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doctorbitchcrxft · 2 days ago

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Long-Distance Call | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: lots of arguing, angst, everyone's saying things they don't mean, canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 5056

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For hours most nights recently, you watched Dean sleep. In the dim light coming in through the cheap curtains in motel rooms, you would make out the details of his face and trace your eyes along them. He was just so beautiful, and you considered yourself incredibly lucky for every day you got to spend with him; despite the fact that those days were coming to an end.

Dean knew you hadn’t been sleeping, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him why.

Sam was driving himself crazy talking to witch doctors, professors, and demonologists trying to wrap his head around a way to break Dean’s deal. You didn’t get involved, though; you knew it was futile to do so.

You weren’t sure if feeling helpless and knowing the situation was helpless was better than feeling helpless and trying to gain control of the situation, but you knew Sam probably felt as horribly as you did.

“Y’know, someday, if we ever get a house— it could happen!” you assured Dean off his skeptical look. “We should get a couch. It’d be better for our backs than sitting on Baby or these shitty mattresses.”

You sat up facing Dean who lounged on the headboard in your shared motel room. Tension had been high between the brothers recently, and you decided it was best for the three of you to bunk separately.

“You are annoyingly optimistic, you know that?” he replied.

“I like to think of myself as more of a realist,” you returned. “But I’m trying to be more like you lately.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked. His eyes held such an intensity when he looked at you.

In vulnerable moments like these, you couldn’t bear to look back at him. You opted for looking down at the mattress or, really, anywhere other than his face. “I mean, your whole thing is being annoyingly biting and sarcastic and— I mean, you just have the most amazing sense of humor— even when things suck major ass. And I don’t know how you do it. But… it’s admirable.” When your eyes returned to his face, he was looking at you with such pride and admiration.

“What?” you asked.

“I just love you,” he said.

You grinned widely and reached for his hand. You held it for just a moment before speaking again. “When are you gonna tell Sam?”

“What?”

“That we can’t save you.”

He sighed. “(Y/N)—”

“No, Dean, he deserves to know.” You shifted to your knees from your cross-legged position. “He’s on a wild goose chase instead of enjoying the time he has with you.”

“He’s a grown man, he can make his own choices,” Dean insisted, hand retreating from yours. He crossed his arms over his chest.

You gave him a look. “And maybe he’d make different choices if he had all the information about the situation available to him.”

“Alright, professor, no need to lecture me,” he grumbled, getting out of bed.

“Dean—! Don’t get mean just because you’re pissed at yourself and this whole situation,” you said, standing to face him. “Look, I’m only saying something because I don’t want the last few weeks of your life to be spent fighting with your brother.”

“Way to put that in perspective, (Y/N), thank you,” Dean spat.

“See, this is when your attitude pisses me off beyond belief,” you argued. “I’m trying to have a conversation with you, and you’re being a complete dick. This didn’t have to turn into a fight, and I’m not understanding why it did!”

“Because you’re my girlfriend, not my fucking therapist,” he responded. “I don’t need you to tell me how to live my life.”

“Okay, this clearly isn’t about me.” You shook your head, turning away from him to grab your shorts and shoes.

“Then, what’s it about, (Y/N)?”

You turned back to him. “Clearly, this is about your deal.” “Oh, my god,” Dean scoffed.

“You’re runnin’ out of time. You’re scared, and you’re lashing out. It’s crap. I only wanna help you because I love you,” you told him. “And I’m not gonna tolerate you getting mean with me just because I told you something you didn’t wanna hear.”

“Where are you going?” Dean asked, seeing you stomp toward the door.

“Out,” you replied. “Don’t follow me.”

***

That night, after yet another argument, you convinced Dean to let you sleep in his car and have him take the bed because you knew you wouldn’t get much sleep anyway. You were hurt and angry, but you missed holding Dean. You missed memorizing his features while he slept and finally seeing him at peace.

And the next morning, the situation was no better. Now, instead of Dean and Sam fighting, it was you, Dean, and Sam fighting.

