#like... if you were going to kill him....
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Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D
âActuallyâ says Swerve âI'm an alien.â
âHehâ giggles Blurr âsorry, my head is all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.â
Part one
Holy shit I actually managed to finish itâŚ..Oh. My god.
Under the cut⤾ď¸
Is it stupid to miss someone who doesn't even exist?
Probably yes, but hey, Swerve already has several degrees, might as well get another one. A degree in Stupidity or something. Who cares?
For the first few days after waking up from his coma, he feels like he's going crazy. Everybody has realistic dreams, right? The ones where you can scrutinize every angle, memorize every face and smell and sound. The ones that make you lie still for a while after waking up, grasping at every thing you can. Trying to memorize everyone you meet, imprint them in your head.
Because apart from your mind, they don't exist anywhere else. So that's your only way to keep them.
It never works. Obviously. Details slip away. Impressions fade. Just a couple days, and you won't be able to recall anything but the main events from memory.
Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.
His life is a weird, pathetic, fantastical circus. Earth term. Heh. There are no circuses on Cybertron, haha!
But Swerve remembers. And the word circus, and the smell of asphalt, and rains that were made of water not acid. Remembers the English language. Can speak it fluently, even if you wake him up in the middle of the night.
Remembers his work schedule and remembers which company makes the best details. And Tailgate with his bright blue uniform and Wheeljack with his endless experiments and Swindle with his expensive coat and of course...yeah, no, don't think of Blurr, don't think of Blurr, don't. Don't.
He'd heard about it. Read about it, too. Mechs waking up from comas and doing wild things. Some forgot how to speak at all, some gained a new skill, some lived a whole life while they slept.
Articles tell Swerve, don't worry, what you've experienced isn't unique. The doctor tells Swerve that the same thing has happened to others before you, it will be okay, it will pass.
Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.
He's been in a coma for who knows how long. The medic said it was caused by an internal trauma that decided to suddenly get worse. One minute he's recharging , the next he's gone. Internal injuries are insidious.
So it turns out. One day he just disappeared from the world because he was busy slowly dying in his room and no one noticed until a thief tried to sneak in. The only one who came to him was a Mech who wanted to steal his stuff. Huh.
That feels revolting. Swerve liked to think he had enough friends. Or at least enough good connections. Enough those who should have noticed his absence, right?
Apparently not. His shifts at work were reassigned, his contacts never texted him first, his...
His small persona wasn't important enough for anyone to notice his disappearance.
Would his human coworkers notice? Would Tailgate have noticed? Or Jazz? Swindle?
Jazz would have noticed, he was always surprisingly attentive when it came to his friends. And he was friends with just about everybody.
Swindle would probably get upset about the money he'd lost.
It's amazing how much his brain-- wait, no, his processor. How much his processor could create to entertain him. It's a more elaborate world than the most complex series Swerve has ever known. And that scrap had forty-six seasons and fifteen encyclopedias!
People, Earth, a bunch of new languages and rules and all for the sake of the end being like, OOPS! ...it was all a dream. Hilarious. Worst plot twist ever. Swerve hates it when stories go in this direction even more than when they kill off their characters.
In his humble opinion, death is better than the revelation that none of the experiences made sense or had any value. In terms of writing scripts obviously. Haha.
He's busy roaming haphazardly through his own memory. He's looking, comparing, trying to find inconsistencies or things that don't make sense. All the stuff that usually gives away the fact that what happened was a dream.
Most of his memories are occupied by--No. Frag.
Don't think about Blurr, don't think about Blurr, don't think..
He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.
Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.
In the time he spent just looking at him, you could hand-build an entire Mech. Maybe even three. Swerve remembers picking up every bit of merch he could reach with his paycheck. Watching hundreds of videos and buying every new themed drink even if it was a flavor he didn't like.
Then spent a surprising amount of time resenting Blurr for not living up to his fantasies.
Blurr's behavior hadn't helped either, of course, but now, looking back at the past himself Swerve thinks that.. Oh wow. You weren't just annoyed at him. You blamed him for ruining your beautiful fantasy. You were having so much fun entertaining yourself with thoughts of this marvelous image, and he came along and corrupted it. Poisoned the well you drank joy from.
But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.
Blurr was more complicated than that. But exactly how, he'll never know. All he has are his memories, and those memories are cut short at the most interesting point.
Swerve knows this plot twist. The asshole character that no one loves at the last second turns out to not be what everyone thought, but it's too late.
Oh no, he's not an evil jerk, he's actually traumatized. Oh no, he wasn't bad, he was actually secretly helping everyone. You thought he was awful? Well now you're going to feel awful reading fanfics.
Serevus Spayne didn't actually betray the main character's dad, no no, he was in love with him! Bam. Drama.
Swerve isn't a big fan of this stuff. He likes his characters developed properly. But he can't deny the appeal of a character leaving behind a bunch of questions you thought you knew the answer to.
Uggh.
The doctor was wrong. These thoughts don't go away. These memories don't dull.
Swerve just boils in them, constantly getting stuck in his own head. Sometimes he puts English words into his speech and everyone looks at him strangely. Sometimes he reflexively says some inside joke and no one gets it and he's left standing there with an awkward smile. Because. Guys, you don't understand, if my coworkers were here they'd think it's hilarious. I promise, in my fantasy world, it's funny.
When he gets a job on one of the Autobot ships, he accepts it thinking it might be a good distraction from his thoughts.
When he happens to see Prowl with a tiny human on his shoulder in the corridor of that ship, he thinks he's lost his mind.
The whole thing. The whole load-bearing structure on which his picture of the world has been held suddenly gives a lurch. Living your life in a super realistic dream is wild, but meeting a character from your dream in real life??
Freaking cursed.
Jazz looks puzzled by his reaction, but all Swerve can think about are two things.
One, if Jazz is here, does that mean everything else was real, too???
Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.
It never occurred to him. But he didn't really know what size humans were. Well, sure, he could measure it in numbers. But he was among humans himself. And about the same size. He was generally even shorter than most of them.
If Jazz is so small, he can't imagine how tiny Tailgate would be. Or--
He can feel his spark freeze. In fact, he can almost hear the sound of a string breaking in his processor. Does that mean Blurr is real too? Real and just as tiny and currently dead? Because Swerve was there but was too convinced it was all just a dream to help?
He's going to get sick.
He needs to talk to Jazz right now.
____________
Swerve taps his fingers nervously on the countertop. Come on. You're good at talking. Talking is your greatest skill. All you have to do is tell someone else about your comatose hallucinations and hope they don't think you're crazy.
They're sitting at a table at the bar. More specifically Swerve and Prowl are sitting at the table, and Jazz is sitting right on the table. (God he's so small).
âSo uh. I got injured a while back and...uh...well, it got worse, turned out important systems were affected and I kind of. I was in a coma. For a really long time.â
Jazz frowns
âOh. Iâm sorry to hear that.â
He speaks in a mildly wonky Common, Swerve notes to himself. He waves his servo a little too cheerfully in response.
â'Ay it's no big deal really. I saw a whole other world while I was asleep and like. See, I thought it was just my fantasies, but it seemed very real and...â
Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.
âAnd it was about this planet called Earth and about people who were building their own inanimate huge robots to fight huge aliens and their boss wanted to launch Mechs into space, so he picked the best of the pilots named Jazz and sent him on this test mission and...â
Jazz looks at him with huge eyes before switching to English in surprise.
âMech, what the hell?â
â...And we lost him...â finishes Swerve with a sad smile.
Before thinking for a bit, and adding.
âI'm going to show you a trick I can do.â
And then projects his holoform onto the table in front of him.
This. It's weird. Not in a way that would tilt it in the direction of unnatural. More like walking around in his comfy indoor pajamas right in the middle of the street. Being human is familiar to him, but being human amongst huge Cybertronians? Strange. And a little creepy.
Prowl looks confused.
Jazz looks absolutely frantic.
âSWERVE????â
Swerve doesn't even manage to respond, only to smile in relief before Jazz rakes him into his arms. In his holoform, Jazz feels right again. He's taller than Swerve and oh boy, he's alive and unharmed. To think everyone thought he was dead, staying up nights trying to find what was left of him, and he was on the other side of the universe the whole time?
Swerve chuckles into Jazz's shoulder. Then picks him up and spins him around a couple times just because he needs something to get his energy out. Man, it's nice to hug people. Warm and soft, eight out of ten.
Jazz pulls away but still stays standing very close. Swerve can literally see the happy stars in his eyes.
âDude, I'm not complaining but what...how???? You just kinda..."
Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.
âI still speak English, you don't have to torture yourself with Common.â
âOh thank fuck.â Jazz throws his hands up dramatically ���you're my favorite person right now.â
There is a polite click of the vocalizer resetting above their heads.
âIâ Prowl says âvery glad you two are happy but I'd like some explanationâ
Swerve presses his head into his shoulders guiltily. Prowl has the unique ability to always sound like you've done something wrong in front of him.
Although Jazz doesn't seem to feel the same way?
âShort version - I sleepwalked my holoform to another planet.â
He pauses dramatically.
âThe long version is...â
Jazz raises his hand
âWhat's a holoform?â
Swerve sighs.
âIt's a holographic avatar that I can project using a holomatter generator. Sort of like a remote controlled game character.â
Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl
âHave you been able to do that all this time too?â
Prowl hums
âI can create an avatar, but it takes a lot of practice to make it at least believable. And to fully perceive the world through it takes even more. It's a whole new technology. What Swerve does is essentially an art form. Sophisticated and impressively detailed may I add.â
Swerve shrugs shyly. He's still using the holoform to stand on the table next to Jazz. Looking up to speak to Prowl isn't exactly comfortable, but Jazz definitely looks like he's been missing the human presence. Swerve isn't human, but he might as well be.
âThank you. Yes! Uh. Anyway, it seems while I was in a coma my processor projected my avatar onto Earth and I...let's just say I lived there for a while.â
Jazz laughs
âDude. So you're telling me you were basically sleepwalking the whole time?â
â I was.â
Prowl frowns.
âBut the range limit of the holomatter generator is only four hundred miles...â
â.... I had a lot of practice...â
Jazz claps his hands.
âYou learned a whole other language! Got an ID!. You had a job!!!â
âI got carried away,â Swerve admits.
Jazz scratches the back of his head, still looking very amused
âHow many degrees did you get? Haha wait no, I have a better question, did you pass your driver's license?â
âTwo. And I failed my driver's exam.â
âDude you are literally a car without a driver's license!â collapses Jazz on the table with laughter.
Swerve blows the hair out of his face
âSays you who retook the physical several times. You couldn't pass the "being human" exam.â
Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.
âDon't worry, that's him getting excited. So...where have I been...â
Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets
â...Do either of you two know where Earth is?â
Prowl twitches his door wings
âNo. Since Jazz was teleported we don't have much clues.â
Swerve grimaces. Scrap. Of course nothing's going to be that easy. He's also been, like,....teleported.
He stands there for a couple minutes and just feels fifteen different emotions rise up in his head at once. A crooked, unsteady smile creeps across his face.
He's thinking.
Oh hell, yeah! I knew it wasn't a dream!
Then he remembers the mess he left behind.
Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.
Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.
âSwer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?â
âAh frag..â Swerve says weakly âit wasn't a dream.â
Jazz looks...puzzled.
âIs that bad?â
Swerve remembers his friends. Remembers the Mecha program. Remembers fire and smoke and screams and rumbling and crackling flames. Ashes flying through the air and the smell of burnt wires. He remembers blood and debris and...
âIt's...complicated.â
This wasn't just a stupid plot twist he'd dreamed up because he'd watched too many shows. This wasn't a hallucination or a disembodied fantasy that just happened to linger in his head. This was real. His friends exist out there somewhere. His work and his collections and his little apartment...
And Blurr. Was real. Or still is? Swerve doesn't know. Blurr wasn't a product of his imagination. He was real and what he did was real and Swerve left him there alone, bleeding and trapped in rubble and tiny and...
Hahahahah oh fUCK.
He doesn't like this plot. It's too much. Too much to handle, too complicated, too ambiguous.
It's also probably too late.
But he can't leave it like this, right? Blurr went into the damn burning building just because of the possibility that there might be someone alive in there.
And Swerve doesn't even have to go through the flames. He has to look. He has to try at least.
Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face
â That expression you have...â
Swerve puts the smile back on his face.
âI need to get to Earth.â
___________________
Swerve is not an idiot.
Or maybe more accurately an idiot, but with several degrees.
He's well aware that finding Earth in space with only a description of it is impossible. Which leaves him with two options.
Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.
The first sounds like death. The second like coma. Swerve has exquisite enough taste to know which is better.
He just needs to do some preliminary reserch.....
Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.
âYou're not going to die suddenly and for no reason, are you?â
Swerve laughs.
âPfffff what, no of course not, would I kill myself hah. No no, look I'll just put myself in stasis for a bit. Send myself to Earth. And try to figure out where it is from there. Get the coordinates. If I'm lucky, I can see what Space Bridge the local Quintessons use. All you'll have to do is wake me up after a while.â
âIt's not harmful?â
Swerve makes an uncertain gesture with his hand...servo.
âIf I have enough fuel. And an additional connection to an external generator.â
Jazz tilts his head
â Why are you so eager to get to Earth? Don't get me wrong, I miss it too and want to go back, but.â
Swerve bites his knuckles.
â I have some unfinished business?â
âPshhhh you sound like a ghost.â
Swerve only laughs in response.
_______________
Concentration is tricky.
Swerve tries to think about Earth. And not to think about the fact that he doesn't know where it is. If he's already been there once, he might as well go there again yes? In theory? Perhaps?
Except for the possibility that his sleepwalking just takes him to random planets. That would be very inconvenient. It would be a whole new level of lost
Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.
What's he even gonna do when he gets there? How far away is it? Swerve is very talented with his holomatter generator, but if it's really far away... maybe he should reset some settings.
He mentally starts going through his options. Does he need tangibility? Probably not. Come to think of it, it would only make him more vulnerable and take a lot of energy. Yeah, the tangibility has to go. What else? Touch, too. Sight and hearing should stay, that's not even a question, but colors and textures are not really necessary.
The amount of detail and picture quality can be reduced as well. His holoform will become colorless and grainy and will probably ripple with static, but he'll survive it.
After he finishes making changes to his holoform he thinks about his old stuff left in his house. Then about the posters. Then reminds himself that he needs to focus on the goal or he'll never find Blurr and...oh FUCK his phone! Where was his phone when he disappeared? Was it found?? There were so many personal things on that phone, he's hoping the phone was burned under the rubble. Either that or the arriving investigators will find his browser history and he'll go into another coma from pure embarrassment.
He blinks dazedly when he realizes he has loads of rocks in front of his eyes. Oh..Did he screw up? Did he end up on the wrong planet? Is it a cave or--
Then he notices the odd shape of the ârocksâ and. Oh, no. It's not a cave. It's charred concrete debris.
This is the place where he was last.
He hastily looks around. Anxiety creeps up the back of his neck, makes him feel like something slippery and cold is crawling over his skin. There is nothing but ruins all around.
Blurr is not here. The place where his Mech was lying is empty.
Which means he was at least found and dragged out. Dead or alive.
Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.
All right.
He's got things to do.
_______________
He's trying to stay out of sight. Which isn't hard, considering he's just a hologram. At first, he just sneaks around in the quiet areas. Then proceeds to do a facepalm and start teleporting. Think, Swerve. Did you read all those comic books for nothing? Superheroes who couldn't really use their superpowers creatively always annoyed him. And he does, in fact, have a superpower. Gotta get creative, right?
He stops and looks at himself again. His holoform is going static and is a dull white color. He thinks for a bit, and then shrinks himself. Thinks some more, and makes himself almost transparent. There's no way he could pass as a normal human right now, so he'd better just do his best to avoid being seen by anyone.
He looks around thoughtfully. Hmm. Even if he's going to be absolutely tiny, he needs to make sure no one sees him, otherwise the whole base will think the Quintessons are now spying on them through holograms or something.
Breaking the rules feels...it's exciting.
All his ..human life here he hadn't thought about it, but if he threw away the rules he was used to about what people could or couldn't do...
He looks up in a sudden rush of sly genius. All people look under their feet when they walk, but how many look up? And how many of them notice the barely visible tiny holoform hiding just behind the blinding lamps?
The answer is probably none.
Swerve projects himself onto the ceiling and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for his impressive intellectual accomplishments. A creativity degree should definitely be a thing.
A degree in spying on the Quintessons' ships wouldn't hurt him either.
Fortunately sneaking onto their ship turns out not to be that difficult. Swerve makes himself absurdly tiny and hides in the darkest corners that no one would ever think to look into. Why hasn't anyone thought of using holoforms for spying before? Could he be the first to think of it? He doesn't know, but he mentally decides to patent the idea.
Finding the Space Bridge is surprisingly easy. The local Quintesson fleet is clearly used to being the dominant force in space. And that's generally logical. Even if humanity collects a mountain of money from somewhere to throw a dozen Mechs into space - there will be thousands of monsters waiting for them. In such a situation, you don't have to hide, the guards are enough.
Well done, well done, don't hide, Swerve thinks, copying the coordinates and address of the space bridge to himself. You have absolutely nothing to fear here, he thinks, so stay where you are and don't move. Please and thank you.
Once the coordinates are obtained, he... has some freedom to explore. And he uses it for probably the most boring-sounding thing in the world. He returns to his usual workplace.
Itâs simple. As damning as the Mecha program was, Swerve loved his job in it. He loved his position in the assembly shop. And he missed his friends.
He quickly teleports through several rooms, continuing to hide close to the lamps. Tailgate is here. Alive and unharmed. Wheeljack is too, though his face has some scars added to it. It's great to see them again, even if he can't talk to them right now. No one will probably react well to a grainy unexplainable hologram. He's just glad to know they're okay and honestly, the last thing he needs is paranoid Onslaught installing extra signal jammers.
It takes time to find Blurr. Partly because Swerve is terrified of what he might find if he started looking. So he goes to check the death lists first, and only after flipping through and re-reading them three times does he finally exhale in relief.
Blurr's name isn't there.
So his smug, shiny ass must be around here somewhere.
He checks the hangar. Flips through the Mech launch logs and feels an uncomfortable knot begin to form in his chest. Blurr's Mech has never been repaired or launched even once since the incident. Its plating has been replaced with new, well polished, and put in a prominent place where anyone who wants to can take a picture of it. But all the internal systems are destroyed. This machine hasn't been used for anything other than being a beautiful exhibit.
That's...something's wrong.
He checks offices and schedules as well as eavesdropping on a few conversations and ends up secretly following Swindle, who is arguing loudly with someone on the phone. He says something about deals and how he doesn't need anyone meddling in his business. Then he talks about how he's got everything under control and the person on the phone is âa dumbass who's making drama out of nothingâ and that âhe doesn't need anyone's handouts". Then he sighs and says, âyou know how celebs are. Dumb and dramatic. You can't take their words literally.â
Then drops the call and for a couple seconds looks like he's just had a large bill taken right out of his hand. Curses again, but in a quieter voice. Leafs through his contacts and stops at the one signed 'free ice'.
âBlurr? Where are you? Wha...ah, no wait. No, the advertising agency called. No, liste...Can you shut up for one second?Where are you?
Uh-huh....... Uh-huh.Okay.
Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.â
This is it, Swerve thinks.
He shrinks himself further and teleports under the collar of Swindle's coat.
He wants to take a look. Just. Just a peek. Make sure everything's all right. Then he can go about his original mission in peace. He watches Swindle get in his car and drive off somewhere. Swerve doesn't recognize this part of town. The houses here are much nicer than where he lived. The streets are cleaner.
He tucks himself further under the coat collar. He's not going to be a stalker or anything, but he's worried and he doesn't have time to wait for Blurr himself to show up for work. Just one little look and that's it.
Swindle's car stops outside a beautiful, shiny hospital. Swerve nervously tries to bite his knuckles, but remembers he's disabled touch in his holoform. Shit? Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi
Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.
Okay, not really. His left side that faces the door to the hospital room looks like a mangled corpse and that's the first thing that catches Swerve's eye when he's inside.
Blurr is pale and thin and his hands are covered in bandages. The left side of his face has been turned into an absolute ugly nightmare. A piece of his ear is missing. In the place of the left eye is a creepy empty hole.
Suddenly Swerve realizes why Blurr didn't show up for work. You can't even show him to his coworkers like that, not just to the public.
Blurr turns his head and the spell breaks. His lips stretch into a cocky smile.
â'Got bored without me Swindle?â
Swindle doesn't show the slightest emotion at the gruesome sight. He casually pulls a chair over to the hospital bed and sits down.
âShockwave is trying to sneak a new project into the program. And he's slowly swaying investors to his side, using you as an excuse. Tells everyone you're a poor martyr he can save if only he's given the green light from above.â
Blurr wrinkles his nose.
âNot that he's wrong. The doctors say I need to pick a new career because with this...â he jerks his head to the left implying his damaged half, â neither racing nor piloting is an option for me anymore. I'm out of your project.â
Then he stops talking for a few seconds and raises an eyebrow curiously.
âYou wouldn't have come here in person just to say that. Why are you really here?â
Swindle adjusts his glasses
âHave I ever told you why I made the contract with you?â
âBecause you like moneyâ Blurr says without hesitation.
Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.
âFair point. But money wasn't my only priority.â
He pauses for a second. Gets up. Draws the curtains in the room. Checks to make sure no one is outside the door.
Goes back to his seat.
âYou didn't see what the Mecha project was like before. Brutality and absolute disregard for human rights multiplied by a thousand. People were desperate and no one cared to maintain any decency.â
He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.
âNo no, listen to me. If you think things are bad now, you're right. But it used to be much. Much, much worse.â
Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again
âVortex was taken as a boy. He wasn't even out of high school when they shoved him into the lab. Me and Onslaught were pulled right out of the college exams. The others were no better, although they were usually a little older. My point is that it was allowed. It's what the superiors could do and no one told them no.â
Blurr tilts his head and gets a little all turned around to see Swindle better with his right eye.
âBut you... found a way to change that, didn't you?
Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose
âI have no power over my own superiors. But Onslaught and I have come up with a plan. Look. I'll put it in simple terms for you. Above me is my boss, and above him is another boss, and so on but at the very end of that chain are people from the government. The investors. So we figured out a way to cut through the chain of command and influence them directly. Make them worry about us. It's a kind of social shield. Onslaught is a genius.â
Blurr blinks.
âWhy are you telling me all this.â
Swindle takes off his hat and just. Crumples it in his hands. The back of his head shows numerous scars and the glint of tiny metal implants barely visible behind his hair.
âYou're that shield right now, Blurr. You can't leave.â
Blurr's eye widens
âIs that why you insisted on âbefriendingâ me with all those bullshitters?â
âI needed to make sure that in their minds we weren't just a military unit. To keep them thinking that we're as human as they are. So I gave Project Mecha a face.â He tugs on the hat again, âYour face.â
Blurr runs his fingers through his hair
âShockwave can't do whatever he wants cause...because of me his efforts would risk going public and people wouldn't like it and it would ruin the reputation of our investors-and-they'd-cut-off-his-funding.â
Swindle puts his hat back on.
âExactly.â That's why he's being so persistent right now. He knows you're vulnerable and he wants to capitalize on the opportunity. Make you part of his new project and tell the world about it. Make publicity his weapon, too.â
The lamp above them flickers faintly. Blurr takes a breath. Long and tired and exhausted and. a bit doomed.
Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.
âPlease. Don't leave. At least not now. And don't let Shockwave get to you. That would open the way for him to get to the rest of the pilots you represent.â
They just. Sit in silence for a while. Blurr quickly taps a finger on his knee. A rapid tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
Swindle moves his hand away and gets up from his chair.
âThere's a press conference coming up. I need you to be there. I've told everyone who needs to know that the problem is exaggerated and you're fine but they need to see you.â
Blurr smiles sourly.
âMy lawyer is going to charge you such a handsome sum for that stunt.â
Swindle laughs, but his cardboard advertising smile doesn't reach his eyes.
âWeâll see about that. Seriously though. I need you there.â
Blurr bites his lip.
âI..donât know...â
Swerve...doesn't know what to think of that.
Blurr shows up for the press conference. Late, but he makes it. Just as Shockwave is presenting his new project in his amazingly well-pitched voice. Blurr swings the door open and waltzes lazily inside, skillfully pretending not to notice the many cameras and eyes instantly directed at him.
Swerve, whose memory is still fresh thinks for a second that no, no this can't be the same person. Past Blurr looked like a wreck. Past Blurr was tense and tired and hunched over. Present Blurr couldn't look more alive. His shoulders are squared proudly, there's that cheerful springiness and grace in his stride. He moves with ease and confidence. Smoothly.
The left side of his face is neatly covered with fresh white bandages. Carefully, without leaving the even the slightest gap through which his injury could be seen. His hands are hidden under a fancy jacket. He smiles wide and bright and squints playfully toward the table.
The very embodiment of nonchalance. The few pilots sitting in the audience roll their eyes.
Swindle breathes out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. Swerve, once again using Swindle's collar as a tactical cover, can't help but let out a silent triumphant laugh. Maybe slightly more nervous than he is supposed to be.
Blurr sends Swindle a sly, sharp smile and even knowing it wasn't meant for him, Swerve feels his cheeks heat up.
Ah, damn it.
Swerve breaks the rules. He tells himself that peeking is fraught with consequences when it comes to military organizations, but he can't stop himself from being curious. And from worry, too.
And now that he knows where to look, he sees things he'd rather not see.
Blurr ... is crumbling.
Swerve doesn't know all the details and consequences, but that incident did leave a mark.
But every time Swindle calls him and says âI need you at some place in two hoursâ he gets up and assembles himself into a human being. Like a goddamn puzzle. Tapes and covers the burned half of his face. Covers up the bruises and hides the stitches. Fixes his hair and sets off on shaky legs to pretend he's fine.
He smiles so bright and carefree, laughs so sweet and beautiful that no one would ever think that even standing up sometimes hurts.
And continues to act like a jerk of course.
The only difference is that this time Swerve mentally gives him the presumption of innocence before he starts judging.
Blurr does a lot of things that seem rude. He also does a lot of things that are actually rude and figuring them out without resorting to alien superpowers would be nearly impossible.
When the pilots see Blurr sitting right on the table while negotiating with investors, they roll their eyes and make comments about his terrible manners. Or when he stops showing up for even the most basic, rudimentary training.
Or when he develops that stupid habit of leaning his elbows on people standing next to him.
It's the model behavior of a rich, spoiled brat.
It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.
Employees say âthat dumbass has never heard of personal space.â
Investors say, âI think he likes me.â
Blurr leans on Swindle's shoulder and through a charming smile says âDon't move or I'm gonna fall.â
Swindle also keeping up the smile discreetly holds him back, pretending it's a friendly half hug.
Swerve feels like yelling at both of them, but he's not sure what for exactly. For one thing, Blurr in his condition is very VERY VERY contraindicated to even get out of bed, let alone participate in social activities.
On the other hand, without Blurr, everything is going down the pit.
Without Blurr, all the government sees are dry reports and spreadsheets. Without him, all the high command has is numbers and a sense of impunity. Swerve is sickened by how easily people tend to forget that numbers represent other people.
Most pilots are able to draw a parallel between deteriorating working conditions and Blurr's sudden fondness for staying home instead of working. But they think the rich jerk got scared and ran away. Considering the way Blurr has always behaved at work - Swerve can't even judge them too much for it. They assume Shockwave getting more freedom is the cause of Blurr's absence, not the result.
Blurr's influence only becomes noticeable when it slowly starts to fade away. It's like switching from expensive tea to a cheaper one. The awful flavor only becomes noticeable in contrast.
Blurr doesn't lead the development of new technologies or go out to fight in the field. He doesn't make plans and reports, he doesn't participate in drills, he doesn't cover anyone's back in battle.
But he's the one who puts his hand on the government's shoulders when they're about to sign the next piece of paper. He's the one they have to look in the eye before they have a pen in their hands and a document authorizing Shockwave to stick more needles in people's brains.
It makes a difference. Small one. But still.
It turns a disembodied imaginary âcombat unitsâ into a tangible person.
From âdo you want to accelerate the combat training of new soldiersâ to âare you willing to tell the living, breathing guy standing in front of you that shoving poison under his skin is an idea you approve of.â
More importantly (And Swerve actually admires Swindle for this) Will you be able to explain anything to your families later on, when this same guy is on TV all over the country saying that's what you did to him?
There have been two fronts here all this time, Swerve realizes.
While the pilots were protecting people from monsters wearing teeth and armor, Blurr was protecting the pilots themselves from monsters wearing ties and lab coats.
After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.
âGood show.â
Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.
âThanks darling~ Sorry I interrupted you. Your speech sounded like something important, but I don't really know much about nerd stuff.â
Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.
Shockwave doesn't move. Doesn't give any indication at all if he's offended or upset or whatever.
âIt must have been hard getting here with your injuries.â
Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.
âIt's just a few bruises here and there. Not the end of the world.â
Shockwave nods slowly. His voice and posture and all, Swerve thinks, looking very uncomfortable.
âOf course it isn't. But hardly good for your career.â
Blurr freezes.
No, Swerve thinks. Shit. No, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't
âYour brilliant achievements have always been a source of admiration to meâ continues Shockwave âit would be a pity to lose them.â
Blurr makes an indifferent face and tucks his hands into his pockets.
âLike I said. Not the end of the world.â
Swerve imagines choking Shockwave. Dropping a lamp on his head. Maybe jumping on top of him himself. Shut up, he thinks. Shut up, shut up, stop fucking talking.
Shockwave with a nice, slow gesture pulls out a notebook from somewhere and flips a couple pages.
âMultiple burns, cracked ribs, poisoning from carbon monoxide and combustion products of toxic chemicals...â
Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.
â...loss of vision on one side...â Shockwave continues reading, âand partial hearing loss. Finally, the impact of neural link malfunctions. And this, if I'm not mistaken, is on top of the already existing memory problems?â
Shockwave takes a step closer. Not fast enough to make it look threatening, but enough to hover.
âIt may not be the end of the world, but it is the end of you.â
He writes a set of numbers on the same page, tears it off, and hands it to Blurr.
âYou are broken. I can fix you.â
Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.
âThat fixing would involve giving you consent to mess around with my head, wouldn't it? It's brave of you to think I'd go for that.â
Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.
âI can assure you, neither I nor anyone else is interested in your brain. I just want to give you back what you're truly valued for.â
Blurr flinches.
âI don't need your help.â
â If you say so,â Shockwave agrees easily. Nods, slowly and smoothly. Then starts to walk away âBut you do need your fame.â
...
âBy the way, you might want to wipe the blood off.â
Blurr waits until Shockwave's back disappears around the corner, then quickly pulls a tissue from his pocket and brings it up to his nose.
____________________________
Swerve wakes up looking up at the ceiling of his room. The high, metal ceiling, of a metal room on a metal spaceship.
Holy shit...
Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm
âAre you alive? You've been gone for like quite a while...Did it work?â
âHey Jazzâ frowns Swerve âwhat do you know about Blurr?â
Jazz laughs
âWhat are you fanboying over him again? Still??? Dude's smug and arrogant. Good boss though. I was hired to perform at his parties before I became a pilot.â
Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.
âAh...â
âSo it worked?â
âWha...ah! Yes! Yes, it worked! I managed to get the number and codes from the space bridge the Quints used on you. We just need to find another space bridge and we'll have a pretty much direct route to Earth...well. Or rather, to the Quint ship that's located near Earth. You get the idea.â
Jazz rubs his hands together happily.
âI'll take it.â
Swerve jumps to the floor and heads to grab an energon cube. Man, these holoform exercises are burning energy like crazy.
He stares at his metal hands like an idiot for a couple minutes. Just...Contemplates how non-human they are.
He has eight fingers again instead of the human ten. Huh.
Prowl downloads the information he's gotten and immediately runs off to plan a route to the nearest working space bridge and for a while Swerve is just.
Left to himself.
He tries not to think about Blurr. What would he even say to him? Hey, look, I'm sorry I accidentally set you up, see, I'm actually an alien who was sleepwalking and thought you were fictional, surely this won't affect our non-existent strictly professional working relationship? Nah, screw that. If he's going to sound crazy, he needs to at least come up with a good presentation for his insanity.
....
Is it weird to think humans are beautiful if you're not human? If you're kind of human, but only in your soul and only half human?
He looks at Jazz and Prowl.
âYou two get along really well.â
Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.
âRight now, yes. But we got on each other's nerves quite a bit when we first met.â
Swerve looks up at Jazz's chattering legs from his height and thinks. This is working somehow.
