gaze, that penetrating gaze, was so intense. The way he looked at me wasn’t uncomfortable. On the contrary, it was almost as if he was discovering me – me, not just as a colleague but as something much deeper. Something I couldn’t name, but that rose within me every time he was near.

“Good,” he said with a faint smile, which only amplified his shy charm. “If you want, we can go through it together. Maybe you’ll find something I missed.” It was the way he said it – calm, yet so inviting – that I couldn’t resist agreeing.

We sat together at a table, the screen between us, but in that moment, it felt as though everything else around us faded. Only he and I. I could feel the quiet presence of his nearness, the subtle shift in his body as he searched for his thoughts. It was almost as though we were engaged in a silent conversation – a conversation without words. Our eyes met again and again, and with each glance, something unspoken seemed to pass between us – an unspoken connection that I couldn’t explain but that was drawing me in more and more.

“You know,” he suddenly began, his voice quieter, “I admire how you always stay so calm. You have a way of interacting with people that I don’t have. I... I often don’t understand what goes on in people’s heads. But with you, you have such a calmness that I somehow... admire.” His words hit me like a soft blow to the stomach. I wasn’t sure if he realized what he had just said, but it felt like he was breaking down a wall – a wall that stood between us.

I could feel my heart racing as I looked into his eyes. “Spencer,” I whispered, “you’re… so much more than you think. You’re extraordinary. You see the world in a way no one else can. Your intelligence is... overwhelming. But it’s your empathy that really sets you apart. You understand people in a way that you might not even realize.” I paused, unsure if I should say more, but I couldn’t stop myself from continuing. “You’re not just the brilliant investigator who finds the answers. You’re someone who can delve into the deepest corners of the human mind without ever losing your humanity.”

For a moment, it was silent. The words I had spoken hung between us, floating like a delicate thread in the air. Then, slowly, almost from a distance, I felt his hand on mine. It was a careful, almost hesitant touch – but it was there. It was as if, in that moment, he allowed himself to be something more. More than just the brilliant, fact-driven agent. More than just the quiet man who never knew how to open up to others.

“I...,” he began, his voice faltering. “I don’t know how to explain it, but... sometimes I feel like I’m lost in a world of data. Like I only understand life through theories and formulas. But you... you’ve shown me that there’s more. That there are moments that can’t be captured by calculations.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I... I appreciate that more than you can imagine.”

His words hit me, and without hesitation, I squeezed his hand. “Spencer,” I said softly, “you’re not alone. Not in your world of numbers, of theories. I’m here. I’ll always be here to remind you that there’s more – more than just the facts.”

And in that moment, as time seemed to stand still, I knew there was something between us that went beyond words. Something we both understood, but never needed to speak aloud. A bond stronger than any calculation.

Part 2

#criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #mgg #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff

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crimsoncandy04 · 3 days ago

Note

The cucking scara is so hot, I'd like to see more😍😍😍

Wanderer had been at this stupid game of his for hours now and while his former self had suffered great humiliation from it, you felt like you were the one who actually got the short end of the stick.

Fucked, teased, overstimulated, used, etc. Wanderer had basically turned you into just another tool to punish Scaramouche for his sins.

And even now that you were sure an entire day had gone by, Wanderer was still nowhere close to finished it would seem.

Both you and Scaramouche had had your arms bound behind your backs in the most uncomfortable way as Wanderer kept a fist in either of your hair and held both of you in place on your knees.

You licked the base of his cock and trailed your tongue slowly up his shaft as Scaramouche swirled against Wanderer's soft pink tip with his. You'd tease at his balls while Scaramouche would take him ever so slightly between his lips and suck now and then too.

This has gone on for a while now. With both of you being forced to worship Wanderer's cock as if it were the most pristine phallus in existence and after everything else before this, you were now tired and a little angry.

Why did Wanderer have to drag you into this shit show?

Because he had once liked you a little when he himself was originally Scaramouche?

Apparently it meant nothing now if he was just going to keep abusing you like this to piss off his other self.

Suddenly Wanderer's sharp gaze met yours. A flicker of sympathy briefly crossed his eyes as he saw your exhausted and unhappy expression before he pushed it away and gave you a rather smug look.

"I always knew you'd look so beautiful like this Y/N. Face a wreck, kneeling before me." His fingers in your hair loosened a little as he pulled you to your feet suddenly and slid his arm down to your lower back. He urged you closer to him and before you could process what was happening, Wanderer had forced his lips against yours.

"You piece of shi-" Scaramouche briefly tried to protest before Wanderer shoved his entire length down his throat. Silencing him before he could say more.

Wanderer then began to move his hips a little as he fucked into Scara's mouth while kissing you.

His tongue teased your bottom lip, softly asking for permission to enter before gently pushing in and meeting yours in a passionate manner.

This was the nicest he had been to you since you were brought here by him. You didn't know why he was trying to suddenly get all lovey dovey with you but you didn't want it.

Wanderer could tell.

And he was NOT happy about it.

But it had been his fault after all. Hadn't it? He had been about to confront his former identity before suddenly getting this idea and summoning you there but did he ever stop and think about how this may have effected you?