Sam had gone to talk to another person about how to potentially break Dean’s deal. “So, the professor doesn't know crap.”

“Shocking,” Dean commented. “Pack your panties, guys, we're hitting the road.”

“What? What's up?” Sam asked.

“That was Bobby.” He gestured to the phone he’d just hung up. “Some banker guy blew his head off in Ohio, and he thinks there's a spirit involved.”

“So, you two were talking a case?”

“No, we were actually talking about our feelings. And then our favorite boy bands,” Dean replied dryly. “Yeah, we were talking a case!”

“Dean, stop being an ass,” you scolded.

“Well, get Sam to stop asking stupid questions.” Sam huffed. “So, a spirit? What?”

“Yeah, the banker was talking about some sort of electrical problems at his pad for like a week. Phone was going haywire, computer was flipping on and off,” Dean explained. “This is not ringing your bell?” He pressed when Sam looked at him skeptically.

“Well, sure, yeah. But, Dean, we're already on a case,” the younger one replied.

“Whose?” Dean asked.

“Yours!”

“Right. Yeah. Well, you coulda fooled me,” the older scoffed.

“What the hell else have we been doing lately other than trying to break your deal?” Sam protested.

“Chasing our tails, that's what. Sam, we've talked to every professor, witch, soothsayer and two-bit carny act in the lower forty-eight. Nobody knows squat! And we can't find Bela, we can't find the Colt. So until we actually find something, I'd like to do my job.”

“We should summon Ruby,” Sam suggested.

“I'm not gonna have this fight with you.” Dean shook his head.

Sam continued anyway. “She said she knows how to save you.”

“About that, Dean has something he wants to tell you.” You turned to your partner expectantly with your arms folded.

“What?” Sam asked, looking between the two of you.

Dean was giving you a glare which you returned.

“Dean, what?” Sam asked again.

“She can’t save me,” Dean answered finally, still holding your glare.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sam turn back to you. “(Y/N)—?”

“She told us she can’t save him, Sam,” you admitted.

Sam turned his anger toward you. “Whoa, so you’ve known this whole time and haven’t told me?”

“It wasn’t mine to tell, Sam!”

“Yeah, but the both of you still kept a secret from me,” he responded.

“You really wanna talk about who's keeping secrets from who?” Dean snapped.

You turned to the car.

“Where are you going?” Dean called after you.

“Guess we’re going to Ohio.”

***

You were silent for the entirety of the ride to the deceased’s house. Dean and Sam only spoke to make a snarky remark directed at each other or at you, but you refused to respond.

You asked the woman what happened to her husband, and she reluctantly told you that he kept talking to a woman named Linda on the phone. However, there was no one on the other line when she would pick it up to check.

Curious about who this woman could have been, you and the brothers returned to the motel to research.

“Linda's a babe. Or, was,” Dean commented.

Your heart dropped. You knew he was kidding, but now was so not the time to make jokes like that. “Don’t say shit like that, please.”

“She’s dead, (Y/N),” he replied dryly. “Don’t be jealous.”

“I just think it’s in really poor taste to say that right now considering the state our relationship’s in,” you told him, trying to remain as calm as possible.

He slammed his laptop shut. “Are you seriously picking a fight with me over this? Right now?”

Sam interrupted before you could respond. “Oh-kay! That’s enough. Who’s Linda?”

“Linda Bateman.” Dean turned his eyes away from you. “She and Ben Waters were high school sweethearts.”

“So what happened?” Sam asked.

“Drunk driver hit them head on. Ben walked away.”

“So, what then? Dead flame calls to chat?” Sam wondered aloud.

“You would think, but Linda was cremated. So why's she still floating around?”

“You got me,” Sam shrugged.

“What about that, uh, caller I.D?” Dean asked his brother, referring to the number he’d found on Ben’s phone.

“Turns out, it's a phone number,” Sam replied. “It's about a century old, back from when phones had cranks.”

“So, why use that number to reach out and touch someone?” Dean returned.

“Got me there too, but we should put a trace on it.”

“Well how the hell are we going to put a trace on something that's over one-hundred years old?”