On the other hand, Jazz is the exception rather than the rule. He's friendly with everyone, he's easy to get along with, he's the soul of any company and most importantly, he was a little too much into robots before he discovered they could be alive. If anyone could find common ground with the Cybertronians, it would definitely be Jazz.
_____________________
âAre you a ghost?â
Swerve shrieks in fear and gets covered in static. He hadn't planned on talking. He hadn't planned on being noticed at all. Blurr was supposed to be asleep! And Swerve just wanted to close the curtains and leave, because there's some noisy party going on outside and bright illuminations are very bad for a patient already suffering from neural connection withdrawal.
He freezes in place like that dude from Jurassic Park. Like if he's still enough, he won't be noticed. Oh, or was that from another movie?
âI'm just uhâ he awkwardly reaches up and closes the curtains âLights. Bad for...you...now.â
Blurr chuckles. It sounds suspiciously joyful. His whole posture and facial expression. He looks very relaxed for someone who had a ghost materialize into the room out of thin air.
Swerve traces the line of the IV with his gaze. Oops, that looks like painkillers.
âYes I am. Uh. A ghost watching the curtains. And now the curtains are fine, so I guess I'd better go?â
Blurr squints amusedly.
âYou can walk through walls?â
âUh, I can teleport into the next room?â
He backs up his words by making himself disappear and reappear in another corner of the room.
âCool!â says Blurr cheerfully.
Swerve is involuntarily infected by his mood and makes a couple dramatic bows as if he were some kind of magician.
â Show me more?â
âHehehe okay ehâ Swerve spreads his arms like he's presenting something and then makes himself the size of a soda bottle and teleports to the edge of Blurr's bed âTa daaaa~â
âWooooo look at you, you're like an action figure~â
Blurr immediately makes an attempt to touch him, but fails to reach and drops his hand back on the blanket.
Swerve chuckles and steps closer. It's funny to see the usually incredibly agile Blurr struggling with something so simple and ridiculous.
âThey really drugged you huh?â
âIt's not the drugsâ snorts Blurr â...it's my eye.â
He raises his hand once more and hesitantly pulls it towards Swerve until it bumps into his hair
â... depths PerâŚpercen.. ah, shit. I can't tell how far away things are.â
Swerve just. Lets Blurr fidget at himself, while starting to feel really bad at the same time.
"If you can't tell how far things are, how are you going to drive?
Race???â
He must have a plan right? Something? Letâs-prove-Shockwave-wrong tactic???
Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket
âI won't.â
He freezes when the all too close fireworks rumble outside the window. Then points to his head.
âWith this. I can't drive, I can barely walk at all, and I look like horror movie material. Pathetic heeh.â
Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.
âWell...at least you're alive....â
Blurr shakes his head.
âIf I had died, it would have been epic. You know? Dharm...dramatic! It would be big news and everyone would be talking about what a hero I was or...or something...â
â...â
âSwindle would be so angry, but he'd figure out a way to make money out of it. He'd make a commercial about how people should be heroes. I'd be remn..remembered for being cool and brave and stuff.â
Fireworks can be heard from the street again. Swerve notices that there is a thin slit between the closed curtains through which a slim, flickering strip of multicolored light streams into the room.
Blurr frowns and leans back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.
âI've turned into a boring wreck. My records will be beaten, my career forgotten , and all the guys from work will remember me as a brat. In a--in a--in a way, it's worse than death. Shockwave's right.â
Swerve isn't sure what exactly would be an acceptable gesture of comfort, so he kind of just. Places his hand on the blanket covering Blurr's lap.
âHey, don't say that. I think what you're doing is great.â
âLiarâ smiles Blurr crookedly âYou hated me. I saw your posters collection.â
Oh shit. The ones he ripped off the walls and destroyed in a fit of fan frustration? He didn't even hide them, just shoved them in the back corner. Aw, man...
Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.
âI can be mad at you and think you're cool at the same time. I'm a multitasker.â
âYou're a very specific kind of ghost.â says Blurr. Then, apparently inspired by the painkillers, decides to drop the conversational equivalent of an atomic bomb on Swerve's head âYou died because of me?â
Swerve stiffens.
âI...Wwhat?â
âYou know.â he makes a gesture with his hand that's ..unclear what it's supposed to mean. âYou were working there with everyone else, and then there was that fire and I was sure I saw you down there under the rubble.â
He's silent for a couple seconds before he hesitantly continues
âAnd then no one could find you so most assumed you either burned or ran away. And now you're here with all your weird ghost stuff, so you must be dead.â
Swerve has.No idea what to think about it. And what to say? He's been so busy blaming himself for Blurr getting hurt that it hasn't occurred to him to think about what it looks like from Blurr's own perspective.
âActuallyâ says Swerve âI'm an alien.â
âHehâ giggles Blurr âsorry, my headâs all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.â
Swerve wants to run around and bang his head against the wall.
Instead, he gets up from the hospital bed. Carefully.
âYou're high. I'm not going to explain things to you while you're high, you won't understand or remember them. Go back to sleep. It's the middle of the night.â
âYou'll tell me later?â
Swerve hums quietly and pulls the curtains all the way closed.
âIf future, sober Blurr would want my company.â
---------------
Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.
âAre you going to tell me who this mystery person you keep coming back to Earth for?â
Swerve snorts.
âWhat makes you think it's anyone in particular?â
âYou're right, you're right~â raises his hands in surrender Jazz âSo are you going to tell your friend the whole thing?â
Swerve crosses his ..metal arms over his metal chest.
âIs it that big of a deal? He thinks I'm a ghost or something.â
Being a ghost...somehow better, he thinks. If you're a ghost, it kind of automatically implies you're human. Or was a human.
âSooner or later, he'll put the facts together~â says Jazz in a chant.
Swerve laughs.
âThat's unlikely. He's got a pretty bad memory.â
_______________
His plans to stay out of anyone's sight combust with a dramatic pop the next time he projects himself to Earth. He doesn't plan to interfere, he doesn't even plan to linger. He just wants to see what's going on.
He actually just quietly sneaks into the hospital to make sure nothing's happened to Blurr since last time, but when he finally finds him then...oh shit, is that Pharma in the same room with him??? This can't be good.
They don't speak, but Pharma has clearly locked his eyes on Blurr and starts making his way towards him with the relentlessness of a industrial metal press.
Swerve does some rough math in his head. If he briefly gives his holoform back its detail and voice, will that be enough to fry his processor? He's not sure.
Pharma gives a believable impression of a shark getting close. The staff, as if sensing something untoward is about to happen, leaves the room in a hurry.
Blurr looks indifferent, but Swerve's attention is drawn to the way he squints tensely. Man, the lamps are too bright in here.
Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake
âMind some company?â
Swerve's mental processes fly out the window. Oh no no. Not Pharma. Not in his fucking fanfic. He quickly changes his work clothes into a slightly more business-like looking shirt. Thinks for just a moment and adds a cap to his head to blend in more strongly with the attendants and hide his face to an extent. And then projects himself around the nearest unoccupied corner and runs out of behind it looking as anxious as he feels.
âBlurr!!! Sir, there you are!!! I've been looking everywhere for you!â
Pharma wants to say something, but Swerve doesn't even let him start. He stands in front of Blurr separating him and Farma expressively waves his hands trying to keep his head down.
âThe guys you were talking about didn't bring the new hydraulics! It's a disaster, we'll have to use the one on the old models!â
Blurr, to his surprise, backs up his act almost instantly
âReally? But I thought there was nothing to take from the old models?â
âThat's exactly the point! I got the paperwork this morning and...oh those assholes are going to screw it up if you don't step in as soon as possible!â
Pharma tilts his head
âCan it wait? We were actually talking here!â
Oh no, thinks Swerve I'll show you who's talking.
âSir, no offense but this is a matter of extreme urgency. Are you implying that the safety of your patients is not important?â
âWhat do you mea...â
âOld faulty hydraulics, that's what you want?â raises an eyebrow in horror Blurr.
âNo I'm just...â
âI had a better opinion of you, to be honest.â
âI...â opens his mouth Pharma â...WHAT...?â
Swerve shakes his head.
âAnd I thought his profession was to help people, can you imagine?â
âWh..â
Blurr rolls his eye.
âAny idiot can get an important position these days.â
âWait..â
âTell me about it. Especially doctors.â
Pharma looks like he's about to start pulling the hair out of his head.
âCan at least one of you shut up??â
Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner
âSir, I understand you're a bit detached from reality spending so much time in your department, but you need to take better care of your reputation.â
He raises his eyebrows knowingly
âWouldn't want the rumors about you to turn out to be true. You know what I mean?â
Pharma doesn't even answer anymore. Pharma just looks like a discarded fish.
ââŚ..Wha....there's rumors?â
âOf courseâ shrugs Swerve âAsk Norman, he usually knows everything about everyone. And about your interesting tricks with safety, too.â
He leans in conspiratorially, effectively pulling all of Farma's attention to himself
âSo if I were you, I'd stay out of any more things you don't understand.â
Pharma wants to say something. Swerve can tell by the look in his eyes. Pharma tries to come up with a witty and context-appropriate response, but this whole conversation has no more context than a typical episode of Teletubbies.
âWhere does this Norman guy work?â finally finds the ground beneath his feet Pharma
Swerve shrugs.
âBlock C, if he hasn't been transferred yet. He's already been fined several times for spreading harmful information you know? The guy can't keep a secret.â
Pharma throws his hands up angrily and storms away. Probably looking for context. Or revenge.
A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.
âSo. Should I be worried about Norman's health?â
Swerve feels the hair on the back of his neck shiver and slowly turns to face Blurr while still looking somewhere on the floor.
âUh...only if you're concerned about the fate of fictional characters. I made up Norman's wife, she'll be upset if he gets fired for gossiping.â
Blurr chuckles. Then goes silent. Then, after a couple seconds, starts laughing again. That's a good look for him, Swerve thinks. It's not like Blurr's usual velvet-smooth laugh that he uses at social events. It's more like a quick, jerky giggle, and in Swerve's subjective opinion, it's pretty damn cute. He can't help but grin.
Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.
Then he reaches out his hand to him.
Swerve reaches back, expecting a handshake, but Blurr ignores his hand and instead goes for his cap and lifts it by the brim.
Swerve, not expecting this, freezes with his hand outstretched.
Blurr freezes as well, still holding the cap in his hand and looking...like he's rethinking his life. A little.
Ugh, and how to explain it all to him....
âUh...you...uh...probably don't remember me. I...it's...â
Blurr shifts his gaze from Swerve to the cap in his hand. Then back to Swerve.
âYou're real???â
Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him
âAh not.., not really. Do you know why Pharma was looking for you in the first place? He doesn't work with patients anymore, he's been reassigned to the research department, right?â
Blurr shrugs.
âLast time I saw him, he said I might have implant rejection in the third ..uh..what? stage? or something? I think he's trying to get me in for a checkup.â
Swerve twitches.
âThird??? How are you still standing???â
He then quickly reaches up with both hands to Blurr's head and tilts it so he can see his face better. Using one thumb, he pulls his lower eyelid slightly and mentally catalogs. Temperature normal, pupil normal, eyes are steady, no darkening or trace of blood on the eyelid. Implants? He puts both palms up and gently feels the places behind Blurr's ears. No signs of rejection or malfunction.
âNo no noâ sighs Swerve âYou're fine, it's only stage two. I mean, second sucks too, migraines and all, but you just need to rest and no bright lights and...â he finally notices his hands are still on Blurr's head and pulls them back as fast as if he's been burned âI MEAN I'm uh...sorry, I didn't mean to, I...â
Blurr laughs quietly.
âI'm glad you're back.â
_____________________
He wakes up in his quarters and can feel his face burning.
When he goes out to get the energon, Jazz throws him a look.
âIs something wrong? You're all kinda...shaky.â
âHhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuuâ imitates signs of life Swerve âSay, doesn't it bother you that Prowl isn't human?â
Jazz smiles
â Oh, I went crazy when I found out. But we figured it out.â
âLike...on a scale from âbad grade in schoolâ to âan asteroid is coming to Earthâ how crazy was it?â
âWorried about what your human friends will think?â
Swerve swings back and forth on his heels
âPfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff. Whatnooooo, no of course not. I'd be worried if I planned on telling them at all.â
Jazz frowns
âNo offense, but keeping secrets isn't your strong suit.â
âHahaâ Swerve waves his servo â Watch me.â
#maccadam#tf mecha universe#blurr#Swerve#mecha writing#mecha kef writing#mecha bs writing#if you saw any mistakes - no you didnât#itâs six am I need to go to bed but I wanted to post it before my brain shuts down completely#mecha pilot jazz au#jazzprowl#jazzprowl happens on the background lol#Swindle#two nano seconds of Vortex#Shockwave#Pharma
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The Fentons might have settled in the middle of bumfuck nowhere but they did have quite the reputation from their crazy antics. It is well known that:
1. Atleast one of the partner pair is always built like a brick shit house.
2. They all have a time period where they pick up a ton of random skills and useless knowledge before settling down on their particular niche.
3. A person of Fenton descent will always fall for the most dangerous person around them.
4. A Fenton will always bounce back from anything. They can die but they cannot be killed by mortal means.
5. They have the bad habit of unconsciously putting themselves in harms way.
The traits mentioned wouldn't have been a problem if the heros found out about them however due to facts 2, 3, 4 and, 5 the Fentons were well known to the villains.
This leads to the situation Danny now found himself in after he tripped off of a rooftop and got hit by a car into a warehouse building.
Picking himself up from the rubble with groan and a crack of his back Danny took stock of his situation. The closest was a pretty lady that vaguely looked familiar along with a few goons and a dude in a bat furry costume with a bunch of people. The youngest was cosplaying a traffic light. A girl with a purple cloak. A girl in black was dressed similarly enough to the bat furry. Etc.
It looked like he interrupted some kind of fight and now they all just stood there uncertain of what to do.
The lady suddenly grabbed him by the collar and yanked his head down to her level as she examined him. "Oh fuck me sideways your a Fenton... If your here then..." She quickly let go of him.
It took Danny half a second before he could place her. "Oh yeah! You are that lady uncle Robby was pinning after, Shiv something."
The cosplayers all looked uncertain and he could feel the concern radiating from them.
"I am Lady Shiva and yes Robert certainly is something. First time I found a man I couldn't kill." The lady, Shiva, a fond look on her face.
"You got any allergies? Mom and dad's 30th anniversary is coming up this November. Just about the whole family is coming." Danny said giving her a piece of paper with the date and location.
"is Alicia going to be there?" Lady Shiva said as she gripped her blades tighter, a predatory smile on her face.
"I did say the *whole* family. Even Gruncle Ra is coming." Danny explained with a shrug.
"Yes!" Shiva exclaimed. "Between you and me I still don't know how Cheetah manages to pull your aunt."
"I try to forget. I just remember that they are banned from 40 countries." Danny said as he shuddered. After a quick glance at his watch he bolted for the hole in the wall. "Oh shit I have to go pick up my sister from Arkham!"
As he ran he distantly heard Lady Shiva yell "I'll be there and call me aunt Shiva!"
#dcxdp#dpxdc prompt#danny phantom#danny fenton#lady shiva#ra's al ghul#batfam#bat furry#dcu#dc universe#batman#gotham
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COLOGNE, ćââââ clingy boyfriends.
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HEESEUNG
it always happens when he is half asleepâ in the middle of the night especially.
he loves to lock you in his arms before he dozes off. his strong arms wrapped around you while you hide your face in the crook of his neck.
and he hates, he loathes, when you move away from him. he hates when you take your warmth away from him to go somewhere else. he whines whenever you do, âare you trying to kill me?â
he holds your wrist from his comfortable position on the mattress. ââm thirsty,â you whisper as he scratches his eye. âi will be back in a few seconds, hee,â he nods, although his grip gets tighter.
your first mistake was to think that he was going to stay in bed alone. although you assure him that you are coming back, he gets out of bed and follows you to the kitchen.
the much taller and more muscular man holds your hand to not stumble over anything.
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¤ďšáľ áľâ look under the cut ! âĄ
JAY
he never says it. he is not the type to use too many words, especially when it comes to things like this.
action over words, as always, he catches you by the waist as you pass by him. comfortably sat on the sofa, he pulls you on his laps and you barely budgeâ eyes fixed on your phone.
he puts his chin on your shoulder. not even to look at your phone but at you. he tightens the embrace around your waist as the shape of your side profile gets engraved in his mind for the ninth time.
you still donât give him enough attention, however. and it makes him a little sad, even more needy, ten times more touchy.
instead of using words, as anyone else would do, he puts his cheek against yours. like a cat turned into a man, he rubs his skin against yours sweetly.
it makes you giggle after a bit. you put your phone to the side and turn around to kiss while he falls to the side.
JAKE
he is always clingy. he is the epitome of the boyfriend who never leaves you alone. you are always touching each other in a way: either by standing close, holding hands or hugging.
his clinginess did get to you at some point of the relationship.
you are not really the type to reach out first, in public at least. but if he does, you let him, no matter where you are.
âsorry if i am too clingy, my love,â he tells you against your shoulder. he gave you a bear hug whereupon you were talking with your friends a few minutes ago and never moved. âmy heart was screaming for you all day.â
you pat his head, cradling your fingers in his hair. he hums tenderly as you speak, âitâs okay, baby,â you chuckle. you turn your head slightly towards him, kissing his cheek before continuing whispering, forgetting your friends, âi missed you too.â
he stays silent for a moment as you still play with his hair. after a moment, he starts to leave wet kisses on your cheeks. again and again.
SUNGHOON
âoh my god,â you say. the way your boyfriend looks at you while walking in the living room tells you everything you need to know. he looks at you in the way he does when he wants. âget away from me.â
when your lover wants, it means that he wants you. in his arms, laying on his chest or him laying on yours. under the warm covers or on the sofa. it means he gets clingy, it means he just manhandles you wherever.
âhi, sweetheart,â he greets you with a soft voice. your heart melts, despise the words you spoke a minute ago.
he leans in, aiming from you who lays down prettily on the sofa, chasing after your delicious lips. you hug his neck and he takes it as an opportunity to lean back up. sliding his arm around your back strongly, he presses you against himself.
âi want cuddles,â he tells you against your lips. he tells you in a sigh, desperate and needy.
you hum. âdo your thing, big boy,â and he gets up, picking you up in the process. you hug his waist with your legs as he walks to the bedroom.
SUNOO
you knew it. from the moment his eyes locked with yours, with his stupid smile, you knew it wasnât going to be just one kiss.
it has been maybe more than one hundred kisses by now. but his hand on the back of your neck keeps you in place. alongside with his tongue swiftly dancing in your mouth.
he pinned you against the wall as soon as you finished getting ready. he is ruining your makeup but you donât have enough strength to walk away from that.
whenever he pulls away to catch a bit of air or change angle, you whisper, âi really have to go,â before kissing him back when he comes back.
to which he responds by rubbing the back of your skin with his thumb and smile, âstay with me for a while, baby,â he pleads in your mouth. âi donât want you to leave,â
and you give in. from their comfortable position on his waist, you put your hands up and wrap your arms around his neck. he aims for your waist and pulls you close.
JUNGWON
when he gets clingy, sometimes, he just gets a little bit more annoying that he already is. he pinches your sides, slides his cold hand under your shirt, pokes your cheek. anything to get your attention.
but more times than not, he can be less annoying and much more touchyâ in a loving way.
âgod, i missed you like crazy,â he mumbles as he hurriedly walks toward you. he hugs you quickly after you take off your shoes. âi feel like it has been a lifetime since i saw you.â
you giggleâ he has been like this all day. his nose hides in your neck while you pat his back gently, âi was out for an hour, won,â
his embrace tightens around you. he readjusts his his headâs position, âit felt like a million years,â he groans. ânever do that to me again.â
you pat his head gently, âiâm here baby,â you whisper. âletâs go cuddle for the next hours, mh?â he nods.
RIKI
neither of you know how it started. but, he grew to be really hopeless without you around, to the extent where it is actually pretty funny.
your boyfriend follows you everywhere you go, without exception. wherever you are, anyone can assume that a tall man is not far away from you.
and said tall man can get even worse when he loses sight of you for a minute.
âyou are such a duck,â you tell him in a chuckle. your voice is pretty quiet, but he is so close that he doesnât need you to speak louder. as much as he canât act like he didnât hear. âiâm not going to disappear.â
his arm presses against yours even more as he looks down, âcanât a boy wish to be one with the girl he loves?â he tells you as you walk towards the next clothes hallway.
âyou are almost walking on my feet,â you laugh, bumping your shoulder against his to push him away a little.
he stumbles away for ten seconds and comes back, draping his arm on your shoulder, âdonât go away from me!â
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#â đ âĄâ ĺ˝čżâđ â #enhypen#enhypen x reader#enhypen fluff#enhypen drabbles#enhypen imagines#enhypen reactions#enhypen scenarios#enhypen soft hours#enhypen soft thoughts#enhypen fanfiction#enha x reader#enha fluff#enha drabble#enha imagines#enha reactions#enha scenarios#enha soft hours#enha soft thoughts#enha fanfic#heeseung x reader#jay x reader#jongseong x reader#jake x reader#jaeyun x reader#sunghoon x reader#sunoo x reader#jungwon x reader#ni ki x reader#riki x reader
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Part 1
Thinking about how obsessed King of Curses Sukuna is with you, you, who was originally just a gift from a village.
Lord Sukuna, who is oblivious to the reason why he treats you differently, who thinks you are just the most intriguing person he had seen in years. He didn't know it was over for him the moment he saw your standing there, anger obvious behind your loosely mask. You looked at him with these challenging eyes and raised your head, making that snappy comment. Normally he would have killed you right then and there.
But he didn't. In fact he doesn't even know why he had burned down that village for you.
And now you were sitting in his estate, always with that scowl on your face.
Why did he allow you to eat with him? Why did he order you to eat with him? He doesn't know. But he didn't want you to eat without him, which he just can't explain to himself.
He couldn't explain why he made sure Uraume was watching over you. Didn't know why he gave you your own chamber, so many new clothes and why he gave you permission to go inside his library. Something inside him was just telling him that was right.
And that something inside of him was so angry to see you falling into yourself. To see you neglecting your health over weeks.
It was evening.
Like always, there was a big dinner prepared for the king and he had ordered you to eat with him. But you didn't touch your food, no you just sat there, looking at your plate to avoid his gaze. Oh, he didn't like that.
He stopped eating, narrowing his eyes on your cowering figure. "Why are you not eating."
"Not hungry." your voice was hoarse but still snappy like always.
"You need to eat."
He glanced at Uraume, who shook their head. A silent note you didn't have any sickness.
You picked at the food, but still no sign of actual eating. And god, did it drive him crazy. You were driving him crazy. Your never leaving scowl and your constant denying of everything he had laid out. He just didn't get you.
He didn't know why he even bothered. But he still spoke up.
"What is on your mind?"
You looked up at him. There was no scowl, like he thought, no there was just a shimmer of exhaustion and maybe frustration.
"What am I even doing here, my Lord?" your voice didn't have any sharp in it. "I'm no servant for you, no concubine, not even a jester or anything like that. Why am I here?"
Silence flooded the room. Because you had just asked the question Sukuna asked himself every day. Why did he even bring you here?
He was clueless. Or that was what his brain was telling him.
He inspected you, your almost pleading eyes and he didn't like how you looked at him. He didn't like the almost hopeless look in your eyes.
"Did you want to stay with these people, is it that?" he took a sip of wine.
"No, we both know it's not that." you muttered, taking a deep breath. "Why do I not work for you? Why are you so -"
He raised an eyebrow at you as you struggled to find the right word. Then you finally shook your head.
"Why are you so nice to me?"
He couldn't help but chuckle, a grin following. "You mean, why has the King of Curses not killed me yet?"
You scoffed. "Yes."
"Well you see," he stopped for a moment, before speaking again. "I find you fascinating. And I like to know what I find fascinating."
You rolled your eyes, another thing he only liked when you did it. "So I'm here to be watched like an animal because the King finds me exotic, how kind."
He started to grow impatient, he didn't know why. "You think I would let a meekly animal into my library and give them their own chambers? You think lowly of me."
You started to blink at him, confusion visible on your face. It was his turn to scoff now.
"You're fascinating because I don't get you. And I want to know you. That's why I brought you here." At least that's what he thought.
You turned completely silent, your eyes now looking down onto your plate again.
"That's why you don't 'work' for me, I don't want you to. I don't need you to." he took another sip. "You just shouldn't get your hands dirty."
He looked at you, waiting for a response. Watching how you avoided his gaze, how you gulped. For a second your eyes flicked up to look at him, but went down immediately as your eyes meet his.
"Stop." you were muttering again.
"What?"
"Staring at me like that."
"Why?" He grinned, lowering his voice. "You know I like to stare."
He saw a faint tint of blush on the part of your face he could see. You were silent for a while until you cleared your throat. "I can't eat with you staring at me like that."
. . .
"Alright, I can leave you alone to eat." he stood up. "But you have to now. Eat."
A small chuckle escaped you. "Is that an order?"
"No, it's a request." With that he turned around, leaving to go to his chambers.
You waited til he left the room to breathe. Your body finally relaxing. You looked at Uraume.
"He sounds like he is in... Does he know how he sounds?"
Uraume shook their head. "No, he has no clue. But he wants you to eat, so please do."
@thequeenofcurses
#jjk#jjk x reader#sukuna ryomen#sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna#sukuna fluff#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna x you
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ong yes!! lando gotta loveeeee doggy and taking her against a wall!! But imagine her on top for the first time and not knowing how to ride him and him teaching him and telling her what to do! im asking this to santa !!
kill me now!!
Oh, Christmas treat | LN â´
đ INSPIRED by anon ââââ Why ask Santa when I'm literally right here... enjoy đ
⤿ We're yapping about this ask.
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đ summary ââââ It's a quiet winter night, and Lando notices that his girlfriend seems a bit distracted. After some playful coaxing, she admits a secret desire to try something new. With his gentle guidance, they explore new paths together, each step bringing them closer.
đ pairing ââââ Lando Norris x she/her reader
đ rating ââââ explicit
đ category ââââ F/M
đ warnings ââââ 18+, mature/sexual content, established relationship, fluff & smut, descriptive language, light teasing, themes of vulnerability, unprotected sex, reader's first time on top, bit of swearing.
đ word count ââââ 2.5k
đ date ââââ Dec. 24, 2024
đ a/n ââââ I know this wasnât a request per se, but I wanted to share this one-shot with you since it was already mostly ready to go. Iâve been dealing with some health issues recently and couldn't get myself to get anything done, so thank you for your patience. The rest of the requests are still on their (admittedly slow) way, but I promise theyâre coming đ¤đť Wishing a very Merry Christmas Eve to everyone who celebrates, and who knows, I might have another little treat up my sleeve đ
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THE DAY HAD been nothing out of the ordinary, but that was exactly what made it special.
Lando had woken up late, groggy but grinning satisfied when he caught her padding around the kitchen in fuzzy socks and an oversized sweater, humming along to Christmas songs. She loves the holiday season, because she likes it when he's home, and Lando doesn't have to be anywhere but their own apartment. That's exactly why she can't get upset when he streams with Max for hours in the night, and ends up sleeping in the next day. The simple fact that he's there is enough.
Maybe she conditioned herself to accept that, but then she sees his sleepy face and thinks she'd accept worse in order to share her mornings with him.
It's Christmas Eve, so theyâd decided to bake cookies, mostly because she insisted it was a winter tradition, and Lando, ever the competitive spirit, took it as a challenge to see whose decorations would turn out better. As expected, chaos followed. By the time the cookies were ready, the kitchen looked like it had been through a snowstorm of flour and sugar. Lando had a streak of frosting on his cheek, and she had somehow ended up with sprinkles in her hair. In reality, they spent more time laughing and teasing each other than actually baking, but that was always the way it went with them.
Now, their cookies sit patiently on the counter, forgotten as the two of them relax on the couch in the living room. The Christmas tree lights glow warmly in the corner, and a cheesy holiday movie plays on the TV. Theyâre snuggled under a thick blanket, her legs curled up and tucked into his side. Landoâs arm drapes around her shoulders, his fingers playing lazily with her hair. Itâs peaceful and comforting, but somewhere in the quiet, she feels a sudden pull in her chest.
In all the time they've been together, she never took the lead â not willingly, at least â feeling more than happy to surrender. She's been thinking about it for a long time, but she's never had the courage to do it. She doesn't feel intimidated or inhibited by her boyfriend, but rather by how it could all go wrong for both of them if she, somehow, ends up doing something sheâs not supposed to.
Suddenly, her arms tighten around him, her nose nuzzling into his shirt. Thereâs a weight in her heart, not sadness exactly, but something tender, something raw. It makes her extra clingy, but she doesnât say anything. She just holds him closer, hoping he wonât notice.
But Lando always notices.
His fingers pause in her hair, and his brows furrow slightly as he glances down at her. âYou good, baby?â he asks, his voice soft and curious.
She hums nonchalantly, her face still buried in his chest.
âYou sure?â Lando insists, his tone teasing but gentle.
The girl freezes for a moment, debating whether to brush it off, but before she can decide, he tilts her chin up with his fingers, making her look at him.
âCome on, whatâs going on in that pretty head of yours, hm?â he asks, his eyes scanning hers.
Her cheeks heat under his gaze, and she sighs. âI donât know. You just⌠feel extra nice to hold tonight,â she says quietly.
Lando blinks, then his grin widens, teasing again. âDidnât know I had levels of cuddliness.â
âOh, shut up,â she mumbles, hiding her face against his chest again.
His smile softens, and he wraps his arms around her fully, pulling her tighter against him. âHey, you donât wanna talk to me?â
She shakes her head and, at that, Lando stops pushing, knowing that whatever it is, sheâll come to him. Eventually. When sheâs ready.
A few hours later, their movie marathon ends in a comfortable silence, the glow of the TV instantly muted by the credits rolling on the screen. Lando stretches, groaning softly as he shifts from the couch.
She gathers the blanket, folding it neatly before turning to him with a small smile.
âBedtime?â she asks, her voice soft, almost reluctant to leave the warmth of the evening behind.
âBedtime,â he agrees, though he watches her carefully as she heads toward the bedroom.
She moves through her usual routine, brushing her teeth and slipping into one of his hoodies, paired with sleep shorts. As she pulls back the covers and sits on the edge of the bed, he hears it again â the same quiet sigh that makes his chest tighten.
Lando leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, frowning in her direction. âAlright, thatâs the second time tonight,â he says, his tone light but edged with curiosity. âShould I worry?â
âWhat?â she replies quickly, too quickly, as she gets ready to tuck herself under the duvet. âNo, baby. Itâs nothing.â
âRight,â says Lando, stepping closer, his lips curving into a mischievous grin. âIf you wonât tell me, Iâll have to get it out of you another way.â
She narrows her eyes at him. âLandoâŚâ
Before she can finish, he lunges, playfully grabbing her waist and threatening to tickle her sides. She squeals, trying to wiggle away, but his grip on her is firm.
âLast chance, I'm serious,â he warns, his laughter bubbling up as she giggles uncontrollably.
âOkay, fine, stop it!â she pleads, breathless, her face flushed.
Lando stops, pulling back just enough to sit on the edge of the bed. Then, with a gentle tug, he pulls her onto his lap. His arms wrap loosely around her waist, and he tilts his head, watching her with a mix of curiosity and concern.
âNow,â he says, happy that he managed to break her wall, âWhatâs going on?â
She hesitates, her cheeks turning pink as she avoids his gaze. Instead, her fingers find his curls at the back of his head, twisting them gently as she takes a deep breath. âYou know, itâs not even a big deal. Iâve been thinking about something, but I just didnât know how to bring it up.â
âMhm,â he nods, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to her lips. Itâs deep, slow, almost as if heâs trying to reassure her without words. When he pulls back, their foreheads touch, and he whispers, âYou can tell me anything, you know that.â
She knows. Still, that doesnât make it any easier. The heat rushes in her cheeks as she finally meets his eyes. âLook, I like when youâre on top. I mean, I really like it,â she says, stumbling slightly over her words. âBut I was thinking, maybe, Iâd like to, you know...â
Her voice trails off, and she looks away again, clearly embarrassed.
Lando blinks, letting her words sink in. His mouth opens slightly, but no sound comes out as a flush creeps up his neck. Then, a grin spreads across his face, equal parts flustered and excited.