Not really.

He had to change his focus.

Instead of punishing Scaramouche he would work on pleasuring you next.

That other useless version of him could wait for now.

Channeling the power of anemo Wanderer was able to send Scaramouche tumbling backwards in an instant with his cock slipping from his mouth with a wet popping sound as he hit the ground.

Next Wanderer used his vision to create small "rings " of a sort that whirled around Scaramouche's wrists and ankles at a speed that made them appear completely still as they held him in place on the floor.

Once Scaramouche was safely restrained Wanderer then began to lavish attention on you.

He continued to support your back as his other hand came up tangle itself in your hair again as he held you close.

You could feel his hardness against your exposed pussy that remained unclothed and still dripping from earlier torments as Wanderer slowly continued to make out with you there for a few minutes before sending you tumbling on your back too.

You landed with a small thud next to Scaramouche and tried for a second to sit up but Wanderer had speed that surpassed human beings and in the blink of an eye he was on you.

"Shh, relax Y/N. I want you to enjoy this part a little." He purred as he pulled your knees further apart and positioned himself between them.

Wanderer kisses you again. Moving down then as he left a small trail from your neck to your chest. Stopping as he got to your breasts and grasping one in the palm of his hand. He took the other in his mouth, gently sucking on the sensitive flesh of your nipple and causing you to cry out a little as his teeth nibbled softly in between careful licks.

"They're so sensitive Y/N. And big too. Almost like they were made for this. Made for me~" Wanderer teased as he continued to play with you. Scaramouche grunted a little beside you as he tried to avert his gaze but his excruciating erection underneath his clothes gave away his true desires.

Wanderer was being uncharacteristically nice and it bothered you.

What was he planning?

You could feel his cock at your entrance then.

You felt your body tense up.

Not again.

Wanderer just smirked at you.

"You should have known that I was going to do this Y/N."

He slid his cock into your tight cunt easily. You gasped softly.

"Don't act so surprised. You know you're the most important thing to me."

Wanderer begins to thrust into you. He starts slow until he finds your sweet spot. Then he begins to move a little faster. Hitting your g spot with reckless abandon as his words fell upon your ears like a forbidden truth.

"So in having you like this... maybe I'll finally be able to reach the deepest depths of my being..."

You moan loudly as Wanderer holds you close and continues to pound into you as Scaramouche looks on longingly from beside you. He looks like he's absolutely seething as a wet spot forms upon the fabric of his shorts. Yet Wanderer shows no mercy as he continues to fuck into your pussy while Scaramouche lays next to you both bitter and aroused.

"and finally get a message through to myself"

Wanderer held you in a tight embrace as he slammed into you. Keeping his eyes on Scaramouche who seemed to finally realize that it was pointless to protest at this point and silently waited for Wanderer to finish with you.

You would be fucked for most of the night. Your belly swollen ever so slightly after Wanderer finally gets bored from how much he would ejaculate into your womb as he forced Scaramouche to listen to it all unable to have you himself.

It was a twisted revenge.

A lustful act of self hatred that you were now the key in.

How long Wanderer would want to keep it going?

You were unsure.

Perhaps as long as it took him to finally forgive himself for everything he had destroyed in his existence.

#genshin impact #wanderer #smut #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #wanderer x female reader #wanderer smut #wanderer x reader #genshin wanderer #scara x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smut #scaramouche #scara

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misteria247 · 2 days ago

Text

It'd been a good day. For one moment, the day had been good. And now.....

'Breathe Northwest, you gotta breathe here!'

The thought hissed frantic in her head, but she ignored it. Instead, staring at the crimson color that was now staining her skinned knee and palms. The scent of copper overwhelming her to the point it where it made her head swim.

'Hands stained red, can't ever get it off, it never comes off.'

Pacifica felt her throat constrict as her breathing began to quicken. Chest tight and bound, her hands trembling as she just stared at all the blood. There was so much of it, too much of it. Always staining never going away, never coming off she just wants it off-

"Pacifica! Hey Pacifica, snap out of it! Please!"

A voice muffled cried out in the spiraling panic she was now falling into. Not completely registering who it belonged to. Instead trying to focus on trying to breathe and God she couldn't breathe please someone help-

"GRUNCLE STAN! GRUNCLE FORD! FIDDLEFORD! SOMEONE HELP SOMETHING'S WRONG WITH PACIFICA!"

The voice panicked and murky shouted out. The blonde barely processed it, instead wheezing and feeling sick. The sounds of footsteps rushing in, before another presence was by her. Warm, cautious hands gently taking her hurt ones. Pacifica let out a distressed sound only for a gruff soft voice to shush her quietly. Putting her at ease somewhat.

"Pumpkin I need you to go get the first aid kit from Poidexter or Fidds. Can you do that for me?"

The rough voice asked earning a noise of agreement before the source of it went rushing away. Pacifica trembled and again the voice spoke but this time at her.

"Hey, hey kid it's okay. You're gonna be okay. I need you to look at me."