Sam suggested that the three of you should head to Ben’s phone company’s local office posing as representatives of their headquarters.

“You guys go ahead without me,” you said.

“Oh, c’mon, (Y/N)—”

You cut Dean off. “No. Both of us need space before we kill each other. So, please. Go.”

“Whatever,” Dean grumbled and stormed out of the room.

Sam stayed behind with you for a moment. “I’m sorry about him,” he said.

You sniffled, wiping away tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. “It’s okay. Just a rough patch, I guess. Call me when y’all have something.”

He nodded and pulled you into a hug. Sam placed a quick kiss on the crown of your head before following his brother out of the door.

***

Sam called to inform you that the number had called over a dozen people multiple times over the last week. So, you and the Winchesters split up to investigate. Without a car, you stayed in the motel room and called the numbers Sam had forwarded to you posing as a representative of the phone company. One of the people you’d spoken to said that he’d been hearing his deceased brother calling him to reconcile the broken relationship they’d had when his brother passed away.

Just as you hung up the phone with him, Dean burst into the room and immediately started pacing.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

Dean didn’t answer.

Sam sat at the table in the room. “He said our dad called him.”

“No fucking way,” you breathed out. “You really think it was him?”

“I don't know, maybe,” Dean grunted.

“Well, what did he sound like?” Sam asked.

“Like Oprah!” the older brother snapped. “Like Dad; he sounded like Dad, what do you think?”

“What did he say?” you questioned.

“My name,” Dean replied.

“That’s it?” Sam pressed.

“Call dropped out.”

You shook your head and folded your arms, sitting cross-legged on Sam’s bed. After the recent fights with Dean, you’d decided to get a room separate from the two brothers and had been hanging out in their room all day. “Why would he even call in the first place, Dean?”

“I don't know, (Y/N)! I’m not a fucking psychic,” he snarked. “Why are ghosts calling anybody in this town? But I mean, other people are hearing from their loved ones, why can't we? It's at least a possibility, right?”

You wanted to chew him out for snapping at you like that, but you truly had no energy to put up another fight.

“Yeah, I guess?” Sam replied in your place.

“Okay, so what if....” Dean trailed off, only looking at his brother. “What if it really is Dad? What happens if he calls back? What do I say?”

“Hello,” you suggested.

“Hello?” he scoffed.

You shook your head and rolled your eyes.

“That's what you come back with. Hello?” Dean continued.

“Fuck off, Dean,” you sneered.

Dean huffed, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door.

Sam shot you a puppy-dog-eyed look and turned to the door to stare after his brother.

You sighed and buried your face in your hands.

“(Y/N)?”

You picked your head up.

“What’s happening to you guys?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, tearing up. “We started fighting ‘cause I told him to tell you about the whole ‘Ruby’ thing, and I said some mean shit, and he said some mean shit, and it’s just a mess now.”

Sam gave you another puppy-dog-eyed look.

“It’ll be fine, though. I’m sure it’ll blow over.”

If it was even possible, Sam’s face dropped even further.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you smiled lopsidedly, knowing he just didn’t know how to help. “Can we talk about something other than my boy drama?”

Sam nodded. “Sure.”

***

For the next few hours, you scoured the internet for information on the “SHA33” number that was calling these poor people.

Dean returned with caustic remarks to spare. “Find anything?” he asked Sam while pretty much blatantly ignoring you.

“After three hours, I’ve found no reason why anything supernatural would be going on here,” Sam sighed, shutting his laptop.

“Me neither, Dean, thanks for asking,” you said.

“Well, you know, you think a Stanford education and a high school hook up rate of zero-point-zero would produce better results than that,” Dean scoffed at Sam.

“Hilarious,” you deadpanned, hoping to elicit some sort of a response from Dean.

He shot you a glare, but other than that, he said nothing. Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet. “Motel pamphlet rack.” He dropped it on the coffee table along with a few books. “Milan, Ohio. Birthplace of Thomas Edison.”

“So what?” you asked.

Sam grabbed a book and leafed through it.