âYeah?â he asks, his voice soft, his hands tightening slightly on her waist. âYou want to ride me, baby?â
She nods quickly, still twisting his curls nervously. âBut Iâve never done it before, and Iâm not sure Iâd be good at it. It's just thatââ
He exhales a chuckle, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. âSlow down,â he murmurs against her skin, his tone so tender that it makes her stomach flip. âYou donât have to worry about being good at it, baby. If you wat to try it, I can guide you, and weâll see what works for us as we go.â
Her cheeks flush as she processes his reassurance, the tender way heâs looking at her making her feel bold and seen. And listened to.
She smiles, shifting on his lap, searching for some friction, and the slight brush of her core against his growing hardness has her letting out a soft gasp. Lando notices immediately, but he doesnât say anything yet. Instead, he lets her take the lead at her own pace, on her own terms.
She shifts again, this time deliberately pressing herself against him, and the soft sound she makes has Landoâs self-control slipping. âI suppose we can try now?â he murmurs, his voice thick with heat.
She doesnât reply â at least not with words. Instead, she grabs his hoodie, pulling it over her head in one swift motion, leaving her in nothing but her shorts. Landoâs breath catches as he takes her in, his hands immediately coming up to palm her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. He's seen her naked so many times before, but somehow, every time she gets rid of her clothes she uncovers something new.
âSo beautiful,â he mutters, leaning in to press open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone. She tilts her head back, giving him more access, and the heat between them builds until she pushes him gently onto the mattress.
Lando goes willingly, a grin tugging at his lips as she leans over him to kiss him again. His hands move to her hips, holding her firmly as she presses herself against him, grinding slowly. He groans into her mouth, his hands sliding lower to grip her ass, then he spreads her slightly, pushing her down against his growing length, making both of them gasp at the feeling.
Her hands trail down his chest, and she tugs at his shirt. âOff,â she breathes, and he obeys, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. For a moment, she just looks at him, her hands tracing the defined lines of his chest.
The tension between them builds rapidly, their breaths mingling as they press closer. It doesnât take long before sheâs tugging at the waistband of her shorts, her nerves creeping back in as she pushes them down. Lando sits up slightly, watching her with darkened eyes, and when she glances at him nervously, he reaches out to stroke her thigh gently.
âYouâre perfect,â he says softly, his voice full of sincerity.
Her nerves ease at his words, and when he pushes his joggers down, freeing himself, her anticipation drowns out her doubts.
He sits up fully, pulling her closer until sheâs straddling him again. âAlright, love,â he murmurs, his hands steadying her hips. âGo slow, yeah? Just sit on me first. Take your time.â
She nods, biting her lip as she lines herself up with him. Slowly, she sinks down, feeling the stretch as he fills her inch by sweet inch. Her breath hitches, and Lando groans, his hands gripping her hips tighter.
âOh, fuck,â he rasps. âYou always feel so good.â
She pauses once heâs fully inside, her hands braced on his chest as she adjusts to the feeling of being so full of him. Sensing her nervousness, Lando rubs soothing circles on her hips, letting her take her time.
When she finally starts to move, lifting herself up slightly before sinking back down, a soft, shaky moan escapes her lips. Lando watches her with a mix of awe and hunger, his hands guiding her gently.
âJust like that, baby,â he encourages her, âEasy. Youâre doing so well.â
Slowly but surely, she manages to build a rhythm, her movements tentative at first. But as the pleasure starts invading her senses, she becomes bolder. She opens up more, craving all of him at once. Her hands slide back to grip his thighs for support as she leans back slightly, the new angle sending sparks of pleasure through her body.
The taste of power it's rather interesting in this position, and she canât afford to be shy anymore. Not when his cock feels so good inside her, and not when she decides how to take him.
âFuck, Lando,â she breathes, her head tilting back.
She begins to move more rapidly on top of him, her hips following a predetermined path that she wasn't even aware of before. Lando watches her in amazement, feeling every pulse of pleasure every time she comes back for more, her walls hugging his cock so tightly that it leaves him breathless.
He groans, his hands sliding up to her waist to steady her. âThatâs it, baby. Keep going. God, youâre going to make me cum so fast like this.â
The sight of her riding him, her body moving with such confidence now, nearly breaks him. Somehow, he resists the urge to thrust up into her, letting her stay in control, but his grip tightens as his restraint begins to fray.
He hears a silent cry, getting ready for every scenario in his mind, while his eyes study her frame by frame.
She whimpers, her movements becoming more erratic as the pleasure overwhelms her. âLan,â she gasps, her voice shaky. âI canât goâtoo much.â
He sits up slightly, pulling her towards him and pressing his forehead to hers. âOf course you can, baby,â he says softly, his voice steady despite the fire coursing through him. âIâm here. Just a little more, yeah? Youâre doing so good.â
She feels his cock twitching inside her as she shakes her head weakly, âLando, pleaseâŚâ her hands desperately clutch his shoulders, and that's when he understands what she needs from him.
Lando's hands land on her waist again, gripping at her firmly, and he starts to guide her harder on his cock while thrusting up into her simultaneously, meeting her halfway. The sudden change in rhythm makes her cry out, her nails digging into his skin.
âYes,â she moans, her head dropping onto his shoulder as he drives her higher. âItâs so good, fuck. Iâmââ
âThatâs it,â he growls, his voice tinged with exhaustion. âLet go, baby. Iâve got you.â
So she does, her body trembling as the pleasure crests and crashes over her. He follows seconds later, his movements growing erratic before he stills inside her, holding her tightly against him as they both ride out their highs, breathing each otherâs air. They stay tangled together, bodies still pressed close as the intensity of their orgasms fades away.
Lando brushes a strand of her hair away from her damp forehead, his lips curling into a soft smile. âYou okay there?â he asks, his voice a gentle rasp.
She nods against him, her body still warm and buzzing. âMhm, âm okay,â she murmurs, tilting her head up to meet his gaze.
He grins, leaning down to kiss her forehead. âYou did so well, baby. Made me proud.â
She lets out a breathless laugh, her head dropping back onto his shoulder. âCheers,â she trails off, playfully groaning. âBut that was so much work. My fucking thighs are on fire.â
Lando laughs, the sound deep and rich. âOh, you poor thing,â he teases, stroking her back soothingly.
She swats at his chest, unable to hold back her grin. âIâm serious! Itâs a full-body workout being on top.â
He hums thoughtfully, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on her skin. âSo what youâre saying isâŚâ he starts, tilting his head with a mischievous glint in his eyes, âI get to be in charge again next time?â
She pulls back to look at him, her cheeks flushing, but thereâs a playful sparkle in her eyes. âYou won't hear me complaining,â she quips, biting her lip to suppress her laughter.
Thank you for reading!
None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated âĽď¸
Š trashy track tales, 2024
#lando norris x reader#lando norris fanfic#lando norris smut#lando norris imagine#lando x reader#lando#x reader#lando norris#lando x you#ln4 x reader#ln4 smut#ln4 imagine#ln4 fic#ln4#fluff#smut#f1blr#trashy track tales#f1 smut#f1 x reader#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#fan fiction#f1 one shot#one shot#lando norris one shot#f1 imagine#imagine#fan fic author#f1 fiction
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âA war? What would you do to him to start a war? I just figured youâd yell and frighten him a bit. Is that really enough to start a full war?â She knew it had been said Echo might kill him but she didnât believe heâd go so far over the incident. âNo I definitely donât want a war especially over something I was involved in. I donât want anyone getting hurt over me. It was terrible seeing you hurt in the back of the limo and Iâd like to not see it ever happen again. â she said and reached out to cup his jaw where it had been hanging off him before. âHe asked me. I would like to but maybe this trip isnât the best time. I am here to be with you and even if you were busy at points, Coyote seems to be very on edge lately and I donât want to leave him alone for a night.â She reasoned.
She glanced between him and the bracelet and narrowed her eyes. âSpit it out, Echo. What have I been wearing all night like a billboard to anybody who could read it?â
Blood and Moonlight
Sasuga woke in what was at first an unfamiliar area but as she blinked fully awake she realized it was their closet that Coyote had decorated for them. She smiled and took a careful kiss from her mate who was still sound asleep next to her. It really had been an amazing night with the family and then with her husband. As she slipped from his arms, she took a moment to look at her reflection in the mirror, her fingers dancing over the fresh marks on her neck and hips. She couldn't have asked for anything more from the night and it was with some reluctance that she dressed. She picked out a pair of warm leggings and a short little skirt to pull over them with some knee high boots and a thick sweater. She slipped from the closet and moved to the bathroom to comb her hair and brush her teeth and get ready for the big day ahead. She gave a stretch and headed downstairs only to find a familiar face waiting for her. "Raphael..." she smiled and moved to greet him with a hug. "I see you are still alive." she smirked. "Want some tea? Coffee?"
@banditcoyote
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winter wonderland â s. reid x reader
in which it snows, you have a vision for a snowman, and spencer reid is all too easy to convince.Â
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff tags: established relationship. brat enabler!spencer reid!!! pathetic corny potentially tooth rotting fluff. they kiss a lot. word count: 1k a/n: wrote this for margot because i mean she did request it⌠lol⌠brat enabler spencer reid is prevalent but i mean that's just the parfaitblogs' spencer reid on the regâŚ
âď¸ advent calendar masterlist
If Spencer Reid were ever to pursue a prosecuting career, he'd hope to God you are never his opposition.Â
Too many of his firm personal rules held no weight when they challenged your own, and his ground almost always dissolves under his feet the second you disagree.Â
Like going out in the snow.Â
One minute he was appreciating the grey skies and white sheet covering the ground, and the next, he was pulling boots and winter clothes onto his body to cover up.
An argument that he so sorely lost, that began with you asking him to go out into the snow with him.Â
His response had been, "No, there's still snow fallingâ" not really "âand it'll be freezing."
"That's what warm clothes are for!"Â
And even if he wanted to back himself up and not give in, you were handing him a scarf and a sweater, regardless. Never mind the fact that you had already dressed up ready for the snow, looking warm and so pretty, and Spencer was but a man ridiculously in love with you.Â
So, he let you drag him out to the snow without any more complaints.Â
And you had agreed on a snowman. A simple, normal snowman with a carrot nose and pebbles for his buttons. The only compromise made was Spencer agreeing to you using his purple scarf to wrap around the snowman's neck, instead of a typical red one like he was imagining.Â
Truth be told, making a snowman with you was proving to be very difficult.Â
His first battle began with you refusing to wear mittens out of the house, claiming you needed the extra grip for the snow to make the perfect shapes. A fifteen minute dispute was what it took for you to reluctantly cover the skin of your hands. Even then, he caught you trying to remove the fabric from your fingers time and time again.
The second battle lay within the design of the snowman. You begging to make something fun, and Spencer reminding you of the agreement to make a normal snowman until you gave up.Â
And yet, somewhere between the collection of the snow, rolling it into balls, and putting the snowman together, it developed from a regular shaped snowman, to one with ears strangely resembling a bunny.Â
You had conned Spencer Reid, and made a bunny snowman.Â
"How did this happen?" he mumbles, almost exasperated, as you grin proudly at the snow creation presented before him.
Mind you, he knew exactly how this happened.Â
Your lips had found his in the short period of time between picking up the carrot and carrying it to put into the snowball head, and truly, he is unable to focus when you are that close to him. Which should not be held against him.
A gentle kiss that parted with the fog cloud of your two breaths mingling, the cold nipping at your lips, rendering him thoughtless and confused for half a second too long. That was when the carrot had disappeared.Â
Then, as he was placing the pebbles over the lower half of the face for the snowman's smile, you had turned him around to face you, coaxing him in for another kiss that he â this time â had enough willpower to say no to.Â
Your response was to shove a fistful of snow into the crook of his neck, encouraging a snow fight he had been trying to avoid this entire time.Â
"You do know that smothering my neck and face in snow can cause frostbite. Or hypothermia. The cold can encourage heart attacks andâ" You threw another snowball at him.Â
"It's a snowball. It wont kill you."
Really, he should've picked up on your distraction techniques sooner. Usually, he did. You were easy enough to read once he had gotten to know you, and your antics were a regular enough occurrence that he could tell when you were in a specific mood.Â
But still, you had deceived him, and he hadn't suspected a thing.Â
"Do you like her?" you chirp from beside him, a large grin on your lips.Â
"A snowman. We agreed on a regular snowman."
"It is a snowman," you protested, albeit weakly, staring at the crooked, bunny resembling pile of snow. "She's... unconventional."
"It's a bunny."
"But isn't she cute?" you press, staring up at him with widened eyes. "Say yes. Please say yes."
He huffs, his breath painting the cold air just past his lips. His resolve is seemingly incredibly easy to dissipate when you stare at him like that. "Yes. She's cute."Â
You grin at his agreement, standing on your toes to peck his cheek.Â
Though, he's quick to catch your waist and tug you closer, melting cold lips against your own. Out of shock and maybe too much glee, you laugh, and you feel him smile against your mouth.Â
Fingers lift to your hair and thread through it, and you're grateful the two of you had decided to play with the snow in your backyard. You aren't sure if he'd kiss you like this out the front of your home.Â
"Can we compromise and make another regular snowman?" you ask him, the second his lips part only a fraction from yours.Â
He pauses, his eyes searching your face, inevitably for a hint of you trying to deceive him once more. Certain he finds none, he nods his head. "Yes. We can."
You happily smile back at him, your head turning to the side so you can look at your bunny snowman once again. "She's growing on you, though, right?"
"I guess," he turns his own head. "She kind of looks like you."
Your eyebrows furrow. "Oddly shaped and on a lean?"
"Cute," he clarifies with a laugh, locking eyes with you once more. "Be kinder to yourself."
"IÂ am."
You're met with a pointed look, but he's an expert at picking his battles with you, for he sighs, then simply says, "Just start rolling more snow."
your reblogs and replies are always appreciated âĄ
#lia's advent calendar âĄ#liaâs fics âĄ#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid imagine#spencer x reader#spencer x self insert#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds imagine#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x reader fluff
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you embarrassed dilf!matt with your whining when out christmas shopping with him and now he has plans for when you two get home..
ââ .âŚ. ââ
âwhen can we go home, mâfeet hurttttâ is what matt has heard maybe over 50 times in the past hour, to be fair â he did warn you about the extensive amount of time he would be out searching for gifts but you didnât think he would take this long. your feet were killing you, you guess wearing your mary janes wasnât the brightest idea to have.
âsweet girl please, just another 30 minutes and weâll be on our way out okay?â matt said, trying his best not to let any annoyance slip in between those words. âb-but you said that 30 minutes ago!!â you grumble and slump into him like a toddler, which wouldnât have been a problem if it was just you and matt alone since heâs now used to your bratty behavior but there was a few more than a couple of people around who gave you odd looks.
âmy love- cut it out, people are staring.â his tone now stern and assertive, which makes you stand up straight and look behind you to find the amount of judgmental looks you had gotten.
your face now a bright shade of red as you begin to hide your in his neck, breathing in the small hints of mahogany and vanilla â which somewhat calms your nerves. you two finally leave the mall and are on your way home, youâre now sitting with your hands in your lap and matt is gripping onto the wheel which makes you clench your thighs and your mind begin to wander. all of that is interrupted when you hear matt speak up.
âcanât believe you, embarrassing me acting like a whiny little brat. couldnât even wait 30 more minutes, youâre in for it when we get home.â he says not even glancing over at you, youâre heart starts to race at the possible ways tonight could go but that only makes a familiar wet patch start to form in your lacy panties.
he looks over to see you in youâre own world fantasizing about later tonight but that doesnât last long.
âyâhear me? what are you smiling about over there?â the car abruptly stops at the red light and he grips onto your chin so your now face to face with him. âcâmon doll, tell me. or yaâ too shy to?â he laughs before letting go of your face. âyâreally think mâgonna give you what you want huh?â he laughs once more before driving again when the light turns green.
thats when you knew you were really in for it tonight.
- averyâs note Ë đđËâ・-
AVERY RELEASING 2 FICS IN ONE DAY??? guys be proud of me im not even sure where this is coming from and im PRAYING this energy stays for a little bit đ
đđđ đĽđ˘đŹđ - @ellaapsworld @chrissv4mp @jetaimevous @mattsbrowser @submattenthusiast @flouvela @sturniolosiphone @chrislova @sophand4n4 @mattsfavoritestar @mattslolita @y3sterdaysproblem @strnilolover @cayleeuhithinknott @cherrynflowergarden @sturnsmia @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @chaossturns
#â â Ë・ writings .á ęŠ#dilf!matt au ĘŕŹ#brat!reader â. đ Ë#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo blurb#matt sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo angst#matt sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo fanfic#christopher sturniolo x reader
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RAFE CAMERON - changes
x FEM!reader - MASTERLIST
SUMMARY: based on this request
WORD COUNT: +3.5k
GENRE: angsty
CONTENT WARNING: mentions of alcohol abuse!!
rafe cameronâs transformation hadnât been instant. it wasnât like he woke up one day and decided to leave behind the drugs, the fights, and the reputation that shadowed him everywhere he went.
it was gradualâpainful, even. he hit rock bottom when his father, had finally given up on him, staring him down with disappointment so heavy that it left rafe feeling like nothing. adding that to the constant whispers on the island, the mounting legal troubles, and his own body screaming for somethingâanythingâto numb it all.
and then he met you.
it wasnât love at first sightânothing that neat. you werenât the kind of person whoâd fall for the version of rafe cameron he was back then, and he knew it. still, something about you made him try harder to keep your attention, even if it was just in small, fleeting moments. you didnât seem afraid of him, but you werenât charmed by the bad boy act either. that made you different.
you saw through him, though he didnât realize it at first. the easy smirk he wore, the sharp edges to his personalityâyou didnât buy into any of it. and for reasons he couldnât explain, that only made him want you more.
at first, you were just a distraction from the chaos of his life. Aabright spot in the mess he couldnât seem to untangle. but the more time he spent with you, the more he realized he wanted to be the version of himself you deservedâthe version of himself heâd buried beneath years of anger and regret.
you didnât push him to change. you didnât lecture him or try to fix him. instead, you simply existed in his world, your quiet strength and warmth enough to make him question everything.
for a long time, rafe tried to balance it all: keeping you close while still sinking into the same destructive habits. but it became harder and harder to look you in the eye after a night of doing blow or waking up in a jail cell. he could see the worry in your expression, the disappointment you tried to hide. and though you never said the words outright, he could feel the weight of your silent plea: be better. youâre better than this.
the night everything changed was one he would never forget. you had stayed up waiting for him after one of his infamous benders. he came home bruised, reeking of alcohol, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. you didnât yell or cry. you simply asked, âhow much longer do you think you can keep this up before it kills you?â
it wasnât a threat or an ultimatumâit was a genuine question, asked in the softest voice heâd ever heard. and for the first time, he didnât have an answer.
he wasnât proud of how far gone heâd been. the cocaine, the countless nights drowning in whiskey, the explosive temper that dragged him into fights heâd barely remember starting. heâd been pushing away everyone who had ever cared about him, and for what? empty bottles, bleeding knuckles, and a rap sheet that could rival a career criminalâs
that was the moment rafe realized he didnât want to lose you. and more importantly, he didnât want to lose himself.
the road to redemption wasnât easy. he stumbled more times than he cared to admit, but he kept going. for you, at firstâbut eventually, for himself too.
from that day on, rafe worked to pull himself out of the mess heâd created. it wasnât easy. the withdrawal was brutal, the temptation constant. the whispers didnât stop, and the pogues certainly didnât forgive and forget overnight. but he stayed the course, because for the first time, he could see a future where he wasnât defined by his worst moments.
what he didnât see, as he fought to put himself back together, was the way you were starting to come undone.
rafe had been too consumed by his own chaos to notice the way it was spilling over into your life. in those early days, you tried to be there for him, to anchor him, even as he self-destructed. but being close to rafe cameron back then meant standing too close to the fire. he didnât mean to hurt youâhe didnât even realize he was doing itâbut his recklessness burned everything in its path, including you.
there were nights when youâd wait for him, staring at the clock long past midnight, your stomach twisting with dread. was he passed out somewhere? in a fight? in jail? the worry gnawed at you, clawing deeper with every unanswered text and phone call.
and when he did come home, he wasnât the person you knew he could be. he was drunk, high, and distant, his words slurred, his temper sharp. you tried to reach him, to remind him of the person he used to be, but it was like trying to hold water in your handsâit all slipped through your fingers.
the worst part wasnât the yelling or the silences. it was the absence.
slowly, without realizing it, rafe had left you alone in a relationship that was supposed to be a partnership. you stopped counting the days between when heâd actually look at you, really see you. you were there, holding him up.
but no one was holding you.
at first, you told yourself it didnât matter. you were strong; you could handle it. but cracks began to form, little fissures that grew wider with every broken promise and sleepless night. and in those moments, when the loneliness became unbearable, you turned to the only thing that seemed to quiet the ache: alcohol.
it started smallâa glass of wine to help you sleep, a glass of vodka to steady your nerves. but as the nights dragged on and rafe stayed out later and later, one drink became two, then three, until you stopped counting altogether.
though the irony wasnât lost on you. you were drowning yourself in the very thing that was destroying him. but at least when you were drunk, the pain didnât feel so sharp, the nights didnât feel so long, and the loneliness didnât feel so suffocating.
rafe didnât notice. how could he? he was too busy stumbling through his own haze of drugs and liquor to see the way you were crumbling. you both lived in the same house, but it felt like you were in different worldsâhis world of chaos and yours of quiet despair.
by the time rafe began to claw his way out of his darkness, the damage had already been done. he was so focused on getting clean, on staying out of trouble, that he didnât notice the way your hands trembled in the mornings or the way you poured your drinks a little too full at dinner.
you told yourself it was fine. he was trying to be better, and you didnât want to burden him with your own problems. but deep down, you resented him for itâresented the way he seemed to be moving forward while you were still stuck, sinking deeper into a hole you didnât know how to climb out of.
for him it seemed to work. you were supportive, always cheering him on, always proud. but the more he healed, the more he started to notice things he hadnât before. things about you.
the way your hands trembled when you reached for your coffee mug. the red-rimmed eyes that never seemed to fade, even after a full nightâs rest. the way you poured yourself another glass of wine at dinner before youâd even finished the first.
and the smell. faint, but unmistakable. alcohol lingered on your breath, on your clothes. he knew the scent all too well.
the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. at first, he tried to brush it off, convinced he was overthinking. but the signs were there, clear as day. and tonight, as you reached for yet another glass of wine, he couldnât keep quiet anymore.
âhow much have you been drinking?â
the question hung in the air, heavy and unyielding.
you froze, your fingers tightening around the stem of your glass. âwhat?â
he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his brows furrowed in concern. âiâm serious, y/n. how much?â
you laughed, but it was hollow, bitter. âwhy does it matter?â you asked, taking a sip as if to prove a point.
âbecause iâm worried about you,â he said, his voice trembling slightly. âiâm not stupid. the glass is always full, thereâs always another bottle. your hands shake in the morning, baby. i know the signs.â
you set the glass down with a sharp clink, your chest tightening. âdonât do this, rafe.â
âdo what?â he asked, his tone still soft but laced with desperation. âcare about you? ask what the hellâs going on? you think i donât notice the way youâve been slipping?â
and just like that, the dam burst. the emotions youâd been bottling up came flooding out in a rush of anger and sadness.
âyou donât get to judge me!â you snapped, your voice shaking. ânot after everything. do you know how many nights i spent waiting for you to come home, praying you werenât dead in a ditch somewhere? do you know what itâs like to watch someone you love destroy themselves and not be able to do a damn thing about it?â
rafeâs face crumpled, his guilt visible in every line. âiâm not judging you,â he said quietly. âi know what itâs like. i know how it feels to want to drown it all out, to make it stop.â
âno, you donât,â you shot back, your voice breaking. âyou donât know how it feels to lose someone before theyâre even gone. to... to feel like youâre screaming for help... but no one hears you because theyâre too busy pulling themselves out of the mess they made!â
âangel,â rafe said, reaching for your hand, but you pulled back.
âi know iâm a hypocrite,â you continued, tears threatening to stream down your face. âi know iâm doing the same thing you did. and maybe iâm weak. maybe iâm pathetic!â sobs came out of you as you tried to form your words.
âbut i needed you, rafe. i needed you, and you werenât there! you were never there,â your voice cracked.
he flinched like youâd struck him, but he didnât argue. he didnât try to defend himself, because deep down, he knew you were right. âi wasnât there,â he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. âi wasnât. and iâll never forgive myself for that. but iâm here now, and iâm begging youâplease let me help you.â
you shook your head, anger and heartbreak swirling in your chest. âi donât need your help, rafe. i donât need you to fix me.â
he reached for you again, desperation written all over his face. âiâm not trying to fix you. i justâi love you. i canât watch you go through this alone. please, angel, let me help.â
but you couldnât. the pain, the angerâit was all too much. you stood abruptly, grabbing your coat.
âwhere are you going?â he asked, panic flashing in his eyes.
âout,â you said, your voice cold and final.
âplease donâââ
âi canât do this right now,â you cut him off, walking to the door. âi justâi need to breathe.â
rafe stood frozen, his heart pounding as he watched you slip on your shoes and grab your keys.
âbaby, donât go,â he said, his voice breaking.
âplease, donât leave like this.â
you didnât look back. the door closed with a slam behind you, leaving rafe alone in the silence, his heart splintering into pieces.
but he didnât try to wait. the moment the door closed behind you, he grabbed his jacket and followed, his heart pounding with equal parts fear and determination.
you were already halfway down the driveway when he caught up, your keys clenched tightly in your hand as you marched toward your car.
ây/n,â he called, his voice desperate, but you didnât stop.
âjust leave me alone, rafe,â you said, your tone sharp, though it cracked at the edges.
âi canât do that, angel,â he said, quickening his pace until he was just a few steps behind you. âiâm not letting you walk away like this.â
you spun on your heel, your eyes blazing with a mix of anger and pain. âyou donât get to follow me,â you snapped. âyou donât get to tell me what to do, not after everything!â
he stopped in his tracks, holding his hands up like he was surrendering. âokay. fine. but at least let me drive you.â
you scoffed, turning back toward your car. âi donât need you to drive me, iâm fine.â
âyouâre not fine,â he said softly, his voice laced with concern. âyouâve been drinking. i can smell and see it. please, justâdonât do this. if you need to get away, iâll take you. just let me drive.â
you hesitated, your hand on the car door. deep down, you knew he was right. the alcohol was still humming faintly in your veins, and the last thing you needed was to get pulled over or worse.
âi donât need a babysitter,â you muttered, but you let the keys dangle loosely in your hand.
âi know you donât,â he said, stepping closer, his voice gentle. âbut i need to do this, okay? justâlet me do this for you.â
âi need to know youâre safe.â
you looked at him, his face etched with a raw kind of desperation that made your chest ache. for a moment, you considered pushing him away again, but the exhaustion was too heavy, and the fight was slipping from your grasp.
âokay,â you said reluctantly, tossing him the keys. âbut donât talk to me.â
rafe nodded, catching the keys midair. âyeah, okay,â he said quietly.
you climbed into the passenger seat, crossing your arms and staring out the window as he slid into the driverâs seat. the silence between you was thick, heavy with unsaid words, but he didnât press. he simply started the car and pulled out of the driveway.
as the streetlights blurred past, you pulled a flask from your coat pocket, unscrewing the lid with shaky hands.
ây/n, donât,â rafe said softly, glancing over at you.
you ignored him, lifting the flask to your lips.
âplease,â he said, his voice breaking. âiâm begging you. justâdonât.â
âit wonât help, it never will.â
your hand hovered midair, the weight of his words pressing down on you. for a moment, you hesitated, but the familiar ache in your chest won out. you tipped the flask back, the burn of the alcohol momentarily numbing the pain.
rafe gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles white. he didnât say anything else, but the hurt in his expression was unmistakable.
as the car sped down the road, the silence between you grew heavier, suffocating. rafe was struggling to keep himself together, but he knew one thing: no matter how far you tried to run, he wasnât going to let you go through this alone.
the red and blue lights flashing in the rearview mirror brought rafeâs heart to his throat.
âshit,â he muttered, gripping the wheel tighter as he pulled the car to the side of the road.
you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, clutching the flask. âyou were speeding, werenât you?â
rafeâs jaw tightened. âyeah, i guess i was. justâstay quiet, alright?â
the flashlight beam hit the driverâs side window before either of you could say anything else. when rafe rolled it down, the familiar voice of shoupe made the tension in the car skyrocket.
âwell, well, look who we have here,â shoupe said, leaning down to get a better look at rafe. his tone was casual, almost amused, but there was a sharp edge to it. ârafe cameron, speeding down my roads. whatâs the rush tonight?â
rafe forced a tight smile, though the discomfort was written all over his face. âsorry, officer. i wasnât paying attention to my speed. just trying to get my girl to a friendsâ house,â he said, nodding toward you.
shoupeâs flashlight swept across the interior of the car, landing squarely on the flask in your lap.
âuh-huh,â shoupe nodded, his tone shifting as he focused on you. âand uh⌠whatâs that? you two drinking and driving tonight?â
your stomach dropped, and you froze, unable to find the words to respond.
rafe jumped in immediately, his voice firm but a little shaky. âitâs mine,â he said quickly. âthe flaskâitâs mine, shoupe.â
shoupe raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. âyours, huh? and yet, itâs sitting in her lap?â
âshe justâshe was holding it for me,â rafe lied, his voice steady despite the panic brewing in his chest. âi wasnât thinking, i shouldnât have had it in the car. thatâs on me.â
shoupe straightened, sighing heavily. âcâmon, son. youâve been doing so good lately. now iâm supposed to believe youâre back to this? open containers in the car? speeding? whatâs going on?â
âitâs not what it looks like,â rafe said quickly, desperation seeping into his tone. âjust give me a ticket for the speeding, and iâll take care of it. iâll dump the flask right now.â
shoupe glanced between you and rafe, his sharp eyes narrowing. the tension stretched, the air in the car thick and suffocating. finally, he sighed and shook his head.
âlook,â he said, his voice softer now, âyouâre lucky i know youâve been trying to straighten out, son. but i donât want to see you slipping, especially with her involved.â he gestured toward you with his flashlight.
rafe nodded quickly. âunderstood. iâll get it together. promise.â
shoupe studied him for a moment longer before stepping back. âslow down. and get rid of the flask. i better not catch you with it again.â
âyes, sir,â rafe said, his voice tight.
shoupe gave you both one last look before walking back to his car. as the flashing lights receded into the far distance, rafe leaned back in his seat, letting out a shaky exhale.
you stared at him, your emotions swirling in a chaotic mess. âwhy the hell did you take the blame?â
rafe turned to you, his eyes weary but determined. âbecause iâm not letting you deal with this bullshit, y/n. not you. never you.â
you opened your mouth to argue, but the words wouldnât come. instead, you looked out the window, your grip on the flask loosening as rafe started the car again.
the silence between you was heavier than ever, but you could feel his eyes flicking to you now and then, filled with concern and a love you didnât know how to handle anymore.
the car stayed silent except for the low hum of the engine as rafe drove. his eyes flicked toward you every few moments, filled with worry and guilt.
you sat stiffly in the passenger seat, staring out the window, the flask now abandoned in your lap. the weight of everything hung heavily in the air, suffocating and thick.
ây/n,â rafe finally said softly, his voice tentative, testing the waters. âcan we justâcan we talk about this?â
his words broke something in you. the wall youâd been desperately holding up crumbled, and a choked sob escaped your lips.
âiâm sorry,â you whispered, your voice trembling as tears began to stream down your face. âiâm so sorry, rafe.â
rafe immediately pulled the car over to the side of the road, his heart clenching at the sound of your broken voice. âbaby, no,â he said, turning to you, his own voice shaking. âdonât do that. donât apologize. you donât have toââ
âi was so awful to you,â you cried, covering your face with your hands as your shoulders shook. âyou didnât deserve that. youâre trying so hard to be better, and iâi just lashed out at you.â
rafe reached for your hands, gently pulling them away from your face. his eyes glistened with unshed tears as he looked at you, his expression raw and vulnerable.
âno, angel,â he said, his voice thick. âdonât do that. donât blame yourself. iâm the one who messed up. i wasnât there for you when you needed me. i let you down, and now youâreââ his voice cracked, and he turned his head away for a moment, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay.
you shook your head, tears spilling freely. âi justâi donât know how to fix this, rafe. i feel like iâm drowning, and i donât know how to stop.â
his hands tightened around yours, his own tears threatening to fall. âyou donât have to do it alone, angel,â he said softly. âyou donât have to carry this by yourself. let me help you, please. let me be there for you.â
you looked at him, his eyes filled with nothing but love and desperation, and the weight of it all was almost too much to bear.