It said, waiting for the girl to respond. After a bit of a struggle, the blonde finally looked away from her bloody hands, sucking in a harsh breath that made her head hurt, and chest give a funny stutter of sorts. Unseeing eyes made contact with a larger form that consisted of colors and shapes. But for some strange reason, they brought her comfort.

"That's it. You're doing great kid. Now, I need you to listen to me, follow my breathing. Don't focus on anything else. Now breathe in-"

The form said, taking in a deep breath to demonstrate. Paz tried to follow, her intake shuddering and making her nauseous.

"I-I can't-"

She started to say only for the comforting form to interrupt her, tone firm but tender.

"Yes you can sweetheart. Just focus on me, and take it easy. Now again."

After that, it was a bit of a blur for her. Hazy recollections of following the voice's breathing, hiccuping, and crying all the while until finally, the world began to refocus. Pacifica blinked, her surroundings finally making sense. The familiar back porch of the Mystery Shack greeted her, as well as the anxious form of Mabel and the concerned form of Ford. On the sofa sat an opened first aid kit, and it was then her knee and palms made themselves known by stinging dully. Confusion hit her as she realized that someone was gently rubbing her back. Eyes landing on the source, she was surprised to see none other than Mr. Mystery himself being the one doing it. Stanley noticed her gaze and seemed to relax a bit, offering her a cheeky smile.

"There she is, thought we lost there for a bit. How are you feeling? Can you stand up kid?"

Stan asked, seemingly indifferent. But his gaze held concern and understanding in them. As if he knew what kind of personal hell Paz had just gone through. The teen tried to speak but found she couldn't, her throat seemingly not working. Embarrassed, Paz shook her head no. Stanley didn't seem too surprised.

"Alright, up we go kid."

The older man said, picking her up unexpectedly. Paz immediately gripped his shirt, still shaken from earlier. Stan didn't comment on it, instead making his way up the old wooden stairs to join Mabel and Ford.

"Sweetie can you get the couch set up in the living room? I'm sure your pal is gonna need it."

Stan said, earning a hesitant nod from his niece. Mabel gave her friend one last worried look before heading inside. Pacifica didn't pay much attention, too exhausted from the events from earlier. Stan and Ford started to whisper amongst themselves, the two men seemingly discussing something before coming to an agreement. Ford held open the door for the two, and Stanley stepped inside into the kitchen. Where Fiddleford and Dipper were seated at the kitchen table, looking incredibly anxious and on edge. As soon as they noticed Pacifica, however, the tension they had seemed to fade away quickly. Dipper looked like he was about to start asking questions, but one look from Ford to Fiddleford made the two adults intervene. Taking Dipper into the living room with Mabel to set something up. Leaving Stan and Pacifica alone. A silence settled over them before the older man spoke up.

"I know you're probably embarrassed by what happened. But I'm just gonna tell you right now that no one cares about that. They care about whether you're okay or not. So don't think too much on it, alright?"

Pacifica took the words, processing them a bit. Before quietly nodding, not ready to talk yet. For Stanley, it was fine, he knew from experience how exhausting a panic attack could be, so he wasn't going to push it. Satisfied, he carried her out into the living room to join the others, where hopefully she could finally get some peace.

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kawacake · 2 days ago

Text

BACK TO BLACK

Masterlist

Paring: Yan!Chrollo x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Toxic (Chrollo), Drugging, Non-Con, Psychological Manipulation, Yandere Behavior (themes of possessiveness, stalking, unhealthy attachment.), Literally Chrollo

Listen to Back to Black by Amy Winehouse while reading

YAN!CHROLLO who stood in the dim lit hotel room as you told him goodbye for good but he wasn’t really surprised due to you being a married woman afraid that your husband might find out about your affair.

YAN!CHROLLO who kept tabs on you and your ‘Husband’ ever since the night at the hotel because he has gotten attached to you in a sick and twisted way.

YAN!CHROLLO who popped up at your door while your husband was ‘away’ to try and win you over but failed due to you threatening to call the cops and yelling at him for having the audacity to show up to your house without a warning.

YAN!CHROLLO who slowly started to ruin your life by making you and your husband lose your job, bills start to getting expensive, and nobody would hire you or your husband for some ‘unknown’ reason so you had no other choice but to run back to Chrollo for some kind of help.

You stood in front of Chrollo as he looked down at you with his pajamas on with an irritated expression on his face. “It’s two in the morning what could you possibly need?” He said rather harshly but that soon faded away as he noticed your tear stained face.

He invited you inside after seeing the tears that stained your precious face, “Sit.” He said pointing at his couch and you made your way over to the couch to take a seat as he made his way into the kitchen. Chrollo soon came back with a cup in hand and a blanket handing you the blanket first then the cup with tea.

“Tell me what’s wrong princess.” He says softly while you took a sip out of your tea but your eyes then starts to tear up again. “I’ve been going through so much I lost my job, me and my husband! Other jobs won’t even hire us and my landlord went up on rent so much that I can barely pay and I need help.” You said stumbling over some words.

You continued to ramble on about your struggles while Chrollo sat in front of you till you felt your mind started to get a little foggy and your muscles started to relax, but then everything hit you as your eyes went wide as you stared at Chrollo with betrayal in your eyes before everything went black.