Dean just raised his eyebrows at you as Sam looked up from the book.

“You're kidding,” he said.

Dean smirked as his brother.

***

Well, a huge waste of time was the only thing Dean’s suggestion led to. The tour you went on at a museum showed the invention Thomas Edison believed could communicate with spirits and informed you that he was a devout occultist. However, the “spirit phone” didn’t set off the EMF detector.

Sleep refused to claim you. Your anxiety kept your mind racing through the long hours of the night. You sat at the table in your room staring at the door just waiting for Dean to knock. However, despite it being three in the morning, he hadn’t come yet. Your fights had all been stupid and petty, but both of you were too stubborn to be the first to admit fault.

And with each passing night, you could feel the clock ticking. You knew Dean was running out of time, and you just wanted him to hold you again. As the sun rose, your heart sank knowing he hadn’t come to make things right with you.

You stayed in your room upset until Sam called you to come over to theirs.

“What’s up?” you asked upon entering.

“That girl Lanie—” Sam was referring to the victim he’d spoken to— “her Mom's ghost spooked her out pretty bad last night.”

“That sucks,” said Dean, typing furiously on his laptop.

“What… are you doing, Dean?” you asked hesitantly.

He looked at you briefly; the expression on his face confusing. He looked back down at his computer. “I think my dad’s right. I think the demon is here. Check it out.” He handed you some papers and dug around in his bag.

“What is this, weather reports?” you asked, leafing through the papers.

“Omens. Demonic omens,” he responded. “Electrical storms everywhere we've been for the past two weeks.”

Trepidatiously, you said, “I don't remember any lightning storms.”

“Well, I don't remember you studying meteorology, either,” he snapped.

‘So much for us being civil,’ you thought.

“But I'm telling you, that bastard's been tailing me; wearing some poor dude's meat,” Dean finished.

Sam took some of the pressure off you. “And it’s following you because…?” he asked.

“I guess I'm big game, y’know? My ass is too sweet to let outta sight.” Dean threw a wink at you, and you were getting incredibly thrown off by his changing attitude.

“Okay. Sure,” Sam snorted.

Dean snatched the papers back from you. “Don't get too excited, Sammy. Might pull something.” He stood from the bed and moved away from you and his brother.

“Dean, look, I wanna believe this man, I really do…”

Dean cut his brother off. “Then believe it! if we get this sucker, it's Miller Time.”

“Yeah, that's another thing. Dad rattles off an exorcism that can kill a demon? I mean, not just send it back to hell, but kill it?” Dean’s eyes lit up. “I've checked it out. This is heavy duty Dark Ages. Fifteenth century.”

“Dean,” you said softly. “I checked on it, too. So did Sam. So did Bobby.”

“Okay, and?” he scoffed.

Sam jumped in. “Look, it definitely is an exorcism, okay, there's just no evidence it can kill a demon.”

“No evidence it can't,” he rebutted.

“Dean…” you trailed off, not wanting to start a bigger fight.

“Hey, as far as I'm aware the only one of us who has actually been to Hell is my dad. And maybe he picked up a couple of tricks down there, like which exorcisms work,” he snapped.

“Maybe!” you replied. “I hope so; for your sake. But we gotta be sure.”

“Why aren't we sure?” he asked.

“’Cause I don't know what's going on around here, Dean!” you cried. “I mean, some guy blows his brains out, a little girl is scared out of her wits—”

“Wow, a couple of civvies are freaked out by some ghosts. News flash, (Y/N), people are supposed to be freaked out by ghosts!” he shot back.

You held his stare venomously. Dean eventually dropped his head in frustration.

“Dad tell you where to find the demon?” Sam asked carefully.

“I'm waiting on the call!” he shouted.

The tension in the room was thick, and you had no idea what to say.

Sam sighed deeply and tried to change the subject. “I told Lanie I'd stop by.”

Dean scoffed. “Oh, good, yeah. No, you go hang out with jailbait. Just, uh, watch out for Chris Hansen. Meanwhile I'll be here getting ready to, y’know, save my life.”