âturn around,â you whispered, your voice trembling.
âwhat?â rafe asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.
âturn around,â you repeated, a fresh wave of tears spilling down your cheeks. âletâs just go home, rafe. please. i donâtâi just want to go home.â
rafe exhaled shakily, nodding as he wiped a hand across his face. âokay, baby,â he said, his voice cracking. âweâll go home. whatever you need.â
he put the car in reverse, pulling back onto the road. as he drove, his hand reached out to rest on your knee, a silent promise that he wasnât letting goânot this time.
#lizzieswritesđđ#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron outer banks#drew starkey x reader#drew starkey x y/n#drew starkey x you#drew starkey imagine#outerbanks rafe#drew starkey
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I love to joke about the line "I'd like to cross examine the witness' pet parrot!" because it's just so silly!
It's also the sheer desperation of someone who knows the entire deck is stacked against him. He's already lost. His best friend in the whole world is going to be sentenced to death for a murder he didn't commit. Literally his only hope left is that the judge will allow something this blatantly ridiculous to show the proof he needs. Of course he's scraping the bottom of the barrel of the utterly ridiculous. He has nothing left to lose.
It's so silly!
Phoenix just learned that the goody-two-shoes he was best friends with as a kid who suddenly disappeared did so because his dad died right in front of him and he was adopted by his dad's bitter rival, who is the actuality of all the horrible things the news said about the friend himself. This prosecutor is completely undefeated, both because he's ruthless and actually evil and because so many higher-ups in the legal system actively cover things up for him. This prosecutor is also horrifically cruel and has no doubt been psychologically abusing Phoenix's friend since he adopted him at about nine years old. Phoenix's friend is also fully convinced he killed his own father, which the prosecutor who raised him almost certainly actively encouraged him to believe. And that evil man has molded Phoenix's friend to be just like him for the past fifteen years, always intending to throw him to the wolves like this in the end.
It's... so... silly...
Oh, and even if Phoenix manages to completely prove his friend's innocence on both counts, there's still no actual winning in this scenario. Because either Edgeworth is right about deserving everything that's happened to him, or he has to confront that his entire life for the past fifteen years has been a lie, the man he idolized always planned to use the legal system to murder him by proxy, and even though he does value the truth above all else his entire career as a prosecutor has been built on unethical methods and contacts with people in high places who were either just as deceived by his mentor as he was or also bad people.
It genuinely is really silly though. You will laugh your ass off playing this game. It's just something that happens in between moments of crying.
the "almost christmas" meme really captures the essence of ace attorney, which is funney hijinks that just get absolutely heartbreaking so fast. do the non ace attorneys know. do they think we're just going apeshit over a Funney Moment. do they know that "almost christmas means it wasn't christmas" is the turning point, the turnabout, the first moment of hope after the closest phoenix ever comes to horrible and painful failure, after he very nearly failed to save the man he'd been trying to save for 15 years? do they know? do they know?
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i love you, in every time ŕżâ§â 2023 - nothing matters but you
chapter summary: The remaining X-Men come up with a plan to change their present; send Logan back in time to change the past.
word count: 17.1k+
pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader
notes: oooohhhh boy!! i've been waiting for this chapter for so long and it's finally here! i'll have more to say at the end, but for now, and i truly mean it, enjoy!!! <3
warnings/tags: takes place during 'days of future past', dofp!logan, light miscommunication, angst, light violence, blood, character death, fluff, memory loss, happy ending!
series masterlist - chapter 10
The Blackbird landed on the top of the large mountain in front of a monastery. Ororo walked out first, followed by Logan, who paused at the bottom of the stairs to light his cigar, Charles, whose chair hovered down the stairs, and Erik.
They walked to the front of the monastery as Bobby spoke, âProfessor.â
Ororo smiled, âBobby.â
âHey, Storm,â he replied, giving the woman a hug.
âHey, kid.â Logan said.
âProfessor,â Kitty called out. âYou made it.â
The group made their way inside as Kitty explained how the group had been surviving, âWarpath spots them, and I send Bishop back to warn us of the attack before it happens. Blink scouts the next site, and⌠well, we leave before they ever know we were there.â
âBecause we never were.â Bishop said.
âBut what do you mean, you were never there?â Logan asked.
Charles looked over at Logan, âshe projects Bishop back in time a few days to warn the others of the coming attack.â
âSo she sends Bishop back in time?â
âNo, just his consciousness into his younger self, his younger body.â Charles clarified.
âWow.â Logan muttered.
âThis might just work, Charles.â Erik commented.
âWhat might work?â Kitty questioned.
âThe Sentinel program was originally conceived by Dr. Bolivar Trask. In the early â70s, he was one of the worldâs leading weapons designers, but covertly, he had begun experimenting on mutants, using their gifts to fuel his own research. There was one mutant who had discovered what he was doing.â Charles explained.
âA mutant with the ability to transform herself into anyone.â Erik added.
âMystique,â Peter said.
âI knew her as Raven. We met when we were children. Grew up together. She was like a sister to me. I tried to help her, but only succeeded in driving her away. She hunted Trask across the world, and at the Paris Peace Accords in 1973, after the Vietnam War, she found Trask. And killed him. It was the first time she killed.â
âIt wasnât her last.â Logan added on.
âBut killing Trask did not have the outcome she expected. It only persuaded the government of the need for his program. They captured her that day. Tortured her. Experimented on her. In her DNA, they discovered the secrets to her powers of transformation. It gave them the key they needed to create weapons that could adapt to any mutant power, and in less than 50 years, the machines that have destroyed so many of our kind were created. But it all started that day in 1973, the day she first killed, the day she truly became⌠Mystique.â Charles finished.
âYou want to go back there,â Kitty said.
âIf I can get to her, stop the assassination, keep her out of their hands, then we can stop the Sentinels from ever being born.â
âAnd end this war before it ever begins.â Erik spoke.
âI-I can send someone back a couple weeks. I mean, maybe a month, but youâre talking about going back decades. You have the most powerful brain in the world, Professor, but the mind can only stretch so far before it snaps. It would rip you apart. Iâm sorry. No one could survive that trip.â Kitty remarked.
âWhat if someoneâs mind has a way of snapping back?â Logan asked. âWhat if someone can heal as fast as theyâre ripped apart?â
---
Logan stood by the table as Charles, Erik, Kitty, and Bobby stood nearby, the rest outside of the monastery keeping watch.
âSo I wake up in my younger body, God knows where. Then what?â
âYouâll need to go to my house and find me. Convince me of all of this.â Charles moved closer to Logan.
âWonât you be able to just read my mind?â
âI didnât have my powers in 1973. Logan, youâre going to have to do for me what I once did for you. Lead me, guide me. I was a very different man then. Youâll have to be patient with me.â
Logan scoffed, âpatience isnât my strongest suit.â
âYouâll need me as well,â Erik spoke up.
âWhat?â Logan turned to face Erik behind him.
âAfter Mystique left Charles, she came with me, and I set her on a dangerous path. Darker path. Itâs going to take the two of us, side by side at a time when we couldnât be further apart.â
Logan looked at Charles who nodded in affirmation, âgreat,â he muttered to himself. âSo, where do I find you?â
âWell, itâs complicated.â Erik said, as Logan shook his head and stopped himself from rolling his eyes.
Logan got onto the table and lied down, Kitty sitting at the head of the table, âbasically, your body will go to sleep while your mind travels back in time. Now, as long as youâre back there, past and present will continue to coexist, but once you wake up⌠whatever youâve done will take hold and become history. And for the rest of us itâll be the only history that we know. Itâll be like the last 50 years never happened. And this world, and this war⌠the only person who will remember it is you.â Kitty took a breath, âall right, Logan, I need you to clear your head and to stay as calm possible.â
âWhat? What do you mean?â
âIf your mind gets rocky, itâll be harder for me to hold you, and you could start to slip between past and future.â
âWhat if I need to get a little rocky?â
Kitty lightly shook her head, âthink peaceful thoughts?â
âPeaceful thoughts.â Logan repeated. âYou have any good news?â
âWell, I mean, you donât really age, so youâll pretty much look the same.â
Bobby spoke up, âyou wonât have much time in the past. The Sentinels will find us. They always do.â
âAnd this time, we wonât be able to run. Weâll have no escape. This is our last chance.â Kittyâs hands hovered near the sides of Loganâs head.
âSee you all soon.â Logan said.
âThis might sting a little.â
---
Logan blinked, his vision adjusting to the dim, warm glow of the lava lamp. Its lazy, hypnotic bubbles drifted in the liquid, but his mind was racing to catch up. The sharp, immediate transition from the future to⌠thisâthe past, his pastâhad his senses momentarily disoriented.
The pressure against his neck snapped him into focus. An arm was draped over his shoulder from behind, soft, warm, and familiar. He shifted his head just enough to glance at the hand resting on his chest. It was delicate, but the grip was firm, like whoever it belonged to had no intention of letting him go.
âMorninâ,â your voice came from behind him, groggy and soft. Your tone was laced with the remnants of sleep but carried the easy, teasing warmth that always seemed to put him off guard.
His heart clenched. You.
You leaned into him slightly, pressing your cheek against his shoulder as you stretched, entirely unaware of the whirlwind in his head. The past, your face, the other you. The fact that he hadnât seen this version of you in nearly 50 years.
âDidnât think Iâd need to pry you out of bed first,â you teased lightly, your hand giving his chest a playful pat before you settled again. âUsually, youâre already up before the sun, big guy.â
Loganâs jaw clenched at the nickname. His eyes narrowed at the roomâa modest hotel room with vintage floral wallpaper and creaky wooden furnitureâand the small pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. His leather jacket. Your dress. The pieces clicked into place far too quickly, but they didnât make it easier to stomach.
He turned his head enough to catch sight of you, hair slightly messy, lips curled in a lazy grin. You were radiant in a way that didnât match the world heâd just left behind. The world heâd come back to fix. And you had no idea how much heâd missed that expression.
âWhatâs with the look?â you asked, tilting your head. âDo I have something on my face, or are you just debating whether or not youâre gonna finish that cigar from yesterday?â
Logan shook his head slightly, clearing the fog. âNah. Just⌠thinkinâ.â
âYou?â you quipped. âThatâs dangerous.â
âCute,â he replied dryly, though a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
You laughed and pulled back, sitting up against the headboard. Your expression softened when you caught a hint of the tension still lingering in his body. âYou okay? You seem⌠off.â
âYeah. Iâm fine.â He swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting on the edge to gather himself. âJust didnât sleep great.â
âYou tossed and turned a lot,â you agreed, though your concern didnât waver. âAnother bad dream?â
Logan didnât answer immediately. The memories of the future, the Sentinels, the war, and your other death pressed heavily on him. Instead, he grunted noncommittally and stood, grabbing his jeans from a chair nearby.
âYâknow,â you said behind him, watching as he pulled on his shirt, âmost bodyguards donât get that much real estate in their bossâs daughterâs bed.â
Logan froze for a beat before throwing you a glance over his shoulder. âMost bodyguards donât sneak them outta her own wedding either, darlinâ.â
You grinned mischievously, leaning your head back against the headboard. âGuess that makes us even.â
He shook his head but couldnât stop the chuckle that escaped. You havenât changed a bit.
Before either of you could say anything more, there was a sharp knock on the door. Loganâs entire body tensed, his senses sharpening instantly. He sniffed the air, picking up the distinct scents of sweat, leather, and gunpowder.
âStay here,â he said lowly, grabbing his jacket and stepping toward the door.
âLogan, whatââ
âI mean it,â he said, cutting you off with a firm glance. The tone in his voice told you not to argue.
He moved toward the door, his hand hovering over the knob as his other reached behind him for the small knife he kept tucked into his waistband. He opened the door slightly, just enough to peer through the crack.
Two men stood in the hall, dressed in dark suits. Their faces were sharp, unfamiliar, but their eyes carried an unmistakable menace.
âCan I help you?â Logan asked gruffly.
âYeah,â one of them said. âWeâre here for the lady. Her fatherâs lookinâ for her.â
Logan didnât hesitate. He slammed the door shut and locked it, spinning back toward you. âGet down,â he barked.
âWhatâs going on?â you asked, but the urgency in his voice made you scramble off the bed.
The door shuddered as one of the men kicked it. Logan growled low in his throat, adrenaline surging as his hands instinctively balled into fists. Bone claws erupted from his knuckles with a sickening snikt, and he turned toward the door just as it splintered inward.
Your sharp gasp filled the room, but there was no time for questions. Logan launched himself at the first man, driving his claws deep into the guyâs shoulder. Blood sprayed across the room as the second man raised a gun, but Logan was faster. He yanked his claws free and swung, knocking the weapon from the manâs hand before driving his claws into his stomach.
It was over in seconds, but the aftermath left the room in chaos. Logan stood over the bodies, his breathing heavy, his shirt streaked with blood. His claws glistened in the dim light, and as he turned toward you, his expression softened.
âLoganâŚâ you whispered, your voice shaking. Your eyes were wide, fixed on the bone claws still protruding from his hands.
He hesitated, then retracted them with a shudder, the wounds on his knuckles sealing themselves almost instantly. âI can explain,â he said gruffly.
âYouâyou justâŚâ You couldnât find the words.
âY/N,â he said, stepping toward you carefully. âI need you to trust me.â
You stared at him, your mind racing. The man you thought you knew had just turned into something else entirelyâbut it wasnât fear that kept you rooted in place. It was the way he was looking at you, desperate, protective, like heâd go through hell just to keep you safe.
âIâŚâ You took a shaky breath. âI trust you.â
Loganâs shoulders sagged in relief, though the tension in the room didnât dissipate. He grabbed a bag from the corner of the room and tossed it toward you. âWe need to move. Now.â
Before you could question him further, he bent down, rummaging through the manâs jacket pocket to snag the keys before heading for the door. You hesitated, your mind still racing to process what you had just seen. The claws, the blood, the sheer force he used to take out armed menâit was like something out of a nightmare. But Logan wasnât the nightmare. He was the only constant in this whirlwind you called your life.
âY/N,â Loganâs voice broke through your haze. He was standing by the door, his tone sharp but not unkind. âLetâs go. Now.â
You shoved a few belongings into the bag, still half-dressed from sleep, and moved quickly to his side. âLogan, what the hell is goinâ on?â
âIâll explain later,â he said, keeping his voice low and his gaze locked on the hallway as he peeked out. âFor now, weâve gotta put some distance between us and whoever else your fatherâs sent after you.â
Your stomach twisted at the mention of your father, but you followed him out of the room, clutching the strap of the bag tightly. âHow did they even find us?â
âDonât know. Donât care,â Logan muttered, leading you down the narrow hallway. His shoulders were rigid, his entire body coiled like a spring. âWhat matters is keeping you outta their hands.â
The two of you reached the stairwell, and Logan paused at the top, scanning the area below. He tilted his head, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air. Whatever he smelled didnât seem to calm him, but he motioned for you to follow anyway.
You descended the stairs as quietly as you could, your bare feet barely making a sound against the worn carpet. âLogan, seriously, you need to tell me whatâs going on. Those⌠claws, or whateverââ
âNot now, sweetheart,â he interrupted, his voice tense but firm. âWeâve gotta focus on getting outta here.â
You bit your lip, frustration bubbling under your skin. This wasnât the first time Logan had dodged your questions, but after what youâd just seen, you werenât about to let it slide for long.
The two of you slipped out a side door into the cool morning air. The parking lot was mostly empty, save for a few scattered vehicles. Logan made a beeline for a black sedan parked near the edge of the lot. He unlocked the door and ushered you inside without a word.
âLoganââ you started as he slid into the driverâs seat, but he cut you off again.
âBuckle up,â he said, starting the engine.
You shot him a glare but did as he said, snapping the seatbelt into place. Logan peeled out of the lot, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as his eyes flicked between the road and the rearview mirror.
For a few minutes, the only sound was the hum of the engine and the faint thud of your heartbeat in your ears. You watched him closely, noting the way his jaw clenched and his knuckles turned white around the wheel.
âAre you gonna tell me whatâs going on now?â you finally demanded, crossing your arms. âBecause I think I deserve an explanation after that little⌠display back there.â
Logan let out a slow breath through his nose, his eyes still on the road. âItâs complicated.â
âNo kidding,â you shot back. âStart with the claws. What the hell are they, Logan? And donât tell me theyâre some kind of freak weapon because I saw them come out of your hands.â
He glanced at you briefly, his expression unreadable. âTheyâre a part of me,â he said simply.
You blinked, taken aback by the matter-of-fact tone in his voice. âWhat do you mean, âa part of youâ? Like, you were born with them?â
âSomethinâ like that,â he muttered.
You stared at him, waiting for more, but he didnât elaborate. Frustration bubbled over, and you leaned forward, grabbing his arm. âLogan, Iâm serious. I need answers.â
He sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as he finally looked over at you. âIâll tell you everything, sweetheart. Just not right now. Right now, weâve gotta focus on getting somewhere safe.â
âAnd whereâs that?â you asked, your voice softening slightly.
âA place I know,â he said, turning his attention back to the road. âWeâll head north, get outta the city, and figure it out from there.â
You frowned, unsure whether to trust his vague assurances. But the look in his eyes, the raw determination mixed with something you couldnât quite placeâit was enough to quiet your doubts for now.
âFine,â you said, leaning back in your seat. âBut you owe me the truth. All of it.â
Logan smirked faintly, though it didnât quite reach his eyes. âYouâve always been a tough one, huh?â
âDamn right,â you muttered, crossing your arms again. But despite your defiant tone, a small part of you couldnât help but feel a flicker of something elseâsomething warm and familiarâwhen he called you tough.
You didnât notice the way his grip on the wheel tightened at your response or the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly. To you, this was just another chaotic morning in the whirlwind of your life. But to Logan, it was a painful reminder of how many mornings like this heâd lost with you.
---
You tapped your fingers on your thigh, still waiting for Logan to come out of this mansion, which looked like it had seen better days.
You groaned as you tilted your head back, adjusting yourself in the car seat. It had been a while since Logan left the car and went inside, almost 2 hours. You would know, youâve been watching the clock.
Finally, Logan stepped outside and briskly walked to the car door, opening it for you. âJesus, what took so long?â You asked, as he grabbed your bag from the backside and guided you into the house where two other men were, one with glasses, the other with long curly hair. âLogan-?â
âYouâre staying here.â He stated.
You stopped dead in your tracks, your eyes narrowing at Logan. âWhat?â you demanded. âYou said weâd figure this out together. You didnât say anything about leaving me here.â
Logan ran a hand through his hair, already looking stressed. âPlans changed, darlinâ,â he said, his tone calm but firm. âCharles and Hank are cominâ with me. Weâve got somethinâ to take care of, and itâs safer if you stay here.â
âSafer? Logan, this place is the size of a damn castle!â You gestured around the massive entry hall, frustration spilling over. âYouâre just gonna leave me here by myself? What if they come for me again? What am I supposed to do then?â
âYou wonât be alone,â Charles interjected, his tone measured but polite. He glanced briefly at Logan, as if trying to gauge how much to say. âThis house has a number of protections. Youâll be secure here.â
âSecure from who?â you fired back, your eyes darting between the two men. âYou all keep throwing words around like âsafeâ and âprotected,â but you wonât tell me from what!â
Logan stepped closer, his voice softening. âY/N, I know youâve got questions, and I know this ainât easy, but trust me. If I thought for a second there was a better way to keep you outta harmâs way, Iâd do it.â
You stared at him, trying to ignore the way his voiceâthe way he called you by nameâseemed to ease some of the tension in your chest. But it wasnât enough. âYou always do this,â you muttered, crossing your arms. âYou make decisions for me like Iâm some fragile little doll. Iâm not helpless, Logan.â
âI know that,â he said quickly, his gaze locking onto yours. âBut that doesnât mean Iâm gonna take chances with you.â
âYouâre unbelievable,â you muttered, shaking your head. âAnd where exactly are you going thatâs so important you canât tell me?â
Logan hesitated, his jaw tightening. He glanced at Charles, who gave him a slight nod. âWeâve gotta stop someone,â Logan finally said, his voice low. âSomeone whoâs about to make a big mistake.â
âThatâs it?â you asked, your frustration rising again. âThatâs all youâre gonna give me?â
âThatâs all you need to know right now,â Logan replied. He reached out, his hand brushing against your arm. âLook, I promise Iâll explain everything when I get back. But for now, I need you to trust me.â
You stared at him, your chest tight with a mix of anger and something softer, something you didnât want to name. âFine,â you said at last, pulling away from his touch. âBut donât expect me to be happy about it.â
Logan smirked faintly, though his eyes were serious. âWouldnât expect anything less.â
Charles cleared his throat, stepping forward. âY/N, I understand this is a lot to take in, but I assure you, this is the safest course of action for now. Hank and I will only be gone for a short while.â
âYeah,â you muttered, glancing at him briefly. âYou better be.â
Logan nodded at Charles, then turned back to you. âThereâs food in the kitchen, and plenty of space to stretch out. Donât open the doors for anyone but me or them. Got it?â
You rolled your eyes but nodded. âGot it.â
Logan hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to say more, but then he turned and followed Charles and Hank toward the door. You watched them leave, the sound of the heavy door closing echoing in the empty mansion.
For a long moment, you stood in the middle of the entry hall, clutching your bag and trying to process everything that had just happened. Finally, you let out a heavy sigh and slung the bag over your shoulder.
âGuess Iâm on my own,â you muttered, heading deeper into the mansion to figure out how the hell you were supposed to pass the time in this massive, empty house.
---
It didnât take long for you to get bored, even in a place as massive as this. From what you gathered during your first walkthrough, this mansion had likely been a boarding school at some point. The classrooms, rows of bedrooms, and an enormous kitchen all hinted at its past. But now, it was eerily quietâlike a castle frozen in time.
You wandered aimlessly, peeking into rooms and finding nothing but empty desks, dust-covered books, and a growing sense of restlessness. The longer you roamed, the more your mind churned over Loganâs sudden departure. You didnât want to admit it, but his absence had left a voidâa nagging worry that you couldnât shake.
You sighed, stopping in front of a wide window overlooking the overgrown courtyard. What am I even doing here? you thought. Your fingers tapped against the windowpane as you chewed the inside of your cheek. Maybe you shouldâve pushed harder for answers instead of letting Logan sidestep your questionsâagain.
The faint hum of a clock ticking in the hallway was the only sound accompanying your thoughts. It wasnât enough to drown out the memories of Loganâs claws unsheathing back at the hotel or the unspoken tension in his voice when he said, âyou wonât be alone.â
âGreat,â you muttered under your breath, turning away from the window. âStuck in the middle of nowhere with nothing but cryptic warnings and empty rooms.â
You wandered back to the kitchen, hoping to find something to pass the time. The fridge was surprisingly well-stocked, and you made yourself a quick sandwich. As you ate, your gaze drifted toward the doorway, half expecting Logan to stride through it with that familiar scowl on his face.
But the doorway remained empty.
With a groan, you pushed the plate away and leaned back in the chair. âThis sucks,â you muttered.
The silence pressed against your ears as you sat there, tapping your fingers on the table. You couldnât help but think back to Loganâs expression when heâd left. There was something in his eyesâsomething heavy, like he was carrying more than just the weight of keeping you safe. He always did that, didnât he? Took on the burden for everyone else, even if it meant shutting you out.
You stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. No more sitting around like a damsel in distress, you decided. If Logan was off dealing with whatever âbig mistakeâ heâd mentioned, youâd figure out how to occupy yourself in the meantime.
---
A while later, you found yourself back in one of the old classrooms. The chalkboards were dusty, and the desks were in varying states of disrepair, but it was oddly comforting in a way. You sat down at one of the desks and fiddled with a piece of chalk, drawing random lines on the board in front of you.
The quiet of the mansion felt oppressive. Every creak of the old wood or groan of the structure made your heart skip a beat. You werenât sure if it was just your imagination playing tricks on you or if there was something more sinister lurking in the silence.
You sighed, leaning back in the chair. âWhyâd you leave me here, Logan?â you muttered to yourself. The question hung in the air, unanswered, like so many others heâd dodged over the months.
As you stared at the lines youâd absentmindedly drawn, you thought back to your father. His control over your life had been suffocating, but thisârunning, hiding, fearing what might come nextâwas a different kind of prison. Logan had promised to protect you, but how could he if he wasnât here?
A sudden noise in the hallway snapped you out of your thoughts. You froze, the piece of chalk slipping from your fingers and clattering onto the desk.
âLogan?â you called out, your voice trembling slightly. There was no response.
You rose slowly from the desk, your heart pounding in your chest. The sound came againâcloser this time. It wasnât the creak of the old mansion settling. It was deliberate, like footsteps.
You moved toward the door, peeking into the hallway. It was empty, but the faint sound of movement reached your ears from somewhere deeper in the house.
âLogan?â you tried again, your voice firmer.
Still nothing.
Clutching your jacket sleeve tightly, you stepped into the hallway, your bare feet silent against the worn wooden floors. The air felt colder somehow, and the shadows seemed to stretch longer.
You made your way toward the source of the noise, your pulse quickening with every step. Part of you wanted to turn back, to lock yourself in one of the rooms and wait for Logan to return, but you couldnât shake the nagging feeling that something wasnât right.
As you rounded the corner, you saw them. Men in dark suits, their faces obscured by the dim lighting. There were at least four of them, moving methodically through the mansion as if they knew exactly where to look.
Your breath caught in your throat. They werenât here by accident.
You turned quickly, intending to retreat and find a place to hide, but it was too late. One of the men spotted you, his sharp eyes locking onto yours.
âSheâs here!â he barked, and the others turned toward you immediately.
Panic surged through your veins as you broke into a sprint, your bare feet barely making a sound against the floor. You didnât know where you were running, only that you had to get away.
âStop her!â one of them shouted, and the sound of heavy footsteps followed you.
You darted into another hallway, your mind racing. You needed a plan, a way out, but the labyrinthine mansion offered no clear escape routes.
A hand suddenly grabbed your arm, yanking you backward. You let out a startled cry, struggling against the grip.
âLet go of me!â you screamed, kicking and clawing at the man holding you.
He grimaced but held firm, dragging you toward the others. âStop fighting, or this gets messy,â he growled.
âLike hell it does,â you spat, managing to stomp on his foot hard enough to make him loosen his grip.
You broke free, stumbling forward, but another man was already there. He grabbed you by the waist, lifting you off the ground despite your thrashing.
âLet me go!â you shouted, your voice echoing through the empty halls.
âEnough!â a voice barked, and the men froze.
A figure stepped out of the shadowsâan older man with a cold, calculating expression. You recognized him immediately. One of your fatherâs men.
âMiss Y/N,â he said smoothly, his tone dripping with false politeness. âYour fatherâs been worried sick about you.â
âBullshit,â you snapped, glaring at him. âHe doesnât care about me.â
The man chuckled, a low, menacing sound. âWhether he cares or not isnât really the issue, is it? You belong to him. And heâs decided itâs time you came home.â
âOver my dead body,â you shot back, your voice defiant even as fear coiled in your chest.
The manâs smile widened, and there was something cruel in his eyes. âIf thatâs what it takes.â
You struggled harder, but the men holding you were too strong. They began dragging you toward the exit, your cries for help swallowed by the vast emptiness of the mansion.
In that moment, a horrible realization settled over you. Logan wasnât here to save you.
And this time, there was no escape.
---
The room was dim, lit by a single, flickering bulb swaying overhead. The scent of mildew clung to the air, mixing with the metallic tang of rust from the pipes along the walls. You blinked groggily, your head pounding as the events leading up to this moment replayed in your mind.
Interrogation, then murder. Thatâs how these things went. You knew it, had known it since you were a child sitting quietly at the top of the stairs, listening in on conversations you werenât supposed to hear. The Romano family didnât forgive betrayal, and neither did your father.
Your wrists ached where the rough ropes dug into them, tying you to the chair. The metal groaned beneath your weight as you tried to shift, testing the bindings. No give. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe.
From the shadows, the men emerged one by one, their faces a mix of familiarity and dread. You recognized some from your fatherâs estateâmen who had once tipped their hats to you out of respect, now staring at you like a wolf pack eyeing its prey. Among them was Clyde Romano, his sharp suit immaculate despite the grim surroundings.
âWell, well,â Clyde drawled, adjusting his cuffs as he stepped closer. His cold eyes gleamed with a mixture of triumph and disdain. âYouâve been a busy little runaway, havenât you?â
âFuck you, Clyde,â you spat, your voice steadier than you expected.
He smirked, leaning in until you could feel his breath against your cheek. âBold words for someone in your position. But thatâs always been your problem, hasnât it? Too much mouth, not enough sense.â
One of the men chuckled darkly, and you shot him a glare sharp enough to cut.
Clyde straightened, motioning for the others to spread out. âSee, Y/N, this couldâve all been so simple. You play the good little bride, marry into the family, and keep your mouth shut. But no. You had to run. Had to embarrass your father. And me.â
âEmbarrass you?â You barked out a bitter laugh. âOh, Iâm sorry. Were your fragile little feelings hurt because I didnât want to be your trophy wife?â
Clydeâs smile faltered, his jaw tightening. He nodded toward one of his men, who stepped forward and struck you across the face. Pain exploded along your cheek, sharp and hot.
âWatch your mouth,â Clyde hissed.
You turned your head back slowly, your vision swimming. Blood trickled from the corner of your lip, but you smiled through it, defiant. âThat all youâve got?â
Clydeâs expression darkened, and he stepped closer, gripping your chin roughly. âYouâre real brave for someone who doesnât have a way out.â
Your stomach twisted at the truth of his words, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear in your eyes. âBetter to die standing than live on my knees,â you shot back.
âYour boyfriend isnât here to save you, sweetheart,â he said casually, his tone laced with mockery. âWhat was his name? Logan?â
Your heart clenched at the sound of his name, but you kept your face blank.
âHe left you,â Clyde continued. âJust like everyone else will. Because youâre not worth the trouble.â
âThat so?â you bit out. âThen why are you here?â
He stopped, looking over his shoulder with a smirk. âTo clean up the mess you made.â
Clyde stepped back, giving a subtle nod to one of the men. The air seemed to thicken as the man pulled a knife from his belt, the blade glinting in the weak light.
Your breath hitched, but you didnât look away. If this was the end, youâd meet it head-on, with your head held high.
âAny last words?â Clyde asked, his tone almost bored.
You swallowed hard, the weight of everything pressing down on you. The memories of Loganâs rough hands holding yours, his gruff voice calling you darlinâ in that way that made your chest ache, his eyes softening in those rare moments when he let his guard down.
You thought of him nowâmiles away, caught up in something you couldnât begin to understand. If he were here, heâd fight. He always did. But this time, you were on your own.
âYeah,â you said, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. âGo to hell.â
Clyde tilted his head, unimpressed. The man with the knife stepped forward, and you clenched your fists, bracing yourself for the inevitable.
The blade gleamed, catching the light one last time before it plunged toward you.
And then, there was only darkness.
---
Logan paced the bedroom; he had known something was off the second they got back. For one, you were nowhere in the mansion and your bag was sitting on the couch in the rec room.
Hank hesitantly stood by the doorframe for a few moments before speaking, âthereâs a theory in quantum physics that time is immutable.â Logan paused his pacing as Hank continued, âitâs like a riverâyou can throw a pebble into it, create a ripple, but the current always corrects itself. No matter what you do, the river just⌠keeps flowing in the same direction.â
Logan let out a small scoff, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a fleeting smile. âThe B-theory of time.â
Hank blinked, his brows furrowing. âYouâre familiar with it?â
Logan shrugged, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed. âYeah, Iâve heard it before. Someone once tried explaining it to meâsomething about all moments in time existing simultaneously. Past, present, future, all laid out like pages in a book.â He tilted his head, his gaze hardening. âDidnât make it sound any less screwed up.â
Hank tilted his head slightly, caught off guard. âThatâs a fairly accurate summation, Logan. Iâm⌠surprised you retained that much.â
Loganâs lips twitched again, but his eyes darkened with a tinge of something that looked like regret. âGood teacher,â he muttered, his voice low. His mind flicked back to the quiet hours spent with you in the rec room at the mansion, your voice steady as you explained the theories of time and space with the kind of patience that used to drive him insane. âGood teacher,â he repeated, softer this time.