Such a fool for believing someone like him would help you out of all people.

YAN!CHROLLO who watches you wake up from your nap asking if everything was okay because you all of a sudden blacked out on him but now your panties are gone along with the bra you had on before but you didn’t dare say anything about it when he handed you a stack of cash.

YAN!CHROLLO who randomly got text from you after you got the cash questioning him about your panties and bra that disappeared that night begging him to tell you what happened but he denied anything happening and said “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

YAN!CHROLLO who went back to his old stalking ways after you cut him off AGAIN after the incident that happened now he’s watching from afar how happy you look with your husband wishing it was him deep down.

YAN!CHROLLO who has already plotted a way to have you to himself but first he needed to get rid of that piece of shit you called a husband because the only man you need in your life is HIM

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brbsoulnomming · 2 hours ago

Text

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 6

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

-----

Steve keeps dropping his heart.

Somewhere buried deep inside him there's an edge of terror that he's going to damage it even worse - but it also makes a muffled schloop sound every time it hits the ground that is, objectively, the funniest sound he's heard all night.

Robin thinks so too, because she keeps giggling every time it happens - first these tiny little snorts, then somewhat hysterical giggles, then a full on bark of laughter, and then he's dropping it again because he's laughing, too, and she's so cute, how is he supposed to not be a little in love with her?

Dustin and Erica don't seem to find it that funny, though.

"Oh my God, Steve, put your heart in your chest!" Dustin hisses at him the next time they have to slow down to wait for him to scoop it back up.

The very idea sends a chill through him, and he makes a face at Dustin.

"No!" he retorts.

"No? Are you serious? It took me weeks to get you comfortable taking it out around me and now you want to wave it around? No, that's not what I - stop that," Dustin scolds him.

Which is rude, considering Dustin is the one who told him to wave it around in the first place.

But maybe he also has a point, because Steve's grip on his heart slips on a downward wave and this time he doesn't so much drop it as toss it, sending it skittering over the floor.

"Oops," Steve says.

Robin bursts into a sharp bray of laughter.

He loves her so much.

Dustin's gone chasing after his heart, and he flinches when the kid picks it up, expecting it to hurt, to feel wrong the way it had when -

But no.

It feels nice.

"Huh," Steve says, watching Dustin bring it back over.

"Why is it all wrapped up?" Erica asks, wrinkling her nose at it.

"So it doesn't explode," Steve replies, then giggles when Robin nods solemnly and mimes an explosion with her hands.

Dustin rolls his eyes, trying to shove it at him. "Put it away!"

Steve twists away. "Nooo," he protests. "I can't breathe."

Dustin's expression goes from frustrated to concerned so quickly it gives Steve whiplash. "Your ribs? Did they break something? Shit, Erica, can you-"

Erica's already at Steve's side, tugging up his uniform shirt and squinting at his ribs. "What am I supposed to be looking for?"

"Can't breathe with my heart inside," Steve clarifies, even though he's actually pretty sure he does have a broken rib or two. It doesn't hurt, so it's a way lower priority. "I hate it, it feels like it's trapped and hollow and alone."

Dustin and Erica look at each other. Steve doesn't think they look irritated, but he can't really tell.

"Steve," Dustin says softly. "Since when?"

"Since always," Steve replies.

There's silence in response, and he worries briefly that he's said the wrong thing. But then Dustin sighs and pops open his chest, nudging his own heart aside so he can drop Steve's next to it. He closes it up again before Steve's even managed to get a fully formed thought, let alone words, and -

His heart gives a little stutter, and it's weird to feel the emotion that causes it without feeling the corresponding pounding against his own chest.

Dustin apparently feels it, though, because he squints at Steve. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Steve returns.

“You felt something!” Dustin retorts.

“Wait, you can feel what I'm feeling?” Steve demands.

“Of course I can,” Dustin scoffs, like it should be obvious. “I have your heart, don't I?”

He looks over at Robin, to see if she knew that, too, but she's too busy snickering at something the light is doing in the fountain, and -

Oh.

Wow.

Okay, that's much better.

He feels so much better, and even when he's handed his heart again after he and Robin are deposited in the movie theater -

The feeling lingers.

—

In a too bright bathroom that smells like bleach and vomit, Robin holds out her hands for his heart.

“Let me see,” she insists, and Steve doesn't think twice about handing it over.

She might as well have just put her own heart in his hands, after what she just shared with him.

Still, he feels trepidation when she unwraps it, even more when she blanches at the sight of it. But -

“Hey,” Steve says, leaning in to look more closely at it. “It looks better.”

“Better?” she demands. “This is better?”

“I guess I should put it back in my chest if it makes it better,” he says reluctantly.

Robin frowns. “But it hasn't been in your chest. Just Dustin's.”

Wait.

That's right.

“I learned about this!” Steve snaps his fingers, trying to place it. “Science class. People survive things they shouldn't if they give away their hearts?”

Robin, bless her, either remembers it better or has figured out what he's trying to say. “Your heart heals better if someone's keeping it safe for you?”