Sam shook his head and turned to the door. You just stared at the floor.

“You two are unbelievable, y’know that?” Dean shouted. “I mean, for months, we’ve been tryin’ to break this demon deal. Now, Dad’s about to give us the fuckin’ address, and you blink? The man is dead, and you’re still butting heads with the guy?!” He turned his attention to you. “And you? What happened to us? What happened to your ‘unconditional support’?”

“Dean, you still have it!” you replied. “That was never in question! What I’m questioning is where your fuckin’ head’s at. Because this is not you.”

“Oh, god.” He rolled his eyes and began to pace.

“I’m not gonna mince my words,” you began, anger boiling to the surface. “This is fuckin’ crazy. I mean, there is no proof. At all. All you’re acting on is blind faith.”

“Yeah, well, maybe!” He shouted back. “Y’know, maybe that's all I got, okay?”

You held his stare, the anger melting out of you at his words. When you could see tears forming in his eyes, he looked at the floor.

Sam piped up. “Please. Just please don't go anywhere until I get back. Okay, Dean? Please.”

Dean stayed silent.

“C’mon, (Y/N),” Sam urged you.

You looked up at Dean. For the first time that week, he offered you a kind word. “Go. It’s okay.”

You nodded. As you turned to go, you stared over your shoulder back at Dean.

***

At Lanie’s house, the young girl got you up to speed on what happened to her the night before.

“Have you told your father about any of this?” Sam asked her.

“And bother him at work?” she replied. “No. He wouldn't believe me anyway, he'd just chuck me into therapy.”

“So what did your mother say?” you asked.

“She wanted to see me. So at first I thought I was supposed to go to the cemetery,” she sniffled.

“Did you?” Sam prompted.

Lanie nodded meekly. “Nothing happened. But then she started asking me to do other things.”

“What sort of things?”

She almost seemed embarrassed to say. “Bad things.”

You crouched down and looked up at her, breaking her gaze from the floor. “Lanie, please. Can you tell me what happened? It’s very important.”

She teared up, young eyes swimming in fear and sadness. “Mom told me to go to Dad's medicine cabinet.”

You waited patiently for her to continue.

“She wanted me to take his sleeping pills.” She stopped for a minute to gather her courage. “Take all of his sleeping pills.”

“She wanted you to kill yourself?” Sam couldn’t help himself from saying.

She nodded, crying harder. “Why would my Mom want me to do that?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know.”

“She just kept saying, ‘come to me,’ like, a million times,” she hiccuped.

Your eyes widened. “Oh, sweet girl, that's not your mother.” You stood from the ground.

Sam told Lanie, “Listen to me. Don't answer the phone. Don't use the computer. Don't do anything unless I say to, alright?”

You started down the stairs and listened carefully; just one set of footsteps was following you. You turned back to see Lanie still at the top of the stairs. “You okay?”

Her breathing was quick. “Where's Simon?”

“Simon?” you asked.

“My little brother,” she responded.

The next thing you knew, you were watching Sam shove the little boy out of the way of a speeding truck from the porch of Lanie’s house.

Immediately, you called Dean. “Dean, it’s not your dad,” you rushed out.

“Then what is it, (Y/N)?” he asked flippantly.

“A crocotta,” you answered.

“What is that, a sandwich?” he scoffed.

“They typically live in filth. Mimic loved ones. Whisper, ‘Come to me,’ then lure you into the dark and swallow your soul,” you stated.

Sam motioned for you to head to his rental car as soon as he delivered Simon to his sister safely. You followed quickly.

“A crocotta, right, damn, that makes sense,” he snarkily replied.

“Dean, c’mon, babe—”

He cut you off. “Hey, don't these things live in filth?”

“Yeah,” you replied.

“Oh, god, at the phone company there were these flies. Pretty much as soon as we got down to the basement where this guy Stewie was hangin’ out,” he rushed out.

“Okay, uh, okay,” you nodded. “Meet us there.”

You brought Sam up to speed on the conversation you’d had with Dean, and as night fell, he sped to the phone company.

***

Despite calling Dean several times, you and