Hank didnât press the matter, though curiosity lingered in his expression. Instead, he adjusted his glasses and continued. âRight. Well, the theory suggests that no matter how many changes we attempt to make, the timeline has a way of self-correcting. That ripple you caused? Itâll still flow back into the current, Logan. Thatâs why itâs imperative you stay focused on the larger missionâon stopping Mystique beforeââ
Logan cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. âI know, McCoy. Believe me, I get it.â His voice was rougher now, frustration creeping into his tone. âBut I canât just stand here and do nothing. Sheâs out thereâaloneâbecause of me.â His jaw clenched, the muscles tightening like a vice. âI shouldâve stayed with her.â
âAnd then what?â Hank countered, his voice measured but firm. âThrown yourself headfirst into whatever danger awaits her without a plan? Gotten yourself killed before you even had the chance to stop Mystique? Would that have helped her, Logan? Or anyone else?â
Logan exhaled harshly, raking a hand through his hair. He hated when Hank was rightâhated it even more because staying put went against every instinct he had. Heâd lost you too many times before, and the idea of it happening again, here in this warped timeline, made his chest feel like it was caught in a vice.
âLook,â Hank said after a pause, his tone softening. âYouâre not doing herâor yourselfâany favors by acting recklessly. We need you tomorrow at the hearing. Mystiqueâs actions will set off a chain reaction if we donât intervene, and that means we need all hands on deck.â He gave Logan a pointed look, then hesitated before adding, âBesides, the Y/N I met didnât strike me as someone whoâd go down without a fight.â
Loganâs gaze snapped to Hank, sharp and unyielding. âWhatâd you say?â
Hank shifted uncomfortably. âI mean⌠she was a little out of her element, sure, but she seemed resourceful. Strong-willed. Determined. Sheâs not just going to sit around waiting to be rescued, Logan.â
Loganâs shoulders relaxed slightly at Hankâs words, though his face remained guarded. He knew youâknew that fire inside you, even in this lifetime. Youâd been through hell and still managed to crack that crooked smile, to tease him when he was too gruff for his own good. If anyone could find a way out of a bad situation, it was you.
But that didnât mean he wasnât worried sick.
âSheâs got guts,â Logan muttered, almost to himself. âToo much, sometimes.â
Hank adjusted his glasses again, watching Logan closely. âThen trust her to hold her own until we can deal with this together. Running off now would be counterproductive and, frankly, reckless.â
Logan let out a low growl of frustration, but he didnât argue further. Deep down, he knew Hank was right. If he ran out of here now, heâd jeopardize everythingânot just the mission, but the fragile thread of hope that had brought him to this point.
Still, the ache in his chest wouldnât subside. It never did, not when it came to you.
âSheâd better be okay,â he muttered, more to himself than to Hank. âOr Iâllââ His voice caught, and he shook his head. âNever mind.â
Hank didnât respond immediately. He just watched as Logan sank into the chair by the window, his gaze distant.
For now, all Logan could do was wait.
---
Logan woke up to the sun shining through green curtains as he lay on his side, clutching his pillow. He turned over to look at the holographic clock on the other side of the bed, a stack of books on the table along with a single pen.
âThe first time, ever I saw your face.â
He sat up, groggy as he looked at the familiar gold doorknob.
âI thought the sun,â Logan stood up and opened the door as a school bell rang and a kid walked out of their room. âRose in your eyes.â He saw Bobby standing against a door frame as Rogue walked out and grabbed his hand, the two of them glancing over at Logan before walking away.
Logan walked by a classroom where Kitty was at the head of the room, a hologram in her hands, âBuckminster Fuller is a great example of an architect whose ideas were very similar to those of a utopian future. He would build structures that would work with nature, versus against it.â
He looked down the hall as Beast walked past him, clad in a brown suit, âmorning, Logan. Late start,â he chuckled, as Logan watched him walk by.
Logan then walked down the stairs, seeing students converse with Storm. He continued his way down the stairs and into the open area, seeing familiar red hair leaning against the Professorâs open door.
Jean turned to look at him, âhey, Logan,â she softly called out as he glanced her way and back down the other hallways.
He saw a group of students walking huddled together before splitting apart briefly as you walked past them.
Loganâs breath hitched as you walked past the group of students, your hair catching the light streaming through the mansionâs tall windows. You didnât notice him immediately, too focused on the stack of papers in your arms and the pen tucked behind your ear. He froze in place, his heart pounding like it hadnât in yearsâdecades, even.
You glanced up just as you passed him, pausing mid-step when your eyes met his. There was warmth in your gaze, that familiar spark heâd seen so many lifetimes ago, but this time it wasnât tinged with hesitation or confusion. It was easy. Natural.
âThere you are,â you said, a small smile gracing your lips as you adjusted the papers in your arms. âI was about to come looking for you. Late morning?â
Logan stared at you for a beat too long, the sound of your voice wrapping around him like a long-lost melody. He blinked, clearing his throat and trying to push past the lump that had formed there. âYeah... guess so.â
Your smile widened, though your brow furrowed just slightly. âYou okay, Lo?â you asked softly, stepping closer.
He managed a nod, though his throat felt tight. âYeah, just... uh, still waking up, I guess.â
You tilted your head slightly, studying him in that way you always used to when something seemed off. âWell, if youâre awake enough, maybe you could help me wrangle some of the kids for class?â You gestured toward the papers in your arms. âI need to grab a few more things, and Lauraâs been trying to skip out on physics again. You didnât even budge when the alarm went off this morning, but youâre lucky Scott owed you a favor, so he covered your history classââ
You didnât get to finish your sentence when Loganâs arms wrapped around you, his hold firm but not crushing. His head burrowed into the crook of your neck, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to pause. You blinked, startled, the stack of papers in your arms wobbling precariously before you instinctively steadied them against your chest.
âLogan?â you asked softly, your voice tinged with concern and confusion. âWhatâs going on?â
He didnât answer right away. His breathing was heavy, his body tense against yours as though he was clinging to somethingâor someoneâhe thought heâd lost. The warmth of his presence, his scent of leather and pine, was familiar, but this intensity was new.
You let the silence hang for a moment, your free hand instinctively lifting to rest on his shoulder. âLo,â you tried again, your tone softer now, laced with the kind of patience that only years together had nurtured. âTalk to me.â
Logan pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, but his hands remained firm on your waist. His eyes were wild, scanning your face like he was searching for proof that you were real. For a fleeting second, you caught something raw in his expressionâsomething vulnerable.
âYouâre here,â he muttered, almost to himself. His voice was hoarse, as though he hadnât spoken in days. âYouâre⌠really here.â
Your brows knitted together as you tilted your head, trying to piece together what could have possibly spurred this reaction. âOf course Iâm here,â you said with a small, hesitant laugh, your hand sliding from his shoulder to his cheek. âWhere else would I be?â
Before Logan could respond, the unmistakable sound of small, hurried footsteps echoed down the hall. A high-pitched voice followed, cutting through the moment like a pebble skipping across still water.
âDaddy!â
Logan froze. His hands fell away from your waist as a little girl with dark hair barreled toward the two of you, her pigtails bouncing with each step. She clung to Loganâs leg without hesitation, looking up at him with the wide, innocent eyes of someone who knew no fear or doubt.
Gabby.
The name surfaced in Loganâs mind like a fragment from a dream, though it came with no contextâno memories to anchor it. He stared down at the child, his breath catching as she grinned up at him.
âDaddy, I found you!â she declared triumphantly, like it was a great accomplishment. âLaura said you were being slow again.â
You chuckled softly, crouching down to ruffle Gabbyâs hair. âWhat did we say about calling your dad slow?â you teased gently, though there was no real reprimand in your tone.
Gabby giggled, leaning into your touch. âOnly when itâs funny?â
âExactly,â you replied with a smirk before standing again and glancing at Logan, who still hadnât moved or spoken. âLo, you okay?â you asked again, your concern deepening.
Loganâs gaze flicked between you and Gabby, his chest tightening. The ring on your finger caught the light as you moved, and for the first time, he noticed itâthe familiar band of gold heâd carried for over a century.
His heart stuttered. Youâre wearing it.
âLogan?â you pressed, stepping closer again. Gabby, still holding onto his leg, tilted her head in confusion.
Logan swallowed hard, forcing himself to push past the whirlwind in his mind. âYeah,â he rasped, his voice strained but steady enough. âIâm fine.â
You didnât look convinced, but you didnât push him. Instead, you nodded toward the stack of papers in your arms. âYou sure? Because if youâre about to have an existential crisis, I need you to hold off until after you help me track down Laura. Deal?â
Logan blinked, your teasing tone pulling him out of his daze. He managed a weak chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. âYeah. Deal.â
Gabby tugged at his pant leg, her face scrunched in determination. âDaddy, can we get pancakes after? Laura said sheâd eat ten, but I bet I could eat twelve.â
You snorted softly, looking between Gabby and Logan with an amused smile. âYouâre not actually gonna let her eat twelve pancakes, are you?â
Loganâs lips twitched, but the smile didnât quite reach his eyes. âWeâll see,â he said gruffly, his mind still miles away as he tried to make sense of everything.
You gave him another look, your brows furrowing slightly, but you let it go for now. âCome on,â you said, shifting the papers in your arms. âLetâs get this day started.â
As you turned to lead Gabby toward the stairs, Logan lingered for a moment, his eyes fixed on the gold band on your finger. His thoughts churned, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like a heavy fog.
He needed answers. And he knew exactly who to talk to.
---
Logan pushed open the door to Charlesâs office without knocking, his usual roughness softened just enough by the turmoil bubbling beneath his skin. Charles, sitting calmly at his desk with his hands folded, looked up with a raised brow.
âLogan,â Charles greeted, his tone patient but curious. âI wasnât expecting you so early. Is everything alright?â
Logan stepped inside, closing the door behind him before glancing over his shoulder. He needed to make sure you hadnât followed. When he was satisfied, he turned back to Charles, his jaw tightening.
âNo,â Logan said simply. âWe need to talk. Now.â
Charlesâs brow furrowed, and he gestured to the chair in front of him. âPlease, sit. Tell me whatâs troubling you.â
Logan ignored the chair, pacing instead. âI woke up this morning, and Iââ He dragged a hand down his face, struggling to find the words. âChuck, I ainât supposed to be here. This⌠this timeline, it ainât mine.â
Charlesâs expression shifted, his calm demeanor replaced with something more serious. âI see,â he said carefully. âGo on.â
âYou remember what Kitty did,â Logan said, stopping to lean on the edge of the desk. âSending my mind back to â73, to fix everything. To stop the Sentinels.â
âYes,â Charles replied, his voice steady. âAnd you succeeded, Logan. The world youâre in now is a result of that success.â
Loganâs laugh was bitter, shaking his head. âThen why the hell donât I remember it, huh? Why do I remember⌠all of it? The Sentinels. The Phoenix. Y/Nââ His voice cracked, and he looked away, his fists clenching. âShe died, Chuck. In my timeline, she died. Jean, too. All of you.â
Charles regarded him quietly, his hands still folded. âLogan, the mind is a complicated thing. Itâs possible that in the process of returning you to this point in time, fragments of your original timeline have remained intact.â
âFragments?â Logan scoffed, pushing off the desk to pace again. âChuck, this ainât fragments. I remember it all. I remember her dying six times, dammit. I remember the look on her face when sheââ He stopped himself, his breathing ragged.
Charlesâs expression softened. âLogan, this is your life now. Whatever timeline you came from, whatever you remember, itâs in the past. This is your reality now. Y/N is alive. Jean is alive. You have a family, a home.â
Loganâs hands curled into fists at his sides. âYeah, but it ainât mine. This ringââ He held up his own hand with his own ring, the band of gold catching the light. âI didnât put it on her finger, Chuck. Some other version of me did. And I donât know how to be him.â
Charles leaned forward slightly, his voice gentle but firm. âThen perhaps itâs time you learned. For her. For your family.â
Logan stared at him, his chest tight. He wanted to argue, to push back, but the truth of Charlesâs words settled heavy in his gut. Heâd fought so hard to change the future, to make sure you and everyone else had a chance at a better life. Now that it was here, he didnât know how to live in it.
He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling shakily. âWhat do I do, Chuck?â
Charles smiled faintly. âYou take it one day at a time, Logan. And you start by going back to her.â
---
You stood in the Professorâs office, your arms crossed, the faint cherry gloss on your lips catching the sunlight through the large windows. You tilted your head slightly, studying Logan as he leaned against the desk, his expression unreadable but tense.
âSoâŚâ you began, your voice soft but steady, âyouâre from a different timeline? One where none of this happened?â
Logan exhaled heavily, running a hand through his unruly hair. âYeah, sweetheart. Thatâs about the size of it.â
Your gaze flicked between him and Charles, who sat calmly behind his desk, his hands folded in front of him. âAnd in that timelineâŚâ you hesitated, your voice faltering slightly. âWhat happened to me?â
Loganâs jaw tightened, his eyes briefly darting away from yours before he forced himself to meet your gaze. The weight of his memories hung between you, unspoken but palpable.
âYou didnât make it,â he admitted, his voice low and gravelly.
The room felt colder, the air heavier as his words settled over you. You shifted slightly, gripping your own arms as if to steady yourself.
âBut not this time,â Charles interjected gently, his calm voice breaking the silence. âThis timeline is different, Y/N. You survived, as did many others who didnât in Loganâs original timeline.â
You turned to Charles, your brow furrowing. âHow? How is that even possible? Timelines arenât just malleableââ
âThey are when someone like Kitty Pryde is involved,â Charles replied, his tone steady but kind. âLogan changed the future, which altered the past. But it seems his mind retained the memories of his original timeline when he was brought back.â
You looked at Logan, your head spinning as you tried to wrap your mind around what they were telling you. âSo⌠youâre saying that everything I rememberâall the years weâve been together, raising Gabby and Lauraâtheyâre real, but to you, theyâreâŚâ
âNew,â Logan finished for you. He pushed off the desk, his hands going to his hips as he paced the room. âTo me, darlinâ, thisââ he gestured vaguely at the mansion around him, ââthis is all brand new. The last thing I remember before waking up this morning was beinâ in 1973, tryinâ to stop Mystique from killinâ Trask.â
Your lips parted, but no words came out. The Logan standing before you was so familiar, yet so⌠not. He was the same man youâd spent decades with, and yet he wasnât.
âYouâre still you,â you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.
Logan stopped pacing, turning to look at you. His gaze softened slightly, the hard edges of his frustration melting away. âYeah,â he said gruffly. âStill me.â
âBut you donât remember Gabby or Laura,â you said, a pang of sadness creeping into your voice. âYou donât remember us.â
Loganâs expression twisted with guilt. âNo, sweetheart,â he admitted. âNot the way I should. But Iâm tryinâ. I swear to you, Iâm gonna figure this out.â
You stepped closer to him, your glasses sliding slightly down your nose as you looked up into his eyes. âYouâre not alone in this, Logan,â you said softly. âWeâll figure it out together.â
He stared at you, his throat tightening at the unwavering trust in your eyes. Slowly, he reached out, his large hand brushing against yours before taking it fully. âThanks, darlinâ,â he murmured, his voice rough but sincere.
Charles cleared his throat gently, drawing your attention. âThe bond you two share has persisted across lifetimes,â he said. âIt is not surprising that it remains strong, even now.â
You glanced back at Logan, your fingers still entwined with his. âI guess itâs just one more thing weâve survived together,â you said with a faint smile.
Loganâs lips quirked upward, just barely. âYeah,â he said. âGuess so.â
But as the three of you stood there, Logan couldnât shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of a much bigger challenge. For now, though, he let himself hold onto your hand, grounding himself in the one constant heâd always known: you.
---
Laura stared across the table at Logan, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of his face as if she were trying to find something different, something off. Meanwhile, Gabbyâs bright voice filled the dining room.
âAnd then, they just grow back their limbs! Like, if an axolotl loses a leg or even its tail, itâs all, poof! Fixed!â Gabby made an exaggerated explosion motion with her hands, her fork clattering against her plate. âIsnât that cool, Daddy?â
Logan blinked, dragging himself out of his thoughts. âUh, yeah, kid. Real cool.â His voice was gruff but softer than usual as he glanced at her. Gabby beamed, apparently satisfied with his half-hearted response, and took another bite of her pancake.
âDad doesnât even know what an axolotl is,â Laura said flatly, her gaze never leaving him.
Gabby gasped, scandalized. âLaura! Of course he does! Heâs Daddy! He knows everything!â
Logan scratched the back of his neck, an awkward chuckle slipping out. âWell, I wouldnât say everythingâŚâ
Laura narrowed her eyes slightly, leaning back in her chair. âYouâre acting weird.â
âLaura,â you said gently, walking into the room with a cup of coffee in hand. You leaned against the doorway, your glasses slipping down your nose just a touch as you looked at your daughter. âBe nice.â
âSheâs not wrong,â Logan muttered under his breath, but you caught it and shot him a warning look.
Laura crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. âHe didnât even laugh at Gabbyâs joke about Momâs coffee yesterday. Thatâs how you know somethingâs wrong.â
You hid your smile behind your mug. âTo be fair, it wasnât a great joke, Gabby.â
âIt was hilarious!â Gabby protested, slapping her hands on the table for emphasis.
âSure, sweetie,â you said with a chuckle, walking over to Logan. Your hand found his shoulder as you leaned down slightly. âWhy donât you two finish breakfast? Weâll be right back.â
Logan shot you a look but didnât argue as you guided him out of the room, your hand lingering on his arm for a moment before you let go. You didnât stop until you were in the hallway, far enough from the dining room that the girls couldnât hear you.
âYouâre gonna have to stop looking like a deer in headlights every time Gabby says something,â you said quietly, your tone soft but firm. âSheâs going to figure it out if you keep that up.â
Logan let out a long sigh, leaning against the wall. âIâm tryinâ, sweetheart. Itâs justâŚâ He trailed off, running a hand through his hair.
âOverwhelming?â you finished for him.
âYeah. That.â He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes meeting yours. âI donât know how to do this. Any of this. I donât remember gettinâ married or havinâ kids. And now, Iâve got a eleven-year-old givinâ me the third degree and a five-year-old who thinks I hung the moon.â
âTheyâre your daughters, Logan,â you said softly. âAnd they adore you. Just⌠be yourself. Youâve always been a good dad to them. That hasnât changed.â
Logan looked at you, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and determination. âAnd you?â
âWhat about me?â you asked, tilting your head slightly.
âHow do I do right by you?â His voice was low, the vulnerability in it catching you off guard.
You stepped closer, your hand brushing his. âYouâre already doinâ it,â you said, your voice barely above a whisper. âWeâll figure this out together. Just like we always do.â
He let out a low huff, leaning his side against the wall, âwell, if I have to hear one more word about an axolotl and their gills, I might lose it.â
You leaned into the wall, mimicking Loganâs stance, your lips twitching upward as you adjusted your glasses. âActually, axolotls have both gills and lungs, so they can breathe underwater and directly from the air. But they rely on their gills more than their lungs because theyâre primarily aquatic. Oh, and their gills are those frilly things you see sticking out of their necksâexternal gills, which are super rare in vertebratesâŚâ
Loganâs eyebrows rose slowly, and a wry grin began to tug at the corner of his mouth as your words spilled out faster than you seemed to realize.
âAnd did you know,â you continued, your voice picking up slightly as you adjusted your glasses again, âthey stay in a juvenile state their whole lives? Itâs called neoteny, andââ
Logan finally let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. âAlright, darlinâ, I get it. Youâre where Gabby gets it from.â
You paused mid-ramble, your brow furrowing as you looked up at him. âGets what?â
âThe whole talk a mile a minute about stuff that makes the rest of us feel like idiots thing,â he teased, his tone gruff but warm. âShe starts goinâ on about somethinâ, anâ itâs like watchinâ a little tornado of facts. Now I know where she gets it.â
Your cheeks flushed slightly, a mix of amusement and bashfulness flashing across your face. âI donât talk that much.â
Logan arched a brow, his grin widening just a touch. âSure, sweetheart. Keep tellinâ yourself that.â
You huffed, pushing lightly against his chest with the back of your hand, though your lips tugged into a reluctant smile. âYouâre impossible.â
âYeah, but youâre still stuck with me,â he teased, his tone laced with an unexpected softness.
For a moment, you both stood there in the hallway, the din of breakfast chatter echoing faintly behind the door. Loganâs eyes lingered on you, the faint cherry gloss on your lips catching his attention again as sunlight streamed in through the nearby window.
âI really mean it, darlinâ,â Logan said after a beat, his voice dipping into something deeper. âYouâve got no idea how much I appreciate you holdinâ this together. All thisâŚâ He gestured vaguely, his expression faltering for a second. âItâs a lot to take in.â
Your smile softened, and you reached for his hand instinctively. âWeâve been through worse, Logan. Together. We always find a way.â
Loganâs gaze dropped to your intertwined hands, the touch grounding him. âYeah,â he murmured. âAlways.â
Before the moment could settle further, Scott and Jean walked past the two of you, entering the kitchen. You grabbed Loganâs hand, âcâmon, I want you to see somethinâ.â
You pulled Logan to the doorway of the kitchen, motioning for him to stay quiet. His brow furrowed, but he didnât resist as he leaned slightly into the frame beside you, peeking into the room. Scott was at the counter, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee, while Jean stood nearby, polishing an apple against her sleeve.
âWhy are we standinâ here likeââ Logan began, but you held up a finger to shush him.
âWait for it,â you murmured, a mischievous glint in your eyes.
From behind the island, Gabby and Laura crouched in near-perfect silence. Gabbyâs face was alight with glee as Laura whispered instructions, holding a small device that looked suspiciously like something Jones might have helped them cobble together.
Logan squinted. âWhat the hell are theyââ
âShh!â you hissed, suppressing a grin as Laura pressed a button on the device.
The coffee maker on the counter suddenly sputtered and hissed, steam pouring out in dramatic bursts as it began to shake. Scott froze mid-sip, frowning at the machine.
âWhat theââ Scott leaned in cautiously, placing his mug down.
With a loud pop, a stream of glitter shot out from the coffee maker, spraying directly onto Scottâs chest and face. His entire upper body sparkled in gold and silver flecks as he stumbled back, coughing in surprise.
Gabby popped up from behind the counter, arms thrown in the air triumphantly. âSuccess!â
Laura stood beside her, a small, satisfied smirk tugging at her lips. âGlitter bomb: 100% effective.â
Logan stared, wide-eyed, as Scott wiped at his face in a futile attempt to rid himself of the glitter. âGirls,â Scott said, his voice low and measured in a tone that suggested he was summoning all of his patience, âwhat did I say about tamperinâ with the coffee maker?â
Gabby, undeterred, pointed at him dramatically. âYou said donât do it. But you never said we couldnât improve it.â
Jean bit into her apple, turning slightly away to hide her laughter behind a hand.
âYou let them do this?â Scott asked, glaring at her.
âI let them? Scott, theyâre your nieces,â Jean said smoothly, not bothering to hide the amusement in her tone.
âTheyâre your nieces too!â Scott protested, but Jean just shrugged, taking another bite of her apple.
Logan let out a low chuckle beside you, shaking his head. âTheyâre somethinâ else.â
You grinned, nudging him lightly with your elbow. âTheyâre just like you.â
Logan raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âOh, you know exactly what it means,â you teased. âYouâre as much of a troublemaker as they are. Donât think I havenât seen the pranks youâve pulled.â
âPranks? Me?â Loganâs expression feigned innocence, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. âSweetheart, I donât know what youâre talkinâ about.â
âRight,â you drawled, clearly unconvinced. âYouâve just coincidentally passed on all your mischief genes to Laura and Gabby?â
Logan let out a soft laugh, his gaze flicking back to the kitchen where Gabby was now dancing around Scott, singing, âUncle Scott is the glitter king!â at the top of her lungs.
Laura crossed her arms, clearly pleased with her handiwork. âDonât worry. Itâs biodegradable glitter,â she said in a tone that suggested she didnât actually care about Scottâs glitter predicament but wanted to seem magnanimous.
Scott groaned, his voice rising in frustration. âYou two better clean this up. And my shirt. And myââ He gestured vaguely at his glitter-covered face.
Gabby giggled. âSure, Uncle Scott. Right after breakfast.â
Scott turned to Jean for backup, but she just shrugged again. âYouâll be fine, Scott. Youâve been through worse.â
âNot worse than this,â Scott muttered darkly, picking at a gold fleck on his visor.
You stifled another laugh as Logan crossed his arms, watching the scene unfold with an almost paternal fondness. âThey really only prank Summers?â
You nodded, grinning. âEvery time. Jeanâs always off-limits, but Scott? Fair game. Laura says it builds his character.â
Logan shook his head, still smiling. âKidâs got my sense of humor, all right.â
âSee?â you said, leaning closer to him. âTheyâre just like you.â
Logan glanced down at you, his expression softening as his gaze lingered. âGuess Iâve got a lot to live up to, huh?â
âYou already do,â you said quietly, your hand brushing against his. âMore than you know.â
Before Logan could respond, Gabbyâs excited voice interrupted. âMommy! Daddy! Did you see? Uncle Scottâs a walking disco ball!â
You turned just as Gabby bolted toward you both, her small arms outstretched. Logan instinctively crouched to catch her as she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
âDid you like it, Daddy?â Gabby asked, her face bright with anticipation.
Logan hesitated, his arms tightening slightly around her as he glanced at you for guidance. You smiled, nodding almost imperceptibly.
âYeah, kid,â Logan said finally, his voice gruff but warm. âYou got him good.â
Gabby beamed, hugging him tighter before pulling back to look at him. âLaura says we should do water balloons next time. But I think paint bombs would be cooler.â
Logan chuckled, standing with her still in his arms. âLetâs not get ahead of ourselves, Gabby.â
Gabby laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder. You watched the two of them, your chest tightening at the sight of Logan holding her so naturally, even if his memories of her werenât there yet.
Logan caught your eye, his expression unreadable but intense, as if he were trying to piece together the life he couldnât remember but was already a part of.
For now, you just smiled, stepping closer to place a hand on his arm. âCome on,â you said softly. âLetâs get back in there before Scott recruits you to clean up his glitter.â
Logan let out a low chuckle, his grip on Gabby firm as he followed you back into the kitchen, the warmth of the moment settling around the three of you like a quiet promise.
---
Jean sighed and stepped away, her hands falling from Loganâs temples as she crossed her arms. âIâm sorry, Logan. Thereâs not much else I can do.â
Logan remained seated, his elbows resting on his knees as his hands clenched together. âSo, thatâs it? Nothinâ? Not even a flicker?â
Jeanâs expression softened, but there was a hint of frustration in her voice, more directed at herself than him. âYouâve got a wall in your mind, Logan. One I canât break through without risking your memories now. If I push too hard, I could do more harm than good.â
He let out a low growl, the sound rumbling in his chest. âFeels like Iâm livinâ someone elseâs life. Like it ainât mine.â
âYou are living your life,â Jean insisted gently. âThis is you. Youâre just missing⌠the journey that got you here.â
Logan ran a hand down his face, leaning back in the chair. His gaze drifted to the floor, but his thoughts were miles away. He could feel the weight of everythingâthe ring on your hand, the way Gabby called him âdaddy,â Lauraâs quiet smirk when she saw him, the way you looked at him with such love and familiarity. It wasnât foreign; it was right. But it was also wrong because he didnât remember any of it.
Jean knelt beside him, her voice quieter now. âYouâve built something beautiful here, Logan. Something you fought for, even if you canât remember how. Maybe instead of chasing whatâs missing, you should try to live in whatâs here.â
Loganâs jaw tightened, his mind battling with itself. Before he could respond, a voice broke the heavy silence.
âLogan?â Your voice was soft but steady from the doorway.
His head snapped up, and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders eased. âHey, darlinâ.â
Jean rose, excusing herself with a subtle nod toward you. As she passed, she gave your arm a gentle squeeze, her own way of offering support, before disappearing down the hall.
You stepped inside, watching Logan closely as you approached. âHow are you feeling?â
âLike my headâs been through the ringer,â he muttered, trying to muster a smirk but failing. âJean couldnât find much.â
You perched on the arm of the chair, your hand instinctively reaching for his shoulder. âItâs okay,â you said softly, your thumb tracing small circles over his flannel. âYou donât have to remember everything all at once.â
He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. âThatâs just it. I donât remember any of itâmarryinâ you, findinâ Laura, havinâ Gabby. None of itâs mine.â
Your heart ached at the rawness in his voice, but you squeezed his shoulder gently. âIt is yours. Maybe not in the way you think, but itâs yours, Logan. Weâre yours.â
He looked up at you then, his eyes darker, clouded with something you couldnât quite name. âYouâre takinâ this awful well.â
You smiled faintly, brushing a stray curl away from his forehead. âI told you when we got married, remember? That no matter what happens, Iâm not going anywhere.â
âDonât remember that, either,â he admitted gruffly, though there was a flicker of warmth in his voice.
âWell,â you teased lightly, trying to ease the tension, âlucky for you, I do.â
Loganâs hand came up, his fingers brushing against yours where they rested on his shoulder. He didnât say anything, but the weight of his grip spoke volumes.
You brought him into your side, his head resting below your collarbone on your chest, and a small, bittersweet smile crept onto your lips. âItâs kinda ironic if you think about it.â
Loganâs voice was muffled against you, but there was a familiar gruffness to it. âWhat is?â
âThis,â you said softly, one hand brushing through his hair while the other traced idle circles on his shoulder. âYou remember all those lives I donât, and now weâre here, and Iâm the one who remembers⌠but you donât.â
Logan let out a humorless chuckle, his arms tightening around your waist. âYeah, darlinâ, real funny.â
âIronic,â you corrected, the corner of your mouth twitching upward, though the ache in your chest lingered. âNot funny.â
Logan exhaled deeply, his breath warm against your collarbone. âGuess I deserve that, huh? All those times, I remembered you, and now youâre stuck rememberinâ for me.â
You stilled your hand for a moment, then leaned back just enough to make him look at you. His eyes were darker than usual, shadowed with frustration and something deeper you couldnât name. âYou donât deserve this, Logan,â you said firmly. âDonât ever think that.â
He searched your face, his jaw tightening as he swallowed hard. âFeels like I do,â he murmured. âEvery time Iâve lost you⌠itâs been my fault somehow. Every damn time. And nowââ He cut himself off, shaking his head as though trying to dislodge the thought.
âAnd now,â you said, finishing for him, âyou havenât lost me.â
Loganâs gaze softened, his thumb brushing unconsciously over the fabric of your shirt where his hand rested on your waist. âNot yet.â
âNot at all,â you said, your voice steady. âYouâve got me, Logan. Iâm right here.â
His lips twitched, but the smile didnât quite reach his eyes. âFor now.â
You sighed, cupping his cheek and guiding his gaze back to yours when it started to drift. âLogan. Stop. Weâve been married for nearly twenty years. I know this is⌠a lot. Itâs a lot for me, too. But you donât have to figure it all out today, or tomorrow, or even next week.â
He huffed a small laugh, his hand moving to rest over yours. âYou always this patient?â
âOnly with you,â you teased gently, though the warmth in your voice was genuine. âSo donât make me regret it.â
âWouldnât dream of it,â he said, and for a moment, his smirk was almost real.
You smiled back, letting the silence settle for a few beats before Loganâs arms tightened around you again, pulling you closer. His head rested against your chest, his body warm and solid against yours, and for a moment, you just held him.
---
Footsteps thundered across the broken ground, and then he was there. Logan dropped to his knees beside you, his hands immediately reaching for you, shaking you gently but urgently. âSweetheart, no, noâopen your eyes,â he pleaded, his voice cracking as his hands moved from your face to your shoulders, searching for signs of life.
Your body was limp in his arms, your chest still, your face losing color.
Loganâs breaths came in short, harsh gasps as he pulled you against him, cradling you like you might slip away entirely if he let go. âY/N,â he whispered, the single word a broken prayer, an unbearable weight of grief choking him. His hands shook as they smoothed over your hair, as though trying to coax you back to him with touch alone.
He didnât notice Ororo land nearby, didnât register her sharp intake of breath as she took in the scene. Her hand came up to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror, but she didnât approach. Behind her, Bobby and Kitty stood frozen, their expressions stricken, but they too stayed back. Even Peter, with his usual strength and calm, had no words.