There's barely a second before she's opening her own chest, taking out her heart and putting his in instead.

“Here,” she says, handing her heart to him almost carelessly. “Watch this for me.”

The moment it's settled in his chest, though, he can feel - how scared she is, how terrifying this all seems. The edges of it are still dulled by the drugs in both their systems, but it's there.

“I'm sorry,” he tells her quietly, guilt twisting from him to his heart in her chest.

“I'm not,” she replies, sharp and stubborn.

And the thing is -

She isn't.

—

The paramedics don't insist on keeping him.

Steve thinks they might, if they could hear his own heart, but it's Robin's heart beating strong and steady in his chest, so they assume that no matter how bad he looks, he must not be in any danger.

He doesn't know what his heart sounds like, but judging by the look on the guy checking over Robin - it's not good.

But she's physically unharmed, so they must assume it's more emotional damage than anything else. He and Robin are two halves, right now, but put them together and they make a somewhat stable whole.

God, he loves her.

She must pick up the echo of his love, because she looks up, meeting his gaze. Her smile is a little sad, and he feels a rush of affection so strong that it almost takes his breath away, even if it's a little bittersweet.

"It's not like that," he tells her, as soon as she and him can huddle together away from the paramedics.

She frowns at him, a clear prompt to continue.

"I don't know if I know how to love someone this much, if it's not like that," he admits. "But I'm learning. I'm going to learn."

For Robin, he'll learn how to love someone so much he doesn't want to know what life is like without them, in a way that isn't romantic at all.

—

Robin comes home with him that night, their hearts still in each other's chests.

Steve almost can't bear the thought of taking his back at this point, and what he can pick up from Robin tells him she feels the same way.

There's a blinking light on the answering machine, and when he presses play, he smiles a little at hearing Eddie's voice.

“Hey, Steve, it's, uh, Eddie. Know I haven't stopped by in a while, but I saw the news tonight about the mall, and - can you just let me know you're okay? Okay. Yeah, okay, bye.”

He sounds a little like he's trying not to panic, and Steve feels himself go soft and fond.

“...huh,” Robin says, clearly getting an echo of what he's feeling. “Steve?”

Steve shrugs, a little helpless. “I don't know,” he admits.

She considers for a moment. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he asks.

“You don't have to know,” she tells him.

“Okay,” he agrees.

He calls Eddie back while she showers, propped up against the bathroom door with the cordless phone in his hand.

“Hey,” Steve says when Eddie picks up. “It's Steve. Sorry, I know it's late.”

“No!” Eddie rushes to say. “No, it's okay, I was up. I saw - are you okay?”

“I've been better,” Steve admits. “There was some explosions, some rubble from the building collapsing. I've got cracked ribs and a concussion.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mutters. “If you could stop getting beat up, it would really give my heart a break.”

Steve grins a little. “You worried about me? Thought it was my job to look out for you.”

He can't see him, but he's pretty sure Eddie's rolling his eyes. “Yeah, and who looks out for you, huh, asshole?”

Steve hums. “It's good to hear your voice. I missed you.”

Eddie's quiet for a moment. Then, “Do you want - do you need someone to come keep an eye on you, make sure you wake up every hour?”

He kind of wishes Eddie'd finished what he started to say, because yeah, he does want him, but that's not the question Eddie ended up asking.

“Robin's here,” Steve says. “She was caught in it, too, but she didn't get too injured. She's going to stay over tonight.”

There's a moment of silence.

“Right, of course,” Eddie mutters.

“Can you come over tomorrow?” Steve finds himself asking without really thinking about it. Eddie's never been over - he's technically never hung out with Eddie outside of school or work - but shit, he wants it. “I think the drugs'll be out of my system by then, so I won't be too annoying. You can meet Robin.”

“You do know I've met her, right?”

Steve makes a tsk noise. “You've met Robin from band, just like she's met Eddie from the lunch tables. But you don't really know each other, not like I-”

He cuts off, because he's not really sure he has the right to say that. Does he really know either of them like that?

Whatever. If he doesn't, he wants to.

“You do better as part of a trio, huh?” Eddie asks quietly.

“Well, yeah,” Steve agrees. “But this is different, this is better.”

Eddie snorts. “Sure, you're not the third wheel anymore.”

“It's not that,” Steve protests. It feels important for him to get this right, though he's not sure why. “I don’t care about being a third wheel, it never bothered me. But Tommy and Carol… there were always conditions, with their friendship. The older we got, the more there were. And I love Nancy and Jonathan-”

His heart spasms. He can't feel it, but he feels the emotions, and Robin's heartbeat in his own chest kicks up. He mutes the phone, for a moment, knocks on the bathroom door. “I’m okay!” he calls through it, feels a wave of relief coming from her, and lets himself feel simple, uncomplicated affection.

“But things are complicated with them,” he continues after he unmutes the phone. “I think they always will be.”

“And what, I'm uncomplicated?” Eddie asks, but he sounds more amused than anything else.

“You're something,” Steve agrees, not bothering to try not to sound warm and fond.