Logan didnât care that they were there. Didnât care about anything except the motionless weight in his arms. He rocked you slightly, his forehead pressing against yours as his ragged breaths turned into choked sobs. âYou werenât supposed toâdamn it, you werenât supposed to do this,â he growled, his voice breaking as he fought against the tears burning in his eyes. âNot this time. Not again.â
Logan pressed his lips to your forehead, his hands shaking as they cupped your face. âCome on, darlinâ,â he whispered, his voice soft and cracked. âYouâre stronger than this. Youâre too stubborn to leave me. Justâjust come back.â
The others stood frozen, unable to move, unable to interrupt the devastating scene unfolding before them. Ororoâs hand clutched her chest, tears streaking down her face as she turned away, giving Logan what little privacy she could in this moment of unbearable pain.
But Logan didnât notice. He couldnât notice. His world had narrowed to youâthe unbearable stillness of your body, the haunting silence that surrounded you now.
He didnât let go, even as the destruction around them finally began to settle, the last vestiges of Jeanâs power fading into nothingness. His arms tightened around you, his forehead pressing to yours again as he whispered brokenly, âIâm sorry. I couldnât save you. Iâm so damn sorry.â
Time seemed to stand still in the worst possible way. For the first time in his long, painful life, Logan felt completely and utterly powerless. The ring heâd carried for over a century burned like a brand against his chest, a cruel reminder of all the promises heâd never been able to keep.
Logan buried his face against your neck, his voice raw as he whispered, âI was gonna tell you. About the ring. About everything. Youâyou deserved to know.â His thumb brushed over your cheek, as if he could will the life back into you.
He pulled back, his tear-streaked face contorted in anguish as he gazed down at you. âI love you,â he said, his voice breaking on every syllable. âIâve loved you through every lifetime, and Iâll love you in the next one, too. But please, sweetheart, donât make me wait again. Not this time. Please.â
His hands trembled as he touched your cheek again, his thumb brushing over your skin like it might bring you back. âI love you,â he repeated, his voice hoarse. âIâll always love you.â
But you didnât move. Your chest didnât rise. You were gone.
Loganâs breath hitched as he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your foreheadâone last desperate, lingering moment of tenderness. When he pulled back, his gaze swept over your still features, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and devastation.
Behind him, Ororo, Bobby, Kitty, and Peter stood at a distance, their faces drawn with grief. None of them moved to intervene. They knew better than to intrude on this moment, on Loganâs anguish.
The air felt impossibly heavy as Logan shifted, gathering your lifeless form into his arms. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though handling something too precious to break further. He cradled you close, his head bowing as he let out a shuddering breath. The others watched as he rose to his feet, every muscle in his body screaming in protest, though he showed no sign of it.
âLoganâŚâ Ororo began softly, stepping forward.
He didnât acknowledge her. His eyes were locked on you, his focus unwavering. Without a word, he turned away, carrying you toward the bridge. There was no Blackbird to take them homeâJeanâs power had obliterated it along with so much elseâbut Logan didnât seem to care about the logistics. His only concern was you.
---
Logan jerked awake, gasping, his body tense and drenched in cold sweat. The dim light of the bedroom barely illuminated his surroundings, but he didnât need it to know where he was. The warmth beside him, the faint scent of your cherry lip gloss lingering in the airâthose were enough to remind him. This was 2023. You were alive.
He turned his head to look at you, his breathing still uneven. You were curled on your side, your glasses resting on the nightstand, your hand loosely clutching the blanket. Peaceful. Alive.
âLogan?â your voice, soft and drowsy, broke the silence. You stirred, sensing his distress even in your half-asleep state. âWhatâs wrong?â
He swallowed hard, running a hand down his face. âNothinâ, sweetheart,â he murmured, his voice rough and unconvincing. âGo back to sleep.â
But you sat up anyway, your hair slightly mussed, your gaze focusing on him even without your glasses. âYou had another nightmare, didnât you?â You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. âWas it⌠bad?â
Logan closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. He wanted to lie, to brush it off and tell you he was fine, but the weight of the memory still clung to him like a shadow he couldnât shake. âYeah,â he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
Without hesitation, you slid closer to him, wrapping your arms around his torso. âItâs okay,â you murmured, resting your head against his shoulder. âIâm here.â
His body stiffened at first, the vulnerability of the moment making his instincts scream to pull away, but then he let out a shaky breath and folded you into his arms. The solid warmth of you against himâthe weight of your presenceâwas like a lifeline, anchoring him back to the present.
âI dreamed about⌠losinâ you,â he said after a long moment, his voice low and raw. âItâit was like I could feel it happeninâ all over again.â
Your heart ached at the pain in his tone, but you didnât pull back. Instead, you tightened your hold on him, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. âYou didnât lose me,â you whispered. âIâm right here, Logan.â
His arms tightened around you as though he needed to remind himself you were real. After a few moments, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching your face like he was memorizing every detail. His hands came up to frame your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks.
âI gotta hold you,â he said, his voice gruff but almost pleading. âJust let meââ His words faltered, and he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was desperate yet tender, like he was pouring all the fear and love in his heart into the connection.
You kissed him back without hesitation, your hands resting on his chest. But when he pulled back only to kiss you againâthis time slower, deeperâyou pulled away slightly, just enough to catch your breath. âLogan,â you murmured, your voice gentle, âare you sure youâre okay?â
His forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips. âJust lemme kiss you, please,â he said softly, his voice almost breaking. âNeed to feel you. Need to know youâre here.â
Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you nodded, your hands sliding up to cup his face. âIâm here,â you whispered, pressing your lips to his again, reassuring him with every touch that you werenât going anywhere.
Time seemed to stop as you stayed like that, locked in the quiet intimacy of the moment. His hands moved to your waist, holding you securely, while yours stayed on his face, grounding him. Eventually, you pulled back, your noses brushing, your breaths mingling.
âYou wanna talk about it?â you asked softly, your fingers tracing soothing patterns along his jawline.
Logan hesitated, his eyes flickering with something raw and unspoken. âNot yet,â he admitted, his voice thick. âJust⌠donât leave me tonight, darlinâ.â
You shook your head, offering him a soft smile despite the emotion welling in your chest. âIâm not going anywhere,â you promised, wrapping your arms around him again.
---
The Blackbird hummed steadily, the low vibration underscoring the tense silence among the team. You glanced toward Logan, his expression hard and unreadable as he stared out the small window. He hadnât said much since takeoff, and you didnât push him. Instead, youâd focused on Jean, who was reviewing the mission details, and Scott, whoâd been unusually quiet.
âI can handle this,â Logan had said when you vouched for him earlier. You hadnât doubted him then, and you didnât now. But Scottâs skepticism hung heavy in the cabin, evident in every glance he shot Loganâs way.
You let out a soft breath and shifted in your seat, nudging Loganâs arm with your elbow. âHey,â you said quietly, leaning in. âYou good?â
Logan turned his head, his eyes meeting yours for a moment. He nodded, though his jaw stayed tight. âYeah, sweetheart. Iâm fine.â
You didnât buy it, but you let it go. For now.
Scottâs voice cut through the tension. âWeâre approaching the drop zone. Everyone stay sharp. This should be quick, but letâs not get sloppy.â
âSloppy?â Logan muttered under his breath. âWe donât do sloppy.â
Scott shot him a look from the cockpit but didnât respond, and you bit back a small smile despite the nerves fluttering in your chest.
---
The mission was supposed to be simple. Extract intel, neutralize threats, and get out. But as usual, things didnât go as planned.
The team moved as a unit through the labyrinthine corridors of the facility, the dim lighting casting long shadows that danced with every flicker of movement. Logan was at the front, claws out, his senses leading the way. You stayed close, your focus split between him and the others.
âJean, you got eyes on the server room?â Scottâs voice crackled through the comms.
âAbout twenty meters ahead,â Jean replied, her voice calm despite the rising tension.
Loganâs claws retracted with a snikt as he held up a hand, signaling everyone to stop. His nose twitched, and his head tilted slightly. âSomethingâs off,â he murmured, his voice low.
Before anyone could ask what, the ground beneath your feet rumbled, and the corridor ahead exploded in a burst of heat and light. You stumbled back, shielding your face, as alarms blared throughout the facility.
âDamn it!â Scott barked. âItâs a trap!â
Logan was already moving, his claws gleaming as he launched himself toward the first wave of attackers. âGet to the server room!â he shouted over his shoulder. âIâll clear the way!â
âLogan, waitââ But he was gone, a blur of fury and precision as he tore through the enemy.
You exchanged a quick glance with Jean and Ororo before taking off in the opposite direction with them. The mission had gone sideways, but there was no time to panic. Focus was key.
---
You werenât sure how long it had beenâminutes? Hours? The battle had stretched into chaos, and every step felt like a fight to stay alive. You found yourself separated from the others, the air thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood.
Your powers buzzed beneath your skin, a familiar warning. Youâd been careful not to overuse them, knowing the toll it took, but the situation left you little choice. Cornered by a group of heavily armed soldiers, you raised your hands, time itself seeming to shudder as you concentrated.
The soldiers froze mid-step, their weapons hanging suspended in the air. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you pushed harder, distorting the flow of time around you. The strain was immediate, your body protesting as you manipulated the anomaly.
âY/N!â Loganâs voice cut through the haze, rough and urgent. He appeared out of the smoke, his claws dripping red. His eyes widened when he saw you, the flickering distortion around you making it clear you were at your limit.
âIâm fine,â you said, though your voice was strained. âGo help the others.â
âLike hell,â Logan growled, rushing to your side. His hand gripped your arm firmly but gently. âStop this. Youâre gonna tear yourself apart.â
âI can handle it,â you insisted, though your knees buckled slightly under the weight of your own power.
Logan didnât argue. Instead, he scooped you up with a gentleness that belied his strength, cradling you against his chest. The anomaly wavered, then shattered, the soldiers collapsing as time resumed. But the damage was done.
As the world around you stabilized, you felt a strange, disorienting pull in your mindâlike something had snapped and splintered all at once.
Logan froze mid-step, a strangled noise escaping his throat. His grip on you tightened as his body went rigid, his breathing shallow and erratic.
âLogan?â you murmured, your voice weak. âWhatâs wrong?â
He didnât answer. Couldnât. His eyes darted wildly as memories surged through his mindâmemories that didnât belong to the man heâd been moments ago.
A wedding. Your smile, brighter than the sun, as you held his hands. The weight of the gold ring heâd finally placed on your finger after lifetimes of waiting.
Laughter. Lauraâs tiny hands clutching his shirt as he carried her on his shoulders, her giggles echoing through the halls of the mansion. Gabbyâs wide grin as she showed him a picture sheâd drawn of the four of youâher family.
Peace. The quiet nights on the porch, your head resting on his shoulder as the stars twinkled overhead.
Love.
A life.
A family.
Logan stumbled, dropping to his knees as the memories overwhelmed him. They were vivid and unrelenting, a rush of emotion and experience that left him gasping for air.
Your hands trembled as you knelt beside Logan, panic bubbling in your chest. His body shook, his breaths coming in sharp, shallow gasps. You reached out, gripping his shoulders. âLogan! Pleaseâwhatâs wrong? Talk to me!â
He didnât respond. His eyes were wide and unfocused, darting as though he was watching something invisible and overwhelming. His claws had retracted, his hands pressed flat to the ground like he was trying to anchor himself.
âLoganâŚâ Your voice cracked, tears blurring your vision. âIâm sorryâI donât know what I didâplease, just say something.â
His breath hitched sharply, and he finally looked at you, though his gaze was distant, almost haunted. âI⌠I canâtââ His voice was rough, fractured, as though he was choking on the words. âItâs⌠I remember.â
You froze. The blood roaring in your ears was nearly deafening. âWhat do you mean? Remember what?â
Logan shook his head as if trying to clear it, but his face was pale, his features twisted with a mix of disbelief and something rawâgrief? Love? Fear? You couldnât tell.
âItâs us.â His hands reached for you instinctively, his calloused palms cupping your face. âI see you. I seeâŚâ His words faltered, and his gaze flickered like he was staring into a memory you couldnât reach. âThe wedding. Laura. Gabby. God, darlinâ, I see all of it. I feel it.â
Your heart clenched, your breath catching in your throat. âYou remember this life?â you whispered, your hands resting on his wrists.
Loganâs eyes, normally so sharp and guarded, now brimmed with something far more vulnerableâtears threatening to spill as his gaze bore into yours. âYeah,â he rasped, his voice rough, choked. âNot just bits and pieces⌠all of it.â
Tears continued to blur your vision as you searched his face, struggling to process his words. His hands stayed on your face, steady even though they were trembling slightly, and his eyes darted over yours like he was trying to memorize every detail, afraid you might vanish if he looked away for even a second.
âLoganâŚâ Your voice wavered, the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest. âYou⌠remember everything?â
He nodded, the movement jerky, uncoordinated. âYeah. Every damn thing,â he rasped, his voice thick with emotion. âI remember⌠us. Our life. Laura. Gabby. The day I put this ring on your finger.â His thumb brushed against the gold band on your left hand, his expression flickering between awe and devastation. âI remember it all, darlinâ. And itâs like Iâve been livinâ two lives at once.â
Your heart twisted, torn between relief and worry. Relief that he was remembering the life youâd built togetherâyour family, your homeâbut worry because you knew what this meant for him. Logan wasnât just remembering. He was reconciling two lifetimes, one full of loss and pain, and one where heâd finally found peace.
You cupped his face now, your hands trembling against his rough, stubbled cheeks. âLogan,â you whispered, your voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the fight still raging in the facility. âYouâre here. Youâre with me. With us. And thatâs all that matters.â
His eyes stayed locked on yours, and you could see the storm of emotions swirling behind themâgrief, guilt, love, hope. âItâs real,â he said, almost like he needed to hear it to believe it. âThis⌠all of it⌠itâs real. I didnât lose you this time.â
âNo,â you murmured, tears spilling freely now. âYou didnât lose me. Youâve got me, Logan. Iâm here. Iâm not going anywhere.â
His hands tightened ever so slightly on your face, his forehead lowering until it rested gently against yours. His breath hitched, and you felt the faintest tremor run through him. âI lost you six times, sweetheart. Six times. I held you in my arms while youââ His voice broke, and he sucked in a sharp breath like he was trying to keep himself together. âI canât⌠I canât lose you again. I wonât.â
âYou wonât,â you said firmly, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks. âYou wonât, Logan. This is our life. Our family. And youâre not gonna lose me. Not now, not ever.â
For a long moment, the two of you just stayed like that, kneeling on the cold floor in the middle of a war zone, holding on to each other like the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
Finally, Logan spoke again, his voice quieter now, though no less weighted. âI donât know how to do this,â he admitted, his tone raw. âI remember us, but I donât⌠I donât feel like the man you married. I donât feel like Laura and Gabbyâs dad.â
Your heart ached at his words, but you held his gaze, your own resolve strengthening. âYou are the man I married,â you said softly but firmly. âYouâre the same Logan whoâs been by my side for twenty years, whoâs been an amazing father to Laura and Gabby, whoâs built this life with me. I know it doesnât feel that way right now, but it will. Youâll remember not just with your head, but with your heart, too. I promise.â
He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling shakily before nodding. âI hope youâre right, darlinâ,â he murmured. âBecause I donât wanna screw this up.â
âYou wonât,â you assured him. âWeâll figure it out together.â
Another explosion sounded in the distance, and Loganâs head whipped around, his instincts kicking in. âWe gotta move,â he said gruffly, helping you to your feet. âYou okay to walk?â
âIâm fine,â you said, though your legs wobbled slightly as the adrenaline began to wear off. Logan steadied you with a hand on your waist, his touch firm but careful.
âLetâs find the others,â he said, his voice steadying as he slipped back into mission mode. But before you could take a step, he stopped, turning back to you. His hand cupped your cheek again, his eyes soft but serious. âI love you,â he said, the words rough but filled with conviction. âI just⌠I needed to say it.â
Your breath caught, but you smiled, leaning into his touch. âI love you, too,â you said, your voice trembling with emotion. âAlways.â
He nodded once, then released you, his claws sliding out with a familiar snikt. âStay close,â he said, his tone low and protective as he led the way down the corridor. And though the chaos of the mission loomed ahead, you felt a flicker of hopeâbecause no matter what, you were facing it together.
---
Once back at the mansion, the first things you saw were Laura and Gabby standing by Rogue, waiting for the others to clear the jet before you and Logan stepped off.
Gabby was the first to make a move, walking at a brisk pace until Logan finished climbing down the stairs and kneeled down, âcâmere princess.â
She let out a happy squeal and ran the rest of the way, launching herself into Loganâs arms. âYou havenât called me that in ages!â
Laura walked over to the three of you, giving you a short hug from the side, âweeks, Gabby, weeks.â
Gabby removed herself from Loganâs chest, turning to face her sister, âthatâs ages Laura!â
Laura crossed her arms, her eyebrow arched in exaggerated disbelief. âItâs weeks, Gabby. Donât be so dramatic.â
Logan chuckled, low and gravelly, still kneeling on the hangar floor. His hands rested lightly on Gabbyâs shoulders as she spun back around to look at him, her big, expressive eyes narrowing in mock irritation.
âWell, sheâs right about one thing,â Logan said, ruffling Gabbyâs hair. âI havenât been callinâ you âprincessâ like I should.â
Gabby beamed, throwing her arms around his neck again. âItâs okay, Daddy. I forgive you!â
Behind them, you stood near the ramp, watching the scene with a mix of relief and warmth. Logan caught your eye over Gabbyâs shoulder, his gaze softening as it locked on yours. For a moment, it was like the rest of the world disappeared.
Lauraâs voice broke the spell. âYouâre forgiven this time,â she said with a teasing smirk as she stepped closer. âBut Gabbyâs gonna milk it for at least a week. Donât say I didnât warn you.â
Logan straightened, a hand resting on Gabbyâs back as he looked at Laura with that gruff, fatherly affection heâd perfected. âYeah, well, I reckon I can handle that.â
Gabby grinned triumphantly, glancing between her sister and her dad. âSee? Told you Iâm his favorite.â
Logan groaned, shaking his head as he rose to his feet, lifting Gabby effortlessly in his arms. âDonât start that, kiddo. I got room for both of you troublemakers.â
Gabby giggled, but Laura rolled her eyes. âNice save, Dad.â
You chuckled softly, stepping forward now that the moment felt a little less overwhelming. âAlright, you two,â you said, your voice warm but firm. âLetâs get inside. Everyoneâs probably waiting, and your dad looks like he could use a break.â
Logan gave you a small, appreciative smile, one that lingered longer than usual, like he was drinking in every detail of you standing there. He shifted Gabby to his hip and reached out with his free hand, his calloused fingers brushing yours briefly as you both turned toward the mansion.
The walk back was filled with Gabbyâs chatter, Lauraâs sarcastic commentary, and Loganâs occasional grunt of amusement. But as the four of you crossed the threshold into the warmth of the mansion, you could feel the shift in Loganâa quiet resolve mixed with the raw emotion still simmering beneath the surface.
Once the girls were out of earshot, you tugged gently on Loganâs sleeve, pulling him aside into the quieter hallway. His brows furrowed slightly, but he let you guide him, his hand instinctively finding its way to your waist.
âLogan,â you started softly, looking up at him as the distant echoes of the mansionâs activity faded. âAre you okay?â
Loganâs jaw tensed, his eyes searching yours as though weighing his answer. The soft glow of the mansionâs lights illuminated his face, highlighting the exhaustion and turmoil etched into his features. He let out a low sigh, the sound heavy with emotion, before his hand slid from your waist to cradle the side of your face.
âI donât know,â he admitted, his voice rough but honest. âItâs like... Iâve been livinâ someone elseâs life for weeks. Like it was mine but not mine, ya know? And nowâŚâ He paused, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, his brow furrowing. âNow itâs all there. Every moment. Every damn thing. I remember our girls, our wedding, us. And itâs... itâs real. But it feels like it shouldnât be. Like itâs a dream Iâm gonna wake up from any second.â
Your heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in his voice. You reached up, covering his hand with yours, grounding him. âItâs not a dream, Logan. This is real. Weâre real. Laura and Gabby are real. Youâre their dad, my husband, and the man whoâs been by my side through everythinâ. Youâve got us, and weâve got you.â
His eyes softened, but there was still a shadow of doubt lingering in them. âFeels like Iâve been walkinâ around with a piece missinâ, and now itâs slammed back into place all at once. Itâs almost too much.â
You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest. His heart thundered beneath your ear, fast and unsteady, but his arms came around you like they always had, holding you tightly. âYou donât have to figure it all out tonight,â you murmured. âWeâll take it one step at a time. Together.â
Logan buried his face in your hair, his breath hitching as he clung to you. âI missed this,â he said, so quietly you almost didnât catch it. âEven when I didnât know what I was missinâ, I missed this.â
You smiled against his chest, your tears dampening the fabric of his shirt. âYouâre home now,â you whispered. âThatâs what matters.â
He nodded against you, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. âYouâre somethinâ else, ya know that?â he said, his lips twitching into a faint, almost self-conscious smile. âDonât deserve you.â
âYouâre wrong,â you said firmly, your hand coming up to rest against his cheek. âWe deserve each other. And we deserve this life weâve built. It hasnât been perfect, Logan, but itâs ours. And itâs worth every fight.â
Loganâs hand slid to the small of your back, his thumb tracing lazy circles there. His gaze held yours for a long moment before he dipped his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. âThanks, darlinâ,â he murmured. âFor not givinâ up on me.â
âNever,â you said softly, a smile tugging at your lips. âNow, letâs get back to the girls. Theyâll probably think weâre plotting something if weâre gone too long.â
Logan huffed a quiet laugh, the sound easing some of the tension in his expression. âYeah, donât need Gabby cominâ up with some wild theory about why weâre takinâ our time.â
You chuckled, threading your fingers through his as you began walking back toward the living area. âSheâd have us starring in some kind of superhero soap opera.â
âKidâs got a hell of an imagination,â Logan muttered, though there was unmistakable fondness in his tone.
As the two of you reached the living room, Laura and Gabby looked up from the couch where they were sprawled out with popcorn and a movie on the screen. Gabbyâs face lit up when she saw you, and she patted the spot next to her enthusiastically. âCâmon, Daddy! We saved you a seat!â
Logan glanced at you, his lips quirking in a small, grateful smile. âThink I better take her up on that,â he murmured.
âYou better,â you teased, giving him a nudge. âIâll grab some drinks and join you.â
He squeezed your hand once before letting go, striding over to settle between his daughters. Gabby immediately curled up against him, and Laura leaned over to steal a piece of his popcorn, earning a mock growl from him.
As you watched the three of them together, laughter bubbling up from the couch, you felt a deep sense of peace settle over you. Logan might still be navigating the storm in his mind, but he was here. And with time, you knew heâd come to fully embrace the life heâd found again.
and it's a happy ever after!!
this was meant to be much shorter. actually, i originally wasn't going to include logan getting his memories back and just make that into a bonus chapter but i couldn't stand it. if it's gonna be a happy ever after i had to go all the way.
and i have i have an idea of how they found laura that does not involve the logan movie. cause, no, no, no, they are getting their happy ending.
with that in mind, again, if anyone is interested in reading about how reader and logan got married, found laura, had gabby, let me know! or, if you have any ideas of stories you want me to tell with reader and logan don't be afraid to ask! (i might have already started writing for the alternate timeline...)
#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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âĽďžăťă nightgown
synopsis: after two wonderful years with the swordsman, you're reluctant to let him go, especially without telling him how you feel. luckily, he feels the exact same way... and more than accepts your scanty going away present.
cw: part 2/3, nsfw, fluffy fluff, comfort, reader is FIONE, reader is also real as hell, zoro is a fiend, mihawk is such dad, this was so fun to write.
a/n: tagging: @that-b-word-lol @ihatespidersdie I NEED THIS MAN UNDER MY TREE
"C'mon, (y/n), they're not gonna fight if you keep playing with 'em," Zoro sighed, removing his sword from his mouth as he crossed his arms over his chest.
You giggled, unable to fight off your smile as you danced with the humandrills, relishing in their happy snorts and yips as the leader of the gangâChukiâpicked you up and placed you on his shoulder, happily parading you around.
"Sorry," you grinned, clapping with approval as a few of the others performed back-flips and cartwheels to keep your attention. "I was coming out to check on you guys."
Just then, Chuki let out a howl of excitement, wanting to join in on the fun.
Without warning, he launched himself into a somersault, completely forgetting you were on his shoulder and sending you flying.
'Not again...'
Zoro moved like he'd done this a hundred timesâwhich he hadâeffortlessly shooting himself up and catching you in mid-air, bridal style.
"Every time?" he asked, raising a brow.
"I'm gonna miss this," you chuckled, looping an arm around his neck as he landed.
"The hell are you gonna do when I'm gone?" he carefully put you down, crossing his arms over his chest once again. "I'm not gonna be here to keep you from falling on your face."
You shrugged, turning to Chuki with a wide smile as he gave you a high five, "I guess I'll just have to learn how to land on my own."
"HA!"
The swordsman scoffed, shoulders bobbing with laughter as you snapped your head over to him, less amused.
"The girl who can barely hold a sword? I'd love to see it."
"Hey!"
"Hu hu hua!" Chuki mimicked, turning to you with an incredulous look. "Ooh, ah ah ah, hua!"
"I know right," you agreed, resting a hand on your hip as you glanced at the swordsman. "And smelly, too..."
"WHAT WAS THAT?!"
Gloom Island was known all-throughout the Grand Line as an abandoned island, its kingdoms having brought themselves to utter ruin after years of war.
Your parents had even been drafted, and, of course, killed in the line of duty.
But, by fate or by fortune, you had managed to survive, living through most of your childhood as an orphan in a battle-ravaged kingdom.
Until, eventually, you were the last one standing.
Alone, you searched for any survivors, managing to stumble across a devil fruit along the way before meeting the humandrills.
The Speak-Speak fruit allowed you to become fluent in any language from the moment you heard it spoken aloudâanimal language, included.
So, after meeting them on their level, the monkeys took you in, protecting you and treating you as one of their own until Mihawk came along not too long after, taking up the role as your father-figure and mentor.
Naturally, he tried to teach you some swordsmanship, but you lacked... talent, to say the least.
"I've gotten better since the last time we trained together!" you bellowed, proudly, as you picked up a sword, lowering yourself into an offensive stance. "Look!"
"Your posture's off," Zoro noticed, off-rip, "And your feet are too far apart."
Breath hitching, your face glowed with embarrassment, your body practically freezing in place.
'Shit!'
And just as you were trying to prove a point...
"Here," he instructed, getting up behind you and pressing his hand into the small of your back, straightening you up. "Like this."
Your spine shivered at his touch, the thick pads of his fingers practically burning into your flesh, despite the fabric separating them.
"Pull your feet a bit closer... it will firm up your stance... And if you're facing an enemy head on like this, you're gonna want to be upright."
"Okay!" you squeaked, doing your best to make the adjustments without physically combusting.
Carefully, you pulled your feet in shoulder width, and used his hand as a guide to straighten up your posture.
"Good," he commended, his arms suddenly coming around you grab your hands, helping you fix your grip on the sword. "Now when you swing, I want you to step into it."
You felt chills when his hands touched yours, years of work evident in his rough, calloused flesh, which held yours with the gentlest touch.
Turning to glance at him, your eyes came up to meet his once more, telling a story that made you just want to sit down and listen.
You studied his facial features up closeâfor about the fifty-millionth timeâtaking note of everything you had come to admire in the last two years.
The slight pink of his tanned lips...
The strength of his jaw...
The faint scar that rested on the tip of his shoulder, not that such a detail could be picked up unless one was really looking.
You felt like the staring going on for ages, but you didn't want to look away, and neither did he.
He, too, was studying your face.
And, deep down, he never wanted to look away.
"Dinner is ready," your father's voice cut through the air, draining all the color from your face.
Instantly, you and Zoro quickly threw yourselves off each other, heat rising to both your faces as you turned away, embarrassedâand slightly scared for the swordsman.
Mihawk fixed Zoro with a sharp glare, sizing him up as if he was some sort of delinquent.
He had been suspicious of you and the swordsman since the moment he arrived, particularly suspect as to why you felt so inclined to help him.
He knew you were a smart girl, and wouldn't disregard everything he had ever taught you about being safe without a valid reason.
A valid reason being a handsome man, in this case.
Still, what was he supposed to expect?
You were a woman nowâno matter how difficult it was for him to acceptâand women had... needs.
Mihawk shivered at the thought, quickly purging it from his mind as he turned on his heel, power-walking back toward the castle.
Not under his roof...
"Don't dawdle... it'll get cold."
Knock! Knock! Knock!
"Come in," Zoro called, not moving from his spot resting peacefully on his bed, his hands tucked behind his head.
"Happy Going Away/Leaving To Reunite With Your Friends Tomorrow Day!" you smiled, carefully entering his room while holding a plate with a comically large onigiri on top, a sparkler sticking out of it. "I know you don't like cake, so I brought the next best thing!"
Warmed by the display, Zoro sat up, trying and failing to fight the smile rising to his lips as you approached.
'Adorable...'
"(y/n)... you didn't have to do all his," he started, not knowing what to say as you handed him his gift.
"I know that. But I figured you deserved something special to commemorate all the hard work you've done," you nodded, sheepishly. "You put up with my dad for two years... of your own free will... that alone is its own achievement."
Letting out a small chuckle, the swordsman suddenly found his eyes drifting to you, only to be met by your pretty, (e/c) eyes staring down at him, the entire room fading around you two.
He barely believed his eyes as he drank you inâyour appearance sinful enough to make the devil sweat.
Instead of your usual long, black dress, you wore a tiny, black nightgown, which accentuated your luscious, curvaceous body and exposed the enticing flesh of your thighs.
You paired the little number with some black pumps, which he bet barely made you taller than him if you were to stand up.
The moonlight pouring in from the window illuminated your skin and glossed up, plump lips at curled into a nervous smile at the sight of him.
Topped off with the sweet silkiness of your voice; the way your body sensually moved; how you smelled of cocoa butter and vanilla.
Quietly, Zoro cursed under his breath, practically reeling.
God, if the last two years were anything, they were a testament to his willpower...
He had never felt this way before.
So distracted.
So obsessed.
You plagued his mind every hour of the day, the thoughts ranging from wholesome to downright scandalous.
Seeing you around the castle, watching the movement of your hips and the graceful slide of your hands, making him feel extremely stiff.
'Christ...'
He tried not to think of you like that.
You were the daughter of his sworn enemy, and a sweetheart, at that...
You deserved a nice guy, one that had a regular life, with a regular job and regular urges.
Not a jaded pirate like himself.
But you were just so damn alluring, he couldn't help himself.
"What do you think you're doing?"
You blinked once, coming out of the trance the man had put you under with a confused raise of your brow.
"Huh?" you asked, dumbly, your mind having turned to mush in the five minutes you were staring at him.
"I said," he pointedly repeated, placing the plate down on his nightstand before standing to his full height, towering over you. "What do you think you're doing?"
Nervous, your manicured hand wrapped around your arm, the swordsman's mind immediately traveling somewhere else.
"I... don't know what you're talking about," you muttered, eyes drifting away from him.
You tried to think quick, scouring your mind for some sort of excuse as he fixed his gaze on you like a predator would his pray.
You knew you couldn't chicken out now.
Especially after all the work you put into getting ready.
"You come in here..." he started, slowly pressing forward, forcing you to step back in order to keep some air between you two. "Dressed like that... just to give me a going-away present?"
You swallowed, thickly, continuing to move backward as he continued to invade your space, his eye cutting you down to size like a cat does a mouse.
"What are you trying to do?"
You turn away slightly, pulling your soft, glossy lip into a nervous bite.
"I just... wanted to look nice... for you," you muttered, resting your hands behind your back.
"Did you, now?" he cocked a brow. "Y'know... after all this time, I think I've finally got you figured out."
With a squeak, your back met the wall, forcing you to stay put as the swordsman caged you in, his muscular body leaving no route of escape.
"I think... you're a sweet girl, who's never met a pirate before, or been allowed outside the confines of this island, that thinks that she can stick it to her father by flirting with the man who is hellbent on taking him down."
Zoro raised a brow, cockily, a teasing smirk rising to his lips.
"How's that? Am I in the ballpark?"
"Hardly," you denied, a small air of confidence returning the wind to your sails.
It caught his attention immediately.
"I may be sweet... and you may be my father's rival... but you forget that I am I woman."
His breath hitched, eye widening slightly as you pulled yourself off the wall, taking your turn to move forward and regain some ground.
"A woman who's been lonely for quite some time... a woman who enjoys your company more than she'd care to admit... a woman who's never had more fun than in the two years you've lived in her house..."
You rested your hand against his chest, the swordsman scared you would feel his heart beating against his rib-cage.
"A woman who's found herself falling in love with the idiot that crash landed on her island..."
Eye wide, Zoro flushed at your boldness, looking away from your intense, (e/c) eyes.
"You don't mean that..." he attempted to rationalize, suddenly unable to comprehend the possibility of you actually liking him.
This had to be a trick.
You were just doing this to piss off your dad...
Right?
You stared at him with hooded eyes, flashing him a bashful, crooked smile that nearly had him melting into the floor.
"If I didn't... do you think I'd be standing here right now?"
The floodgates were opened.
Wrapping an arm around your waist, Zoro roughly yanked you forward, pulling you into his chest as you let out a gasp of surprise.
"You're playing a dangerous game," he warned, holding himself back by the thinnest string of his sanity. "If we do this... there's no going back. And after tomorrow, you won't see me for who knows how long..."
He looked you up and down, giving you a stare that would make any woman weak in the knees.
"You gonna be okay with that?"
Seriously, you nodded, looking up at him with sparkling eyes that nearly set his heart on fire.
"Alright, then... no holding back."
And he took "no holding back" with the utmost seriousness, managing to make you cum three times throughout your night in his room.
The first time was on his couch, coaxing you to bend over and let him massage and spank your soft, jiggly ass, which he swore was heaven sent when he plunged his tongue into your velvety folds, relishing in your soft moans and desperate grinds into his face.
The second time was in his bed, your legs pinned down onto the mattress while he tailed you, his cock plunging in and out of you as his arms wrapped around your body, allowing you to feel safe and comfortable while he dicked you down, feeling feral at the sight of your smooth tummy and soft tits.
The third and last timeâbecause your virgin self simply couldn't take anymoreâwas when he bent you over and fucked you from behind on the foot of his bed.
His hands held your hips while he leaned over, physically holding you up on your jelly-like legs.
Your hands frantically fisted the sheets as he pounded into you, his firm thighs meeting your ass cheeks as he fucked you like there was no tomorrow.
Because, to him, there wasn't.
"F-Fuck! Oh, my God! Right there!" you sobbed. "Yes, please! Right there!"
He watched your pretty face contort in pleasure, loving how soft you felt pressed against him, and how you sounded moaning from the lips he'd been kissing all night.
"Nuh-uh," he huffed in your ear, leaning down to nip at your lobe. "S'not God that's doin' this, pretty. Who's really makin' you feel good?"
"Zoro!" you moaned, a pitiful whine following after. "H-How are you so good at this?"
He grinned, becoming cocky at seeing you lose your mind on his dick.
"You tell me," he teasingly ordered. "How good am I?"
SMACK!
The sharp sound of his hand connecting with your ass cheek made you let out a harsh groan of pleasure, your pussy clenching around him.
"So good!" you gasped, the sensations too much.
Feeling you tighten around him, Zoro let out a harsh grunt, fighting off the moan ready to leave his lips.
"Christ... body's so fuckin' perfect," he groaned, kneading one of your tits in his calloused hand as he sped up, hitting that spot inside of you that made you see stars. "Look at you... so damn pretty."
"Oh, Zoro! I can't!" you moaned, bottom lip quivering at the coil in your stomach wound tighter and tighter. "I can't...Z-Zoro, m'gunna! M'gunnaâ!"
"You gonna, gonna what?" he chuckled. "You wanna cum for me again?"
You pathetically nodded, forcing his grin even wider.
"So greedy..."
But so was he.
He would fuck you all night if he could, but he was reaching his limit same as you.
"Cum for me, (y/n)," he ordered, huskily, as he leaned down to your ear, slamming into you harder and you frantically rubbed your clit. "I'm close, too. Rub that little pussy and fuckin' give it to me, baby!"
It doesn't take long for him to blow his load inside of you, flooding you with cum that dripped down your thighs.
His moans of pleasure triggered you, causing your pussy to quiver and flutter around him as you came.
A moan of his name and a few swears left your lips as you rode it out, coating his cock in your sticky juices.
Turning around, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into you in a tender moment of bliss.
Pressing his lips against yours, his hand came up to cup your cheek, the embrace feeling like nothing short of a goodbye.
When your highs finally subsided, Zoro gently pulled out of you, making your pussy spurt out his cum.
The sight nearly made him hard all over again.
'Fuuuuck...'
"Sorry," you groggily apologized, already half asleep as you laid down, your half-lidded, (e/c) eyes still sparkling in the moonlight.
Amused by your fucked out state, he scooped you up, effortlessly, carrying you up to the head of the bed and placing you down among the pillows.
With a yawn, he climbed in with you, stomach faintly fluttering as you rested your head on his chest, nuzzling tightly into his side.
"M'gonna miss you, Zoro," you softly said into the quiet, dimly lit room, "...A lot"
Carefully, he rested his hand on your back, his thumb drawing mindless circles into your skin.
As much as he loved thisâyour company, your touch, youâhe knew that come morning, he would still have to leave.
He had a dream, and an obligation to the family he called his crew.
He couldn't just abandon that.
His brows furrowed, a look of determination settling on his face.
But that didn't mean he couldn't make you a promise.
"I'll come back for you," he stated, plainly, without a doubt in his mind. "When I'm the Greatest Swordsman... and when Luffy's King of the Pirates... I'll come back for you. And I'll take you out to sea, and show you all the places you read about in your books."
Looking up at him, your sleepy eyes sparkled with a glimmer of hope, nearly turning him into a puddle.
"Really?" you asked, adorably.
With a nod, he pecked a soft kiss on your hairline, before leaning back into the pillows.
"Really."
BONUS!!
"Oi, Chuki!" Zoro called as he walked through the ruins, knapsack thrown over his shoulder. "Come out here! I gotta talk to you about somethin'!"
The swordsman had left his room in the wee hours of the morning, managing to wiggle out your grasp and clean himself up before placing a tender goodbye kiss on your forehead, leaving you to sleep.
The previous night introduced some new feelings to him, and if he was going to get a lick of sleep out at sea, he needed to take care of one final thing.
"C'mon! It's about (y/n)!"
At the sound of your name, the large humandrill immediately showed himself, jumping out from behind a stone column with a loud whoop, which sounded eerily like what's wrong.
"With me gone... and with Hawk-Eye on his trips for the Navy... (y/n)'s gonna be on this island all by herself," Zoro started, brows cinched together, seriously.
This was the only thing that was going to quell his worries.
"I don't know what's gonna happen in the next few years, but if any pirates, or even the World Government, come stickin' their noses around this place... you send them flyin', you understand?"
Using the handle of his sword, he pointed toward the castle, where you slept peacefully, safe and secure.
"No one goes near her. No one even makes it to the castle. You fight like your goddamn life depends on it, alright? 'Cause it does."
Surprised, the monkey swallowed thickly, especially when the swordsman's eye landed on him with the harshest glare he had ever seen.
Even harsher than Mihawk's.
"I come back here and find out that she got hurt on your watch... you, and all of your monkey pals, are finished... Understand?"
Frantic, and terrified, Chuki chittered in agreement, rigidly saluting the man for confirmation.
With a proud grin, Zoro nodded, continuing on his trek to the shore as he waved to the baboon, along with the hundred others fearfully watching from the trees.
"Good... I'll see you guys around."
#zorosangell#one piece#one piece x reader#roronoa#roronoa x reader#roronoa zoro x reader#roronoa zoro#zoro#zoro x reader#op
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Apollo looked around the room, utterly exhausted and confused. Dionysus looked down at him
"You awake? "
He groaned
"Good. Because I'm going to fucking kill you"
Apollo looked at him, fighting the years old urge to cuddle up to him like he used to. The idea of being alone made him tear up slightly and Dio's face softened
"What's going on, princess? "
"I don't know. It's too much..... Everything hurts"
"What do you mean? "
"I just want to sleep. I need it to stop"
"I know, princess. I know. But you were almost 20 years clean"
"I know"
Dionysus pulled him into a tight hug, squeezing gently when he felt the tears on his shirt
Do you think covid existed in the Season? Do you think that for 2020-2021 Zeus couldn't host two Seasons. He had to wait until 2022 when restrictions finally lifted?
I'm gonna assume that covid didn't exist for my own sanity
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Falling Into Me
Read on A03!
Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Smut (p in v, fingering, oral f receiving), angst, loss of virginity, light fluff, feelings :(, real bad self-image issues
Summary/Warnings: You're a virgin, and it's really not a big deal. Everyone was a virgin once. You're just a virgin longer. Maybe forever, because nobody really seems to be willing to solve that problem for you.
You've never told Sam and Dean, and you don't have any intention to. Ever. But when a hunt goes wrong, Dean finds out. And he might have been keeping something from you as well.
Author's Note: This might be the horniest thing I've ever written. Enjoy <3!
Title from Red Wine Supernova by Chappell Roan
Word Count: 8.9k
You havenât slept in three days, and itâs starting to be a problem. But you canât afford to sleep. You can only drink staler and staler coffee, sit at the motel table, and pretend this is a case that, somehow, youâre going to solve. That Dean isnât grumpier than usual, and Sam doesnât constantly look like heâs going to kill the next person that dares to have an incorrect idea. Itâs why you volunteered for the next round of interviews. You donât want to be there when one of them snaps and kills the other, and while you wouldnât love to return to the room and find it covered in blood, at least then youâd have an excuse to call it.
You wouldnât call it. Youâd work the case until it was done, because thatâs what you do. And Sam and Dean wonât kill each other, because theyâre Sam and Dean. That said, you are expecting a pouting Dean to pacing back and forth outside the room as he waits for you to return, and a grumble about how Sammy said he was being annoying and needed to walk it off. Youâre more than prepared to give him a sympathetic smile and ask him if he was being annoying. And heâll probably protest that he wasnât, and youâll raise your brows, and heâll admit he mighta been drumming really loud while eating the chips.
Itâs not an unreasonable expectation. None of you have slept, because this thing is insane. Thereâs no obvious pattern to the victims, no connections, nothing in line with everything youâve ever seen. Itâs men and woman, a wide age range, no previous coflicts or knowledge of each other in life. There are holes through theirs chests that could be bullet wounds, but obviously arenât, because Bullets donât remove the heart from the body. But itâs not werewolves, because werewolves arenât clean killers like this and every fucking person in this stupid town has passed the silver test. Thereâs a new kill every night, and a new body every morning, and another reason for you, Sam, and Dean to start screaming every day. Every hour makes you all wired, because itâs closer and closer to another evening where you wonât have caught this asshole and another person will die.
And itâs become really easy to get on each otherâs nerves. Sam was mad at Dean because heâd purposefully gotten you all burgers instead of Samâs rabbit food, youâre mad at Sam because he said you were bad at pokerâand you are, but what the fuckâand Deanâs mad at you because-
Deanâs not mad at you. You and Dean donât really get mad at each other. You understand each other, better than youâve ever understood anyone else, and itâs the perfect amount of alike that youâll lend him grace you wouldnât lend anyone elseâincluding yourselfâbut you donât see enough of your own twisting, molding innards to hate him. You mostly see something better. A man that has all the same rotting parts, but has made something out of them while you just waste away in toxins.
And you think Dean sees something similar in you. Itâs why youâd been obnoxiously chewing potato chips, right in his ear, and he hadnât punched you or snatched the bag away from your hands. Heâd just rolled his eyes, grabbed one of his own, and started chewing in Samâs ear.
So you hadnât really volunteered for interviews so much as been aggressively told by Sam you were doing interviews. And it was only fair Dean met the same fate.
But he hadnât. And when you opened the door to the room, they both looked happy.Â
Dean practically shouts your name when he sees you, wildly gesturing for you to join them at the table. âSammy found it!â He grins at you almost manically, and itâs a little adorable. âWe can finally fucking leave.â
âI might have found it,â Sam corrects, his smile a little more tentative, but still real. âAnd we canât leave yet. Not until we actually get the thing-â
âObviously, dude, but thatâll be soon, instead of in a million years.â Dean looks to you for agreement. âI mean, câmon. You guys canât really wanna stay in hicktown Ohio forever?â
You shrug. âI dunno. Good coffee.â
Dean glares at you. âThe coffee tastes like ass and you freakinâ know it-â
âDean.â You give him a flat look. âDo I actually get to know what the monster is?â
Sam sighs. âYouâre not gonna like it.â
âI already donât love it, itâs a monster thatâs killed like, ten people-â
âWorse than that.â Dean lets out a dry chuckle. âItâs sorta like a dragon.â
You, very suddenly, donât feel really well. Everything is hotter than it had been a second ago, and the walls seem to be closing in as your skin begins to prickle and ache. âLike a dragon?â You ask, forcing your voice to remain steady. âOr a dragon?â
âLike a dragon. Tell her, Sammy.â
Sam shoots Dean a glareânot happy being thrown under the busâand mutters, âItâs a unicorn.â
You stare at him for a long minute, then shake your head. âItâs a what.â
âUnicorn.â Sam mumbles. âTheyâre, uh, looks like theyâre real.â
âBut not Pinky Pie and Disney.â Dean adds, turning Samâs laptop for you to read. âReal fucking assholes.â
âThey hunt virgins.â Sam explains. âTo bond with. And itâll kill anyone who falsely lures it.â
âStab the poor son of a bitch right through the heart, then pull that sucker right out.â Dean adds, spreading his legs and propping his elbows on his knees. âAnd it looks like itâll go after chicks and dudes, any age, so thatâs why thereâs no pattern. Youâre able to fuck, youâre fair game.â
âOh, cool.â You mutter, a lump starting to form in your throat. âIâm always looking for equal opportunity murderers in the monsters I hunt.âÂ
âYeah, well, itâs gonna make it a little harder to find the thing.â Sam grabs his laptop back, frowning at the screen. âItâll take a human form, then look for a virgin. And it wonât be able to tell until it gets the personâs heartbeat up, so it might be a guy or a girl, depending on who itâs hunting tonight.â
âBut,â you glance at Dean, whoâs grinning as you start to put it together. âIt is hunting tonight.â
âHunts every night.â Dean says, rubbing his hands together. âAnd we donât know where, but we can take some guesses. Split up and look at all the bars in town âtill one of us finds something, then gank this douchebag and get the hell out of here.â
âSplit up?â You whisper, something wired and flailing coiling around your guts. âThatâs, um, shouldnât we stick together? If itâll go after anyone?â
âNot everyone.â Same shrugs. âLow, uh, body counts. I guess. Low enough that it canât tell immediately.â
âSo we just need a bunch of whores?"
Dean snorts. âWell tonight,â he spreads his arms, shooting you a wink that really isnât helpful right now. âWeâre the whores, Sweetheart. Weâre safe, and weâre going to kick some unicorn ass.â
Itâs a cheesy, stupid thing to say, and usually youâd laugh and crack a joke back. Something about unicorn ass and whores that you canât really think of right now, because thereâs bile in your throat and something heavy fogging over your brain.
âHow do we, uh,â your tongue is numb in your mouth, and every word is dragged out of your throat. âHow do we kick a unicornâs ass.â
âWell, weâre looking for electrical malfunctions, golden eyes when it gets, uh, excited, and a refusal to drink anything but water.â Sam frowns at the screen, looking up at you with a half-shrug. âAnything amoral seems to knock it down, so just, uh, swear? Then shoot it with iron. Iron kills it.â
âAnd, um,â you swallow, tugging at the fabric of your sleeves. âWhatâs gonna to the virgin? If the unicorn finds it?â
Sam sighs. âThey, uh, they seem to use them.â
Dean frowns, leaning around to try and read the screen. âUse them-âÂ
âTheir purity. Use their purity.â Sam raises his brows, and you can see the exact moment it clicks in Deanâs head.Â
âThatâs...â Dean trails off, running a hand over his face. âShit.âÂ
Sam mutters an agreement, and your mouth feels like sandpaper, your heart beating like itâs trying to escape your chest.
âAnd after?â You whisper, a little unsure you want to actually ask the question, or know the answer. âAfter theyâre used?âÂ
âWell, theyâre not âpureâ anymore.â Sam puts an air quote around pure, and you feel a little sick. âSo, uh, stab.â
âOh.â You nod slowly. You might need to lie down. âStab.â
Dean looks over you with a drawn brow, his voice low and cautious as he says your name. âAre feelinâ okay-â
âIâm fine.â You remember how to smile, and hope it looks real. Not like your teeth are starting to feel out of place in your mouth, and you canât seem to find enough spit to choke on. âLetâs get the unicorn ass.â
Dean doesnât look convinced. Hell, Sam doesnât look convinced. But they both let it go for now, and you can breathe just a little easier knowing youâre not barreling towards a fight.
But only a little easier.Â
Because youâre fucked.
Virginity is a funny thing. Itâs just a social construct, but itâs a social construct some monsters seem to take as scripture, making it a hazardous thing to still have in your line of work.Â
And you hadnât meant to be a hazard. It just kind of happened. Because it started as something that was a given to have, then turned into something that you just were a little too busy to lose, before becoming an awkward conversation youâre not willing to have. Something that hangs, silent and sharp, over your head and around your throat. Something thatâs now a question of why? Why is it never you? Youâre not ugly. Youâre even pretty enough that, if you tell someone, they wonât believe you and itâll all feel worse. Youâre even pretty enough that youâve seen people size you up at bars, but none of them ever approach you.
So it might just be you. You might just have something on your face that gives away that youâre more trouble than youâre worth, a little too rough to touch and not have it sting, telling people stay away.Â
And Sam and Dean will never know. Youâre already a little younger, a little worse of a hunter, a small problem when theyâre obviously trying to take someone to their bed but the girl sees you and makes quick and inaccurate assumptions. Sam is better at brushing them offâSheâs like my little sisterâbut Dean gets red and awkward and suddenly loses all his well-practiced charm. He sulks back to the table, and wonât look you in the eyes for an hour or walk with you back to the bar. Youâre honestly shocked neither of them have thrown you to the curb by now, an youâre not going to give them another reason to. Another reason for Sam to make a sad, puppy-eyed pity face and Dean to stare at you like heâs not sure youâre real. Like thereâs no way someone couldâve possibility survived as a hunter like this.Â
And a small, well-contained part of you wishes Dean would look at you the way he looks at other women. Like they still have beautiful, horrible secrets that heâd love to uncover with only his hands and mouth.Â
Youâve got secrets. Dean canât have themâbecause theyâre a liability and youâre not looking to lose him foreverâbut you really wish heâd just look at you. Once, really look at you, and not see you. See something so much better, that you think heâs always a little close to finding, that nobody else ever seems willing to try and look for.
Youâre a little grateful they left you alone in this backwater dive bar. It would hurt to watch Dean flirt right now, when everything feels raw and wired in your body, and every time someone drops next to you at the bar you feel more and more sick. There are quick, polite conversations with random strangers who sound like theyâd rather be anywhere than here, with you, and by the time youâve repeated your cover story for the eighth time your lungs are wrapped iron and your nails feel like a burden on your fingers.
Itâll be over by tonight. All three of you know what youâre looking for, so the unicorn will be dead before sunrise, and you wonât have to do any explanations about why youâve been quiet and tense since Dean said like a dragon. Nobody will look at you with pity or confusion, nobody will get hurt, and you wonât end up with a hole in your heart as the only people that have ever seen you to be worth something realize just how wrong they were. That youâre really just a small, useless burden that even a literal monster wouldnât be able to stomach the presence of-
âYou here all by yourself?â
Something sparks in your gut at the voice, coming from off to the side, because for a second you really think itâs Dean. Itâs deep, moves through your whole body, and knocks loose something in your lower gut that always makes you feel hungry, but itâs not Dean. When you turn, the man next to you looks like someone ran Dean through a printer too many times and he came out faded. A little too short, not quite as broad, all the pretty scars that make Dean Dean seemingly vanished, and a gleam in his eyes that Deanâs never had. Itâs a little more feral, without any playfulness or glowing shadows. Too much yellow instead of green, the cocky smirk just a little off, none of it right. None of it Dean.
âIâm, um,â you frown, because this man even smells like Dean. âIâm waiting for a friend. Heâs running late.â
Not-Dean clicks his tongue. âShame, leaving a pretty girl like you all alone. You want some company until your boyfriend shows up?â
You shake your head, turning your glass around in your hand. âNot my boyfriend. And Iâm actuallyâŚâ You trail off, your eyes falling on the manâs own glass. The clear liquid inside. âYou drinking vodka?â
âAm I- Oh, sure.â The man chuckles, raising his drink for you to click. âHereâs to not-boyfriends-â
âCan I have some?â
You watch the man carefully as he looks between you and the glass. âNah, sweetie, you donât want this, itâs some strong stuff-â
Sweetie. Not sweetheart. Not Dean, not right, not safe. And something is starting to crawl over your skin and shoot up your spine, making you sit a little taller as your heart pounds louder and louder.Â
As Not-Dean licks his lips, and scans over you with yellow eyes that might be shining.Â
Fuck.
âI, um, Iâm gonna go call my friend.â You start to shift off your seat, pulling your phone slowly out of your pocket. âHe shouldâve been here a few minutes ago, and Iâm worried-â
âCâmon, you havenât even told me your name.â Not-Dean wiggles his brows, and it looks wrong on his face. âBet I can guess, if you give me a hint-â
âNo, itâs fine, my name is, uhâŚâ you look down at your phone, the screen completely black. Youâd charged it before you left.
âYour name?â Not-Dean prompts, grabbing your arm. Holding you near him, at the bar. âIâd really love to learn it. I could teach you a few things in exchange-â
âI was never given a name!â Your voice is a frantic shout, Not-Deanâs eyes narrow, and you do the only thing you can think of. Punch Not-Dean square in the face, yank your arm from his grip, and run. Fucking sprint out of the bar and not allow yourself to falter as you hear a roar thatâs a little hoarse and off pitched. Like a horse keen. Like a wounded animal.
Like a monster.
Splitting up had been a terrible fucking idea. Now youâre alone, you donât have even an idea where Sam and Dean are, and you canât afford to stop and jack a car because you can hear it in the distance. Hooves, clapping against the pavement, getting closer and closer as you begin to run out of breath. You canât hide, it can hear you, and you canât go faster because you already feel faint and everything is beginning to collapse in your body. Muscles tightening and skin crawling and eyes pushing out of your skull, every breath too shallow and every step too short.Â
You fall to your knees behind a truck, wrapping a hand around your own throat and trying to force your heartbeat back down. Slow, even breathes that come out in choked gasps, nails digging into your skin as the hooves slow, and you hear a low sputtering sound from somewhere behind you.Â
And itâs too quiet. You canât hear anything but your blood in your ears, and all you can see in the night is the flickering yellow light of a streetlamp in the distance. You squeeze your eyes shut and swallow every breath, hoping you can force yourself out before the unicorn finds you. You donât want to be used. You donât want to be alone. You just want Dean, whereâs Dean, why the fuck did you let him leave you alone, why didnât you tell him the truth, why canât you think of anything else but Dean, whereâs Dean-
Thereâs something hot on your neck, and a large presence at your side. Something like spit is being splattered on your neck, and you canât contain the vomit when a too-rough hand trails up your arm-
âGet the fuck back, you son of a bitch!â
A loud bang cuts through the airâmaking you jump out of your skin as a heavy body slumps onto yoursâand it sounds like church bells and music. It sounds like Dean. Thatâs his voice shouting your name, his arms wrapping around your body and carrying you away from the unicorn, his breath fanning over your face as he sits you on the curb and starts to turn your face in his hands.
âFuck, never shouldâve left you, but I didnât-â Dean cuts himself off with a huff, and you think heâs talking to himself more than you. âDid the asshole touch you anywhere I canât see?â
You shake your head, keeping your eye glued shut as you curl your hands in Deanâs shirt. Maybe Deanâs shirt. Not-Dean had been wearing plaid too, and you donât have the nerve or will to open your eyes and seen if itâs your Dean, or the cheap unicorn knockoff.
âShit, sweetheart, I need you to talk to me. Samâs on his way, but we gotta get you out of here-â
âDidnât touch me.â You whisper, fighting every urge into your body to curl forwards and start sobbing weak and pointless apologies. âIâm okay.â
âYouâre okay? You think, fuck-â Deanâs armâbigger, warmer, maybe actual Deanâloops around your waist, his voice a little closer to your ear. âNeed you to hold onto me, got it? Weâre goinâ back to the car, and you gotta, fuck, can you open your damn eyes?â
They fly open, almost on command, and itâs Dean. The smell of whiskey is stronger, more authentic, and his face is sharp in all the right places, and itâs really Dean.Â
And he looks pissed. His touch on your body is careful, and his eyes are attentive and sparked with worry, but his jaw is clenched, and his every word is suddenly pushed through his teeth.
âYouâre gonna hold onto me.â He orders, holding your wide-eyed gaze with a glower. âIâll take a better look at you when we get back to the room-â
âDean, Iâm fine-â
âAnd,â Dean barrels on, as if he didnât even hear you. âWeâre going to have a chat. Youâre, I canât-â he shakes his head scooping you fully into his arms. âJust hold on.â
He sounds pissed. Deanâs rigid and silent the whole ride back to the hotel, his grip white-knuckled and tight on the wheel, and you feel even worse than before. This is it. He had to save you, and heâs going to learn why he had to save you, and he might not kick you out but he wonât look at you the same again. No more ease or awe or comfort or understanding, because Deanâs rotten in places where the mold can be burned away with every good part of him, but youâre just rotten. Just a hideous thing that roars in your chest, just angry and cowardlyand revolting and wrong. Youâre just wrong.Â
All the panic and paralyzing adrenaline had left your body, so you push yourself out of the Impala on unsteady feet. Dean mutters something about Sam dealing with all the cleanup as he opens to motel room door, watching you shuffle inside with clenched fists and an unreadable expression. You flop onto the bed with a small whine, your body beginning to drown in exhaustion, your gaze locked on the peeling paint of the ceiling as Dean moves around the room out of your view.
âWhyâd you come back?â You ask, your voice hoarse and weak, and Dean lets out a long, low exhale from somewhere off to the side.
âYou were actinâ really weird.â He grunts. âDidnât sound like yourself. Werenât laughing at my jokes, or making fun of Sam. Looked sick every time one of us said stab.â
âI couldâve just been-â
âDonât.â He snaps, and you crane your neck to see him at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and looking at you. Dean seems to be really looking at you, all of you, and you suddenly really wish he would stop. Youâre complete exposed below him, under his glare, and heâs going to see something he hates. Something you donât have a name for that youâve never wanted him to see, never wanted him to find. The thing that makes everyone else look away.
But Deanâs attention is like a drug, and you need him to stop before you lose him, but you also never want him to stop watching you. Itâs confusing and raw and makes you feel like a live wire, one word or touch or stare away from snapping and bursting into a million sparks.
And Deanâs still looking at you.Â
âI didnât,â you swallow, his eyes like a magnet on yours. âI didnât mean to. Iâm sorry-â
âDonât.â He repeats, his voice lower. Harsher. âYouâre not injured.â
You shake your head.
âGood. We need to talk.â
âDean, I-â
âIâm asking the questions.â Dean leers over you slightly, and you nod again. âWhy the fuck did that unicorn seem like it was hunting you.â
He knows the answer. His whole face is already painted in anger, and you know he knows. He just wants to hear you say it.
âBecause it was hunting me.â
âUnicorns only hunt virgins.â Dean grunts your name, still not looking away. âYouâre not-â
âI am.â You mumble, folding your arms over your own body as you drop back down onto the mattress. âSorry.â
âWhy would you say, fuck- Why in goddamn hell wouldnât you tell me and Sam-â
âTell you and Sam what?â You scowl at the ceiling. âThat Iâm untouched? Pure? Boring-â
âThat youâd be in danger!â Dean all but roars, and you donât flinch, but you do cringe. All the mold in your body feels as if itâs spreading like cancer, because Dean would never hurt you with his hands, but he might be about to curb stomp your heart with only his mouth. âI donât give a shit about the virgin thing, I care that you were so fucking stupid to go off alone, that you didnât trust me enough-â
âItâs not about trust, Dean,â you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut again. âAnd itâs not like you tell me everything-â
âI do! Iâve told you about all the shit in my past, and my fear of flying, and Rhonda Hurley, and that weird freaking dream I had with the mice in top hats-â
âThatâs not the same!â Youâre pushing back up on your palms, raising your voice to match Deanâs. You just need him to stop yelling at you, to rip the band-aid off and finally give up on you so you can rest. âThis isnât your business-â
âItâs my business if itâs gonna get you fucking killed, Sweetheart. And I coulda helped you-â
âHelped me?â You scoff. âI donât need your help with this, Winchester, Iâve come to terms with it-â
There was a brief moment where Dean had looked like youâd kicked him, but it vanishes in a second as he gapes at you in disbelief. âTo terms with virginity?â
âYeah,â you shrug, holding his suddenly slack expression with your own glare. âNobody wants me, itâs not a big deal-âÂ
Dean snorts. âThereâs no damn way youâre that stupid-âÂ
âI am not stupid-âÂ
âYeah? Cause youâre a fucking idiot if you think nobody wants you.â
Itâs your turn to gape at him. Your heart stumbles slightly in your chest, your fingers curling into bedsheets, and the world begins to spin as you try and understand his words. âWhat?â
âYou,â Dean takes a firm step forward, drawing your name. âAre a fucking idiot if you think that thereâs not one damn person on the planet who wants you.âÂ
âBut-â
âNah. No freakinâ buts.â Heâs closer now, his knees bumping yours as he glowers down at you. âIâve watched too many hair-gelled losers at bars size you up like they wanna take a bite for you to have buts. Hell, Iâve-â Dean shakes his head, running a hand over his face. âShit, thereâs just, thereâs no way-â
Your face twists back into a scowl. âFuck off, Dean. It doesnât matter if you believe me-â
âOh, I believe you, Sweetheart.â Deanâs eyes flash, nostrils flaring as a low groan leaves his chest, rolling through the air and settling between your legs in an aching heat. âAnd I finally fucking get it. You just, you have no idea. I thought you just didnât want it, but youâre just- Shit-â
âDean,â your voice is soft, a little breathless, and canât help but rub your thighs together as his hands start to flex at his sides. âI donât know what youâre talking about-â
âI know,â he mutters, scanning over your body with an almost predatory expression. âIâm not, I just gotta,â his gaze flies back to yours, his voice suddenly stern. âSam tell you how the unicorn choses its form?â
You blink. âWha-â
âIt takes the form that will be most appealing to the target. To help the asshole get attention quickly. That unicorn,â his voice drop, deeper than youâve ever heard it, and it takes all the will you have to not start fall back into in the sheets. âLooked kinda like me.â
âI, um, I donât-â
âDo you want me?â Dean grunts your name, and you make the mistake of dropping your gaze down, to his pants. To where an impressive outline is straining against his jeans.Â
âIâd, I mean, Iâm not-â You swallow, everything a dizzying haze of Dean. âYeah, I think, but youâre not-â
âIâm not what?â He growls, kneeling down to your eye level, trailing a slow hand up your thigh. âNot interested?â
 âYeah?â
âWrong.â Deanâs hand moves higher, trailing closer and closer to your center before running back down to your knee. âSo incredibly wrong, Sweetheart. Iâve wanted you since, fuck, since I first saw yaâ. But you didnât seem to want me, so I backed off, but if you just didnât-â He pauses, his brilliant green eyes suddenly tearing into your soul, unraveling you before heâs even touched bare skin. âDo you? Want me?â
âI already said-â
âYou said yeah.â He mutters, rubbing his hand is a slow pattern on your knee. âNeed you to say the full thing, before I do anything else.â
Deanâs face is suddenly softer, with something that aches and tugs on your own heart shining through his eyes, and you couldnât lie to him if you tried. You can lie to yourself, but you canât lie to Dean. It feels cruel, and wrong, and as if youâd be denying yourself something so good and rare it will never be replicated if you walk away now.Â
âI want you,â you whisper. âIâve wanted you. But Iâm not, itâs not going to be good for you. I mean, I know how to take care of that,â you point to the bulge in his pants, pressed slightly against your calf as he crouches before you, and Dean frowns. âBut Iâve never, um, you know-â
âYouâre not takinâ care of anything.â He says, scanning over your open face with drawn brows. âWeâre doing this, itâs gonna be about you.â
âOh.â Thereâs a little drool falling out of your mouth, Dean reaches up to swipe it away with his thumb, and your voice becomes a squeak. âOkay.â
âIf you really wanna,â his mouth curves into a smirk, and you need it on yours now. âNext time, Iâll let you go to town on Little Dean.â
You canât stop the small giggle escaping your lips, and it turns into a full laugh as Deanâs own grin grows, and nothing really feels that bad anymore. âLittle Dean?â
âCompared to the rest of me, yeah.â Dean does a loose gesture at his broad, strong body, his grin growing cocky. Hungry. Starved. âBut trust me, gorgeous. Ainât nothing little about him.â
Your eyes widen, your thighs rubbing together as the need for him becomes almost unbearable, and Dean lets out a deep, low chuckle.Â
âYou want me, babygirl?â
You nod, and Deanâs eyes narrow as he squeezes his hand on your leg.Â
âNeed you to say it-â
âYeah.â You whisper. âYes, please.â
A grin splits over Deanâs handsome face, and his hand drifts to your stomach, his eyes never leaving yours as he drawls your name. âIâm gonna need to get you ready, so just,â he pushes you slightly, and you fall flat on your back, moving your own hands to hold his against you. âStay there, look pretty, and let me work.â
You nod, your vision already a little blurred with desire as you stare at the ceiling. Dean draws back, shuffling around at the edge of the bed, and you look up to see his shirt gone. Itâs all warm, slightly golden and freckled skin, strong and soft in all the right places. His muscles flex as he takes a long, deep breath, and big, calloused hands lowering to trace over your midriff, his eyes never leaving yours.