Eddie blows out a puff of air. “I have band practice tomorrow,” he says. “But I'll call you sometime later, okay?”

No, that doesn't sound okay.

“Is this one of those things where you're not really asking me if it's okay, you're just saying it so it sounds better?” Steve asks. “What would you do if I said it wasn't okay? If I said I really wanted you to come over?”

Eddie's quiet again. “Do you want me to come over?”

“Yes,” Steve replies immediately, because he's had it saved up since Eddie didn't finish asking him it in the first place.

If his heart were in his own chest, he's pretty sure it would be thumping in anticipation.

“Not tonight,” Eddie says finally. “But I do want to be friends with you, okay? I'll call you.”

He hangs up after that, and Steve stares at the phone until Robin comes out of the bathroom and finds him like that.

She doesn't have to ask what happened - probably because she felt what happened - she just sits next to him a while.

-----

This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!

Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @thewickedkat @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy @missmagillicuddy @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @ollyxar @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @thedragonsaunt @makewavesandwar @cryptid-system @ajeff855 @mae-liz @the-fantastical-asexual @jettestar @warlordess @persnicketysquares @samsoble @my-love-of-books @mydysfunctionallife @dreamercec @holyangelstudentuniverse @breealtair @shunna @xtraordinarally

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie fic #robin buckley #platonic soulmates stobin #dustin henderson #erica sinclair #steve and dustin

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littlemissmentallyunstable · 2 days ago

Note

can i pretty pls request a fluffy nash oneshot 🙏🏻

one with banter somewhat similar to how he and libby talk 🙏🏻 (in the tiny moments we get of them 💔)

thank you so much for this request!! I know it was requested a while ago, so sorry it’s taken me this long. I gave it a go, but I don’t think I hit the nail right on the head with what you requested, sorry!!

title: comfort from a cowboy

pairing: nash hawthorne x reader

synopsis: you had a not-so-nice interview and nash comforts you

warnings:

a/n: for @kit4strophe 💖💖

taglist: @lovethornes @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @fleuriosa @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast

My head rests against the hard wall behind me and I’ve been sat on the floor for so long my bum has gone numb. But I can’t be bothered to get up and move, I don’t have enough energy.

I replay the interview - or should I call it an interrogation - that had happened just a few hours earlier. It’s been on a sort of loop in my brain for a while now. The same blood boiling questions over and over and over. I never want to go through that again.

I hear my door open which is odd because when it’s shut usual no one bothers me, they know better than to. I don’t open my eyes immediately. I play a little game with myself, a silent game - ‘who is at the door’. Jameson? Unlikely. Grayson? Almost a definite no. Alisa? Don’t see it happening. Xander? A possibility. Nash? I doubted it. Avery? Wouldn’t be surprised. Oren? Only if there’s an emergency. Libby? Most likely.

I open my eyes and to my surprise my guess is annoyingly wrong. Usually I’m quite good at guessing games but I supposed today was an exception. Maybe it’s because there’s so much on my mind.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, scrunching up my nose at the sight of a certain texan cowboy motorcyclist.

“Careful,” he warns, the corners of his lips turning up in the slightest way, as he saunters in and sits down beside me, “you almost look happy to see me.”

“What are you doing here?” I repeat, not really in the mood for his games or anyone’s games for that matter.

“Sitting beside you,” he replies simply.

I narrow my eyes and shoot him a look, “don’t be cryptic.”

“You asked,�� Nash shrugs, acting so laid back he was nearly horizontal.

“Why are you here?” I rephrase sharply, a tone he couldn’t ignore or twist or make light of.

“To make sure you’re alright,” he answers me earnestly, something in his deep hazel eyes that resembled concern.

“Well I’m fine, there we go,” I say shortly, “end of story, goodbye, the door is to your left.”

I close my eyes again and tilt my head back to rest on the wall, assuming he’d leave at my finalisation.

“I’m very aware of where the door is,” he drawls, “but that doesn’t mean I’m going to use it.”

I internally scream in frustration and then open my eyes to meet his.

“Look I’m not in the mood for socialising right now,” I explain, trying hard not to sound too angry and defensive otherwise me might keep prying.

Nash is understanding. If I told him this, maybe he’d understand a kindly leave me be.

“You don’t have to socialise with me,” he says calmly, the soothing quality of his voice making it almost impossible for me to be mad at him.

“Fine,” I snap, standing up and perching myself on the end of my bed.

I won’t socialise. He can sit there bored out of his mind for all I care, in fact I hope he does. I lay back on the bed my head hitting the mattress with a soft thud. I want to sleep and rid myself of being such a prisoner to my own thoughts but for some reason I can’t bring myself to. And I know that reason is called Nash Hawthorne.

“Say something,” I groan sitting up.

If we have the conversation he so clearly wants, then he would leave, then I could sleep. Simple.

“What?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Just say something,” I exasperate, “the silence is killing me.”

A small smirk plays on his lips, “what happened to no socialising?”

“Just shut up and stay something,” I nearly yell.

“That phrase is one confusing oxymoron,” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“You’re a moron,” I reply, snarkily.

He laughs at me. It was a real laugh, not a pity one. His eyes are lit up and the smile fills his face. It is a pretty laugh, I think that’s what annoys me the most. I liked it.

“Tell me something,” I press on, “anything.”

He pauses for a minute. And then another. And then another. Until the pause is so long I wonder if he’s going to talk at all. Slowly he makes his way beside me again and looks deep into my eyes like he can read them.

“You don’t like all this,” he begins, “you didn’t ask for it, you wish you could go back to your old life but feel selfish and guilty to wish that because people would die to be in your situation.”

I try not to betray my shock but I’m awful at hiding my thoughts and feelings. My face probably says it all. Part of me is angry. He shouldn’t know this. I shouldn’t be this easy to read. It’s not fair. The other part is touched that someone care this much.

I fold my arms protectively across my chest and raise my eyebrows, “and who are you to tell me that?”

“An observer,” he says, almost gently.

“Stop observing me,” I tell him, “I’m not a project.”

“Oh I would never dream of considering you a project,” he replies, his voice deep in the back of his throat.

I move in closer, pinning him with an accusing look, “then what do you consider me?”

“Hold your horses, darlin’, I’m asking the questions here,” Nash grins, something about the way the light sparkles in his eyes gets under my skin.

“Says who? And don’t call me darling,” I tell him bluntly.

“Says me,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

He doesn’t add a darlin’ on the end and part of me respects him for that. If I’d been talking to anyone else they probably would’ve tried to piss me off even more. But Nash isn’t like that, he never has been.

“Well I don’t care what you have to say,” I quip.

“I never asked you to care,” he replies, his voice reminding me of a waveless sea.

I glance at him and find his eyes are already on me, I exhale slowly and ask him one more time, “why are you here?”

“To make sure you’re okay,” he answers in an instant. No double meanings, no puzzles, no avoidance, just a straight answer. But it takes me by surprise just as much.

I try to cover my true feelings, “why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“I saw it,” Nash tells me softly, apology decadently laced through his eyes.

He was referring to the interview of course. I didn’t know he watched mine like I watched his.

“I told you not to watch,” I scowl.

“I’m not very good at listening,” he shrugs.

“Clearly,” I roll my eyes, playing with the fabric of my jumper sleeve to avoid looking at him.

“So are you okay?” he asks, again his voice stole that gentle tone that made my heart melt into mush.

“I’m fine,” I reply, keeping my tone cold and hard.

Of course I’m not fine. I am anything but fine. But saying you’re fine is so much easier than talking through the hard parts, the truth. And sometimes if you pretend it’s fine for long enough you can trick yourself into believing it too.

“I know what happened,” he reminds me with a tenderness that made my limbs ache to curl against his body.

“And I’m fine,” I say sharply, still in denial, still trying to be too stubborn for my own good.

“Well now you’ve told me twice it makes it all the more real,” he barks out a laugh.

I roll my eyes.

“Why do you care so much anyway,” I scoff.

“You’re important.”

The answer is lightning fast, almost like a reaction. It doesn’t have to be thought about, pondered or even considered. It’s just engraved into his brain as the thing that feels more natural, the most ‘right’ to reply with.

“What?”

“You’re important and I care that you’re okay,” he says.

I don’t know what mix of emotions hit my chest, I just know they hit with an impact that knocks all the air out of my lungs. He cares. I’m important to him. He wants to know I’m okay.

“What are you hiding under that cowboy hat?”

He almost chokes on his own spit in surprise. Then gain composure and leans back, raising an eyebrow, “you’re changing the subject?”

“Answer my question,” I demand, narrowing my eyes.

“What do you mean what am I hiding under my cowboy hat?” he muses with a sweet small smile.

“Well you have it on 24/7,” I explain, “so I presume you’re hiding something.”

“Just because something is covered up doesn’t mean it’s hiding something,” he says ,”and it goes both ways, just because something looks normal doesn’t mean it’s not hiding something.”

I have a feeling he’s not talking about cowboy hats anymore.

“I did what I had to do,” I reply.

“Stayed silent?” he asked.

“It was better,” I press on.

A flicker of rage flashes through his face, “people don’t get to talk to you like that.”

“I know,” I yell back.

“Then why did you let them,” he asks me, annoying not raising his voice to escalate the situation.

I fancy a good yelling match in this moment with all the anger built up inside of me, he can see that and he isn’t giving in. I can’t tell if I like him more for doing that or not.

“Not every battle is worth fighting,” I snap back, “you should know that better than anyone.”

“I do,” he replies, almost cautiously, “but some are.”

“If people see you’ll fight everything you throw at them they will use that against you,” I tell him, “if you act unbothered in the first place you can surprise them one day and fight back.”

“You’re a tactical thinker,” Nash comments.

“Who cares what I am?” I reply.

His voice softens with every feature of his face, “I care.”

And there it is again. That mix of emotions with impact just hurling towards my chest. I never know what to say, it steals all my words before I get to say them. So silence consumes us, as if we’re two eskimos dead in the snow, the frostbite gnawing at our frozen bodies.