âWhatâd I say about stayinâ there-â
âI, um,â you gasp a little as his hand slips under your shirt, bunching the material and starting to slowly pull it over your chest. âIâve done other stuff. Just so you know. And Iâve done things to myself-â
âI bet you have,â Dean mutters, wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you carefully against him as he helps you out of your clothing. âShit, Sweetheart, youâre so damn beautiful. Canât wait to taste you, touch you, fucking ruin you-â
You let out a high, needy moan, burying your face in his neck and mumbling against his skin. âPlease, Dean, just-â
You cut yourself off with a gasp as his free hand slips into your pants, cupping your pussy over the fabric of your underwear and rubbing back and forth so torturously slow you might fly out of your skin.
âSo wet for me already,â he grunts, tugging on your hair until you lean back, meeting his gaze. âReady?â
Youâre not sure what you need to be ready for, but as long as itâs Dean doing it, youâre good. You nod, wrapping your arm around his neck in silent affirmation, and Dean pulls back to pop open the button of your jeans with a single hand, offering himself easier access.
Two broad fingers toy with the hem of your panties, Deanâs eyes almost glittering as his attention falls to where heâs touching you. Watching your body shiver when he glides his thumb over your clothed slit, your hips jerk when he presses down on your clit, your legs stretch as wide as they can when he starts to rub small circles against you.
âDean,â you whine, your free hand moving to cup his jaw, trying to move his gaze back to yours. âPlease, shit-â
âThat feel good, babygirl?â Dean starts to quicken his movements, adding small, teasing flicks and pinches that make your eyes roll back in your head. âYou like me teasinâ you? Playinâ this pretty fuckinâ pussy until youâre soaked- Fuck-â
You start to grind on Deanâs hand, trying to chase relief while showing him that he didnât need to play with or tease you. He has you, unraveled on his fingers and desperate for more of him, all of him, whatever he can offer you that will feel like this-
âShit, youâre dripping.â Deanâs movement on your clit still as he drags his thumb down, resting right over your aching, already sensitive cunt, and pressing into you just enough to make you whimper. âI gotta taste you, Sweetheart, câmon.â
His gaze shoots back to yours, something a little animalistic in his low, hoarse voice that almost makes you cum on the spot. âNeed you hold on, pretty girl, weâre gonna get you outâa these.â
You nod, letting Dean lay you back down on the mattress, lifting your hips as he drags your jeans off your body, taking your underwear with them. Leaving to totally, completely naked on the bed. Vulnerable, entirely at his mercy, with not another place youâd wish to be in the world.
Dean crawls slightly over you, one of his hands tracing up your stomach, palming at your breasts, then rolling your nipple between two, rough, expert fingers. You gasp, arching slightly off the bed, and a low, deep groan rolls from Deanâs chest.
âHoly fuck, Sweetheart. Youâre,â Dean cuts himself off, dropping his mouth to your other breast and latching plump, slightly chapped lips around your nipple. Your vision starts to line with light that might be angels coming to take you away, because this has to be heaven. This is better than heaven. Heaven wouldnât allow such sinful things as Dean groaning against your skin, his boner pressing into your thigh, or his hand kneading at your ass. Someone shouldnât be allowed to feel this good. This feels like everything, and blissfully nothing, and mostly just Dean.
You must have moaned his name, because he crashes up, fisting a hand in your hair as he pulls you into a sloppy kiss. All teeth and spit and burning need. Dean tastes like coffee and whiskey and syrup and fruit when he shoves his tongue down your throat, and he smells like gunpowder and leather as his weight hold you easily down, and his lips are so soft but so demanding as he practically devours you, and youâre high. Heâs not even inside you yet and youâll never have enough. This isnât more than what youâve done before, but Deanâs ruined you with just teasing touches and wet, starved kisses, and youâre starting to worry you might ascend when he actually fucks you.
He starts to kiss and suck a line over your jaw, down your neck, and between your breasts. Itâs heavy and wanting, but still so carefully coordinated. Every move Dean makes seems to be calculated, because he nips at your collarbone right as he tugs on your hair, and the sound that leaves you is high and undignified and exactly what he wanted. His chuckle rumbles in his chestânow pressed against your stomachâand all you can do is moan as he continues his perfect torture. Licking one nipple as he pinches the other, dragging two fingers through your folds as he kisses down the plane of your stomach, stopping right at the apex of your thighs with glittering eyes and firm hands, slowly guiding your legs open.
âShit.â He mutters, warm breath right over your pussy, making your hips jerk slightly. âGoddamn, baby, youâre responsive.â A wide, smug grin overtakes Deanâs face as he pushes one finger into your pussy, and you squeak. âIâve been waiting for this.â He growls your name, and starts to pump that finger in and out, the pace so slow and almost painfully good. âGod, you have fucking idea how long- How bad-â Dean groans as you squeeze around him, and adds another finger. âYouâre making such pretty sounds, babygirl, better than I ever imagined. Shit, youâre sexier than a fucking dream.â
His eyes drift back to yours, and shiver goes up your spine from how Deanâs looking at you. Really looking at you. Watching your writhe in the sheets and plead for him in weak gasps, watching you at your most vulnerable state, and grinning like he loves what he sees. Like heâs never seen anything better.
âDean,â you gasp as his fingers pick up speed, starting to scissor inside your dripping cunt, bumping against a tender spot inside of you that seems to sing under his touch. âOh my god, Dean, please-â
âSuch pretty sounds,â Dean grins at you, crooking his fingers against that same spot to rub. âLetâs see if we can make some more.â
Without further warning Dean drops back down, latches his lips onto your clit, and sucks it right into his mouth like candy. Itâs almost immediate, how he pulls you from warm pleasure to raw, almost feral desperation. Youâre right on the edge, grinding on his face as his stubble burns your inner thighs in the best was possible, his tongue flicking over that pulsing bundle of nerves, his fingers reaching a demanding and brutal pace-
âFuck, Iâm-â You let out a loud moan as Dean growls against you, pulling at his short, soft hair to try and both move him away as you dangle over the drop, and urge him on to let him catch you when you fall. âClose, Dean, Iâm close, please-â
He pulls away, and you almost scream from the loss. You even force yourself up to glare at him, but youâve barely gotten a steady balance when a high, needy breath escapes you at the sight of him.Â
Deanâs towering over you, his pants discarded into another corners of the room, stroking his massive, fully-erect cock in one hand as he scans over your sweaty, flushed body.Â
âI wanna fuck you dumb, babygirl.â He grunts, and you canât really hear him your own Dean-addled brain, so you just gape and moan, and he chuckles. âShit, looks like weâre already halfway there. You got any words for me-â
âDean, please.â The words start to fall out of your mouth with the slight drool on your chin, almost as if heâd commanded them. âPlease, I need you, need you so bad-â
You spread your legs in offering, and Dean groans. âFuck, Sweetheart, you canât just-â He closes his eyes, running a hand over his face, and thereâs a moment before he speaks again where you worry youâve ruined it. That youâd shown too much, or Dean saw too much, but no matter what this is over before you can even get that huge, glorious cock inside of you-Â
âIâm sorry-â
Dean frowns, his brow drawn as he looks down at you. âWhat the hell are you sorry for.â
âI dunno, Iâm just not-â You swallow. âIâm not good at this, I donât know what to say-â
He grunts your name, prowling over your body under your trapped between his strong body and the bed, unable to escape his intense, searing gaze. Looking at you, examining you, and not flinching or moving away. âYou,â he says, tracing one gentle hand over your cheekbones. âAre fuckinâ amazing at this.âÂ
You can only gape at him, so he keeps going.
âIâm the one that might fuck this up, Sweetheart. Youâre so,â he makes a loose gesture to your body, and you really wish heâd use words, but the look of sheer awe in his eyes will be enough for now. âAnd I get to do this for you, and Iâm not trying to blow my load before you even cum once.â
âI almost came.â You offer him a small smile, your fingers tracing over the sharp line of his jaw. âBut you stopped me.â
He lets out a dry chuckle. âYeah, well, Iâm planninâ to make that up to you. If you still-â
âI want it.â You cut him off quickly, rolling your hips up, right against his cock. âPlease, Dean, I really want it.â
He squeezes his eyes shut, dropping a little further down. âAre you-â
âIâm sure.â You guide Deanâs lips back to yours in a soft, almost sweet kiss, and say the words you really hope will snap whatever leash heâs put on himself. âI want you.â
It works. Something flashes in Deanâs eyes, and his hand snakes between your bodies, finding your clit and rolling it in slow circles as he growls in your ear.
âWanna feel you, babygirl. Fuck you raw. Iâm clean, but if you want me to grab a rubber youâre gonna need to keep yourself going while I-â
âNo!â You almost yelp, wrapping your arms around him in a desperate attempt to keep him above you. âI mean, Iâm clean too, obviously, and I take birth control just for like, lady stuff-â
Dean raises his brows at you. âLady stuff?â
âIt kinda helps with period cramps and-â You cut yourself off with a moan as Dean flicks your clit, tossing your head back you start to squirm, trying to catch him into you. âFuck, Dean, please just fuck me-â
âYou mean like this?â Dean guides the head of his cock inside you, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. âFuck yaâ like this, baby?â
You grind on him, scratching at his back as you plead. âShit, thatâs, Dean thatâs good, more-â
âMore, baby? You need more already?â His grin is shit-eating, and youâd hit him if the dark look of lust in his eyes, the baritone of his voice being several octaves lower than youâve ever heard it, and the throbbing ache of him starting to split you open wasnât rending your limbs only putty in his arms.
âDean, please-â
You might stop breathing as Dean guides himself fully into you, settling his face in your neck as he bottoms out. Thereâs a long moment where itâs only Deanâs warmth over and inside you as he gives you time to adjust, groaning against your skin as you squeeze around him.
âShit, Sweetheart, youâre so tight.â He kisses right behind your ear. âFeel, fuck, feel so good around my cock, so fuckinâ good-â He emphasizes his words with one, short thrust that pushes him right against that one spot and makes you whine. âYou ready, baby? Ready for me to pound this tight little pussy until you cum all over my cock-â
You almost yank him back down into a desperate, borderline feral kiss, because if he kept talking you might have cum from just the sound of his low, rough voice growling in your ear and rumbling in your chest.
Dean takes a long, ragged breath when he pulls away, and you roll your hips only once. Just enough for him to groans and fall back over you, kissing and sucking on your skin like he thinks youâll vanish if he doesnât mark you with his touch.Â
Then he starts to move, and you were right. This is heaven. Deanâs moving so slow, pulling almost all the way out before driving back inside, until youâre fully impaled on himâhis cock pressed fully against that one spot, making your whole body feel warm and alight, and your head feel a little dizzyâthen repeating the movement again. And again. Over and over, so fucking slow, still leaving softer, slightly uneven kisses along your collarbone and grunts against your skin but-
âDean,â you gasp his name, your nails digging into the muscles of his broad back as he continues to move on you. âFuck, Dean, go faster, please-â
He rises up to meet your eyes, an unreadable expression on his face thatâs made entirely hunger and want, but edged with something a little stronger you donât understand. âYou sure-â
âYes.â Youâre practically whining, scratching at Deanâs skin as you squirm under him, desperate him to really, properly fuck you. âPlease, Dean, feels so good, need more, need you-â
He shakes his head slightly. âDonât wanna hurt you-â
âNot gonna-â you let out a breathy moan as Dean pushes back into you, the movement a little harsher than before, and so fucking good. âYou wonât hurt me, please, Dean, fuck-â
âIâm-â
âYou said,â you force your eyes to stay on Deanâs, even as he sits deep into you, cock throbbing against that soft spot and making you see stars. âYou said you wanted to fuck me, Dean.â You raise your chin, grinding up into his torso until his throat bobs. âFuck me.â
A low, primal noise leaves Deanâs mouth, and he fully snaps. You might have screamed his name when he began to move againâramming into you at an unforgiving pace, creaking the bed and bruising your hips as he grabbed at your skin, molding you perfectly into his touch and bodyâbut he swallows the noise with a deep kiss that makes your eyes go unfocused, your whole body slack and only for Dean to play with as he drags you higher. Slamming against that spot, balls slapping onto your ass, one free hand squeezing at your tits before dragging down your side and finding your clit-
âSo fucking good, babygirl.â Dean groans into your mouth, and you think you might be floating or falling or flying, but it doesnât matter because Dean grunting in your east and slamming into your dripping cunt, and thatâs the whole world. âLook so good, all ruined and whiny, such a good fucking girl, taking this cock so well, made to be fucked so fucking pretty-â He pinches your clit, and you whimper his name. âWanna cum, baby? Wanna fucking soak this cock-â
âYes,â you gasp, scratching at his back, muscles rippling as he drills into you. Something in you hopes it leaves a mark. That Dean feels you on his back a little forever, just like you know youâre going to feel him in your pussy and on your neck for the rest of your life. âFeels so good, Dean, feels so fucking good, wanna cum so bad-â
âBeg-â
Dean barely grunts your name before you bite on his upper lip, almost screaming into his mouth. âPlease, Dean, please, need to cum, wanna cum so bad-â
âShit, baby, youâre-â Dean groans, his pace becoming uneven and thrusts slightly staggered, cock twitching deep inside you as he ruts into your aching, clenching pussy-
Dean flicks your clit once, sending your hips almost flying off the bed, and starts to rub you at a frantic, savage pace.Â
âCum with me.â He growls your name, lips ghosting over yours and you stare at him under, cockdrunk, lidded eyes. âCâmon, baby, cum-â
Your scream is hoarse as your orgasm slams into you like a freight trainâpure, drug-like bliss washing over your whole body, a soft haze of Dean settling behind your eyes and over your skinâand Dean roars as he slams open, warmth coating inside you and dripping between your thighs, down your ass, and onto the bed.
Dean rolls over, taking you with him, and remains carefully sheathed inside you as your cunt grows sensitive and your breathing slows back down. It helps that he keeps your ear pressed to his bare chest, where you can hear his heart beating. Calm and steady and strong, just as certain and constant as the man itâs inside.Â
As the man had been.
Youâre not sure what heâs going to be now.
âThat, ah,â Dean breaks the silence, his voice low and almost soft. âThat do it?â
You smile against him. âIf you mean take my virginity, then yeah, I think you did it-â
âNo, I mean was it,â He groans, his arm shifting slightly around as his voice drops. âWas it good. For you.â
âOh.â You nod slowly, trying not to hum like a needy fucking when Dean starts to run his fingers through your hair. âYeah. Really good.â You stifle a moan as he twitches inside you. âIt was awesome. Good, uh, good job?â
âThanks, Sweetheart.â You can hear to smug grin in his voice, his free hand starting to rub soothingly on your back. âYou were pretty fucking awesome yourself.â
There it is. You were pretty awesome. And heâs still inside you. And you need to know if you were awesome enough for something, anything to stick.
âYou said, um,â you swallow, staring at his tattoo because you canât bear to look at his face right now. âYou said I could give you a blowjob next time. Did-âÂ
âDid I mean it?âÂ
You nod nervously, and Deanâs whole chest rumbles with his low laugh, rolling right through your body. He grunts your name, andâwhen you still donât look at himâhooks a finger under your chin to guide your gaze to his.Â
âLook.â He sighs, and this is it. He did you a favor, and thatâs it. He wonât stay, nobody stays, why would Dean Winchester be the one to stay-Â
âI get it,â you mumble, and wish you would find the will to make your body roll away from his. âYou donât need to explain-âÂ
Deanâs grip on you remains firm, and his voice is a deep, amused drawl. It feels a little cruel in your gut, because youâd have really liked more. More would have been the best. You didnât even need all of Dean, youâd just have really like more.Â
âYou get it.â He raises his brows, and you nod again. âSweetheart, you might want to actually hear the explaininâ part before you say anything.â
âI, um-â
âSee, Iâm a firm believer that all ladies should ride more than one dick in life. Too much of a good thing, ya know?â He winks at you, thrusting slightly up into you, and you flush. âBut, if youâre taking applicants for long-term dicks, Iâd have to be dumb not to apply. Iâm never gonna complain if I get you all to myself.â
You stare at him, your voice barely a whisper. âSo, um, you mean-â
âIf youâll have me,â he mutters. âIâll take you up on that blowjob offer soon. And any other offers youâve got.â
âOffers,â you swallow. âFor long-term dicks?â
He shrugsâtracing a finger over your arm and refusing to meet your eyesâand it might be your turn to make the move.Â
âDean.â You whisper, crawling up his chest just enough for his eyes to easily find yours. âIâd really like you being my long-term dick.â
He frowns. âSounds stupid when you say it like that-â
You drop down to press a soft, tentative kiss against his lips, and he tenses for only a second before overtaking you. Deepening the kiss with his tongue pushing on your lower lip, groaning when you open for him without a momentâs hesitation, pinning you onto his chest with big, strong arms as you fall fully into him.
Dean pulls back for only a second, searching over your open expressionâall affection and need for him, swollen lips and shallow breathsâuntil he finds what heâs looking for, and his face splits into a wide grin.Â
âIf youâre lettinâ me,â he says, tucking a little bit of hair behind your ears. âI think Iâll stay your long-term dick for while, Sweetheart.â
âIâm letting you.â You whisper, a small smile pulling on your own lips. âBut we need to come up with a better name than long-term dick.â
âBoyfriend?â
You stare at him for a second, unsure if this is real, because Dean just said that word like it was obvious. Not something heâs adamantly refused to be for anyone, ever, for the entire time youâve known him. He said it like he was waiting to say it. And, looking at himâunfamiliar hope haunting the very deepest part of those perfect eyes, his grin so genuine but filled with nervesâyou think he might have been. And all the money and glory and pleasure in the world couldnât make you tell him no.
âYeah,â you whisper. âBoyfriendâs good.âÂ
Deanâs grin becomes almost boyish, and this last kiss is sweet. Itâs a kiss in the rain, or under bleachers, or on a rooftop with nothing but time and peace around you.
And you and Dean have never had either of those things.Â
But youâd really like to and find them. And if itâs with Dean, you really think you could.
End Note: Look at Dean. Being Emotional. I'm so proud of him (I made him do that)
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@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature
#x reader#reader insert#romance#canon typical violence#jensen ackles#jensen ackles characters#godmadeaterribleerror#dean winchester x you#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#supernatural#supernatural fanfiction#sam winchester#dean x reader#dean x you#dean fanfiction#smut#p in v sex#loss of virginity#virgin!reader#monster of the week#light angst
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right side of my neck â jeongin x reader ; established relationship (0.6k words)
your touch hater bf just wants to kiss you
happy holidays !!!!!!!!!!!
âInnieeeee.â
Heâs falling deaf to your whines, one ear and out the other.
ââM trying to sleep.â You mumble with sleep-riddled voice, trying to push the boyâs face away from yours.
He isnât quick to give up.
âAnd âm trying to kiss my girlfriend.â
Jeonginâs someone that rarely craves physical intimacy despite having the most beautiful hands and the most perfect lips.
Not that you minded.
You think itâs endearing how he reserves it for you, in the comfort of baggy clothes and the security of his room.
You canât help but giggle at him. Your touch-hater boyfriend practically begging to keep kissing you. You should relish in this moment a bit longer.
Because apparently he canât wait until morning, or at least certainly not when heâll have to be shaken awake in the early hours of dawn for practices and schedules.
His lips stay attached on your skin, open-mouthed kisses pressed on anywhere he can get access toâcheeks, forehead, lips, chin, neck, lips, shoulder, ear, lips.
âLet me kiss you?â Jeongin leaves a trail just before landing back on your lips, hovering. You donât know what time it is, but you know itâs past midnight when heâs soft and malleable like this, and begging in slurred vocabulary.
âPlease?â
This man is going to kill you one day.
âOkay.â
Your one-word response doesnât even have time to fizzle out into the air when your boyfriend latches his lips onto yours in an almost neediness.
Heâs hazy-eyed, limp-tailed in your arms, and he doesnât continue down to any more than kissing like he usually does. He knows that youâre tired, so he keeps it at just making out.
It goes on longer than you have the breath for it.
Jeongin allows you the liberty of taking in more air, pulling out to look at the messy plump of your lips, and then your eyes.
He thinks, he should really let you sleep soon.
âOne more, promise.â
He whispers, attention span not rich enough to say another word before heâs chasing your lips for the last time. And his hands stay gently at your waist, that it makes you feel warmer than you already do.
Then, when heâs sure heâs kissed you enough to suffice missing your lips during practice, he releases you, and breathes out, âMkay, you can sleep now. Thanks, baby.â
His fingers hold your body in place that youâre still pressed against him, and itâs really such a delight to witness his droopy eyes and his love-drunk smile and the bashful tint of his cheeks. He dips into your hair, a smile ghosting his lips when he gets a trace of the shampoo he uses.
âHm, goodnight my Innie.â Your head finds his neck like itâs routine, but he can still hear you mumble against his skin.
âDonât call me that if you donât want me to kiss you again.â Jeongin makes a complaining noise, always been weak when you put a possessive determiner before his name.
You can only laugh with your exhaustion.
If any of the boys were to walk in his room, you were sure theyâd be surprised at the sight theyâd be subjected to. The reminder of their youngest pointedly making attempts to avoid their hugs, just to beg for yoursâHan Jisung would throw a tantrum.
(âHe must really like her,â Minho says after a chance encounter finding you and Jeongin asleep on the couch.
His hair tickles the skin of your neck at how close he is, and there is a fond smile on Minhoâs face at the sight.
âDonât let Sungie see this.â Felix laughs.)
Jeongin falls asleep before you do. Turns out he wasnât as awake as you thought he was, but your heart tingles at the thought that heâd spent his last remaining moments of consciousness kissing you.
That, instead of resting to get at least a decent amount of sleep before his schedules, heâd chosen to meet your lips.
âGoodnight, Innie.â
(You let him kiss you again, dumb and needy and soft and knowing, the next evening.)
#skz x reader#in x reader#in x you#jeongin x reader#jeongin x you#stray kids x reader#fluff#stray kids fluff#k-labels#stray kids imagines#stray kids fic#stray kids oneshot#stray kids scenarios#stray kids i.n x reader#i.n x reader#i.n x you#jeongin fluff#i.n fluff#kpop scenarios#kpop drabbles#stray kids drabbles#stray kids x you
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Just gonna point out here (targeted in the direction of anyone calling the CEO shooter a terrorist) that this constant slapping of 'terrorism' on shit that isn't by people in power who want to delegitimise acts of measured violence against specific people in power who actively caused the suffering and death this was about are making people stop treating that term seriously and I think that's a really big problem.
Nobody else died. Whoever did definitely kill the CEO didn't blow up an entire building to get to one guy. He didn't do a mass shooting of the building to get to the one guy. He didn't target random civillians and hold them hostage and sexually assault and slaughter them while planning killing as many people as possible regardless of what they've done or not done as individuals. He didn't attack a concert to get one guy. His only political statement with the murder was 'these people have been murdering us in the tens of thousands for decades and it's time they understood we've had enough through the only language they seem to understand because they ignored us when we were talking peacefully and went on killing us anyway because due process was never going to stop them when they have the game rigged in their favour.' And he made sure only the person responsible for these acts of horrific fatal negligence against innocent people was the one who died and no one else. That's not terrorism. At most it's assassination and we can argue about whether or not that's a helpful mindset to be accepting in the long term as much as people like but for fuck's sake people HAVE TO STOP labelling shit terrorism that isn't. It's watering the term down and people who are rightfully angry at being shut down at every turn when they do things that can't be swept under the rug (which applies to all kinds of non-fatal activism so don't come at me on that) are starting to ignore actual terrorism when it happens because their experience is that anyone using that word is just trying to remove the last shred of power a group has to stand up to their oppressors.
Do we have to just also make sure we consciously don't let ourselves redefine that term in either direction? Yes. But it's a two way street and everyone else misusing that word in the first place need to meet us in the middle in not waving it around slapping anyone and any activism they're made uncomfortable by like it's a wet noodle regardless of what the people they're slapping are ACTUALLY doing or not doing.
If we decide terrorism is bad (and obviously actual terrorism genuinely is!!), and then decide anything involving any form of violent resistance in the face of increasingly violent oppression is now terrorism, what kind of message do we send to all the people who are basically being told they're not allowed to resist that oppression now even if the situation isn't changing enough from the peaceful measures because every time they come with an olive branch they're met by a policeman/soldier's baton/tear gas/taser or even bullet?
The longer we go without listening to people when they ARE talking, and shutting down all other avenues to reach change except for the violence we also condemn as blanketly wrong regardless of circumstance, the more enraged and violent those people will get. It's basic psychology and easy enough for people not experiencing that inescapable oppression to say kindergarten level shit like 'violence is bad; killing is wrong.' If someone tries to kill you in the street and necessary escalation to stop them results in their dying, is that wrong? But they were trying to kill you. Were you supposed to limit yourself and increase your chances of death because they had a family? What about your family?
There have to be nuances to this because the world is more complicated than the play room where all the toddlers who can't handle that nuance are. Little Tommy isn't stopping little Johnny from talking to him because he doesn't have that kind of power. An adult can step in and resolve the child-level issue and make Tommy listen to Johnny and teach them to handle conflict peacefully and respectfully.
That doesn't apply to the adult-level capitalist world where money over millions of people's lives is the norm and intricately rigged and enforced so it never changes through peaceful resolution (we can keep chipping away and we do make things more bearable than the rich people want to give us, but it's a constant and exhausting battle while in the meantime everyone we love is either dead, dying or at risk of dying around us every day this goes without being properly fixed). In a world where a homeless man can be murdered in cold blood on a subway train after the attack stopped, but a CEO who has killed a horrific number of people in cold blood himself gets shot and his killer made an example of to the angry populace who see this discrepancy and understand that the powerful are only trying to maintain their status quo, there is only so much saying "Please pretty please stop killing us. We're human beings. We've justified to you over and over again why what you're doing is wrong and you still kill us with no consequences and no end in sight but maybe if we just keep talking and expecting a different result it'll happen" can do to stop the status quo that is constantly being propped up by corporate and governmental interests.
No one actually wants to be in a civil war. Most of us don't want to kill people. Bringing the rich and powerful who have killed so many to justice through due process and a proper trial is always going to be better and healthier for our society than walking up to them and shooting them.
But if you give people no other choice because you will never see that proper trial by your own design...
What else are those suffering and dying meant to do? Just keep suffering and dying quietly? Accept this constant violence toward them only to have their desperate violence called unacceptable and wrong and terrorism while yours is quietly swept under the rug?
Never target innocents. Never try to wipe out an entire group of people for the actions of a few. That IS terrorism and unjust and unacceptable because it's unnecessary force against random innocent people. But if the few who are doing those horrific actions aren't being stopped by normal societal methods of dealing with them peacefully and they continue shutting down every avenue you try to take to make them face justice non-violently and you actively make sure only to target them that's not terrorism. That's being pushed to the brink and finally breaking the way everyone will eventually under that type of oppressive violence and then making sure only the people actually committing that violence against you receive violence in return. That's self defence.
This literally is the only course left in a truly dystopian system where there truly is no end in sight except through making it clear people can't take it anymore, because they don't let people express that peacefully either. What else are those people supposed to do when you will never go to trial and ALSO refuse to let due process and proper trials happen to those you want silenced?
Terrorism stopped sounding like a bad thing to us when people made it mean anything they didn't like. And that's seriously fucked up because actual terrorism where people are targeted indiscriminately for a political or religious statement really is wrong and fucked up and unnecessary and has to stop. It's never necessary to do that even if it's about fighting the status quo and increasingly violent oppression. You can do that without killing or even risking innocents. The guy who shot the CEO proved that. There's a middle line to walk here and we have to make sure we don't let people flopping labels around like wet noodles make us think that terrorism is just ok now because it's been applied so frequently to defence of the public both violent and peaceful in a system where they shut down all other methods of change they would have to listen to otherwise.
And the people treating it like a wet noodle only to go on to committing acts of violence and aggression to terrorise the public with no repercussions themselves have to stop doing all of that and all the shit this is about in the first place. We know what the authorities are doing with this public spectacle and all it's doing is making people angrier and happier to commit more violence. This is how you get more and actual terrorism, not less of it, because people with less care for those nuances are going to see you doing this shit and decide that makes it necessary to expand the crosshairs. (Again, people need to know the difference and choose not to do that; but you know these assholes will jump on that the second it happens to lend credence to their decrying of genuinely necessary and properly measured violence against them to stop their constant unrelenting oppressive violence against everyone else. And then all the bootlickers who have not yet experienced the leopards eating their faces will tut tut and decry everything too in support of the leopards all while those leopards are eyeing up their faces next.)
Honestly I'm pretty sure the Redcoats would have called the Americans fighting for their freedom 'terrorists' during the American Revolution if that had been something they could use to delegitimise the Americans' cause in the public eye. It would be interesting to see what they did say instead because it's unfortunately a very effective tactic people in oppressive power over others use all the time now. I wonder if people used to fall for it as badly back then too as they do in the modern era.
"Iâm very concerned about my clientâs right to a fair trial in this case. Heâs being prejudiced by some statements that are being made by government officials. Like every other defendant, heâs entitled to a presumption of innocence. But unfortunately the way this has been handled so far his rights are being violated. And as you know, Your Honor, thereâs a wealth of case law guaranteeing his rights to a fair trial, but none of the safeguards have been put in place yet here â in fact itâs just the opposite of whatâs been happening.Â
Heâs a young man, and he is being treated like a human pingpong ball between two warring jurisdictions here.
These federal and state prosecutors are coordinating with one another at the expense of him. They have conflicting theories in their indictment, and they are literally treating him like he is some sort of political fodder, like some sort of spectacle.Â
He was on display for everyone to see in the biggest staged perp walk Iâve ever seen in my career. It was absolutely unnecessary. Heâs been cooperative with law enforcement. Heâd been in custody for over a week. He waived extradition. He was cooperative at all accounts. There was no reason for the NYPD and everybody to have these big assault rifles â that frankly I had no idea it was in their arsenal â and to have all the press there the media there. It was perfectly choreographed.Â
And what was the New York City Mayor doing at this press conference, Your Honor? That just made it utterly political. And as your honor knows under Loro v. Charles, the Court of Appeals for the 2nd Circuit has held it to be clearly established that these staged perp walks to the media unrelated to a legitimate law enforcement objective is unconstitutional. And I submit that there was zero law enforcement objective to do that sort of perp walk. Thereâs absolutely no need for that whatsoever.Â
And frankly, Your Honor, the mayor should know more than anyone about the presumption of innocence that he, too, is afforded dealing with his own issues. And, frankly, I submit that he was just trying to detract from those issues by making a spectacle of Mr. Mangione.Â
And there are consequences to this.Â
He has a right to a fair trial. And I just want to put on the record statements that the mayor made publicly about my client. Nothing saying âallegedâ for example. And he said âI wanted to send a strong message with the police commissioner that weâre leading from the front. Iâm not just going to allow him to come into our city. I wanted to look him in the eye and state âYou carried out this terrorist act in my city, the city of New York that I love.ââ And he wanted to show symbolism.Â
Your Honor, heâs not a symbol. Heâs somebody who is afforded the right to a fair trial. Heâs innocent until proven guilty. And the mayor was talking to jurors â future potential jurors that elected him. Those are the people that elected him that he is talking to and calling this man a terrorist.
So, Your Honor, I just want to make a record of this and put everyone on notice that this has to stop, and my client is entitled to a fair trial and the presumption of innocence."
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