“You don’t have to act tough in front of me darlin, I can see right through you,” he murmurs, so softly I wonder why I didn’t just melt on the spot.

“Don’t call me darling,” I snap, avoiding his eyes.

I’m worried if I look into them I’ll tell him everything. And I can’t risk pouring everything out, not when I’ve hidden it so well for this long.

“I’m here,” he says desperately.

I feel as his hand clasps around mine, giving it two squeezes. Reassurance. My heart pounds in my chest. I want to tell him, I want to be free of my problems, I want someone to help me. But I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.

“I know,” I pause for a long while and he lets me, “it’s just hard.”

My voice cracks at the last word. After being so steady for so long it was bound to happen at some point.

“I know,” he says delicately, “believe me, I know.”

I let one tear slip down my cheek but as it rolls down, for my dignity he pretends not to notice. Always a gentleman.!

“I hate people,” I whisper, “they really suck.”

It was all I could manage without completely breaking down.

“I hate people too,” he agrees. I let him put an arm around me and I hesitantly lean into his chest.

I make a strangled laughing sound, “we should start a club.”

He sighs and quietly asks, “do you want to leave this place?”

“No,” I hesitate slightly, “and yes, but I’m not going to.”

“Is that what you really want?” Nash asks earnestly, a kind look in his eyes that is rare to find in any human being.

“Yeah, for now,” I nod.

“Good,” he says, “I’m glad you’re staying.”

“You’d miss me if I was gone?” I look up to him and raise my eyebrows.

“Of course,” he replies, “you’re one of us, your family now.”

I smile, my cheeks warming up to tint a rosy colour. I sniff as I let him wipe my final tear away with the soft pad of him thumb. There’s a moment that we lock eyes and neither of us dare look away. We both are very still. It’s like time isn’t moving.

When his thumb finally leaves my cheek all I can think about is how I want his touch there again. It’s like I need it now. Like how a drug addict craves a needle in their arm. The absence of that feeling of his skin on mine is horrible.

“Besides who will I have to call me a moron if you go away,” he jokes, tilting his cowboy hat towards me.

“You are pure cheek Nash Hawthorne,” I poke my tongue out.

“I’ve heard that one before in many different contexts,” he smirks with a wink.

Who knew Nash Hawthorne looked so good when he winked?

I gape in shock, “who knew you could make crude jokes!?”

“I may be the eldest and most responsible but who do you think taught everything to Jamie?” he asks.

“I’d never thought of that before,” I reply.

He shrugs in a very Nash kind of way, “welcome to the inner workings of being a Hawthorne.”

“Should I be flattered to be so privy to such important information?” I grin batting my eyelashes at him.

He moves in, “that depends on how much you value it.”

Our faces are inches apart. I feel something in my chest. Aside from my heart racing, there’s a feeling deep within my heart. It’s warm and tingly and tender. It’s sweet but bitter at the same time, and yet I still crave it.

“Let’s make a deal,” he whispers, our noses so close they could be touching.

“Is this a Hawthorne kind of deal?” I question in a murmur.

“Well what other kind of deal would it be,” Nash says, pulling back a little disappointing me slightly.

Still, I raise an eyebrow and cock my head to the side telling him to continue

“You don’t put up your wall anymore and you talk to me about your problems,” he proposes.

“A deal has two sides Hawthorne,” I remind him.

“Indeed it does,” he nods, “so name your price.”

“You learn when to shut up,” I say.

“What?”

“When I say I’m not in the mood for socialising understand it and move on,” I reply.

I wouldn’t be having the conversation if he’d just left me alone to start with. Not that I’m complaining, this conversation is rapidly becoming my favourite yet, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Deal.”

We take each others hands and with a firm shake the deal is bound.

“Starts today,” Nash adds, “now.”

“Perfect,” I smile mischievously, “then I think you should stop talking.”

“See I don’t think I-“

“Shhhh,” I shush him.

“But-“

“Shut up.”

“Mouth is shut!” he exclaims trying not to laugh.

“Forever?” I challenge.

“Can’t keep me quiet for that long darlin’,” he drawls.

“I can try,” I reply.

“You’re setting yourself up for failure,” he sing songs.

I put my finger on his lips and this time physically he can’t suppress him smile.

“How does failure taste?” I murmur.

“Like something you’ll enjoy,” he counters, talking against my fingertips. I can’t help but grin.

“Wanna get out of here for a bit, get some fresh air?” he asks me.

“Do I,” I sigh, dropping my hand from his mouth, relieved he finally asked

“Come on darlin’,” Nash says.

I don’t tell him not to call me darling. In fact it’s growing on me. He holds my hands, they’re warm against my cold palms and gently pulls me off of the bed.

“Where are we going?” I stand up, tilting my head to the side in question.

He flashes me a grin, “how do you feel about motorcycle rides?”

I did my research girl 🤭🤭 a little reread of tig never hurt anyone and the libby/nash content is too cute!! I feel like I didn’t really capture the right kind of banter because it was more sensitive so maybe I’ll do another one with more banter, so sorry about that xx hope you enjoyed anywaysss and thanks for your request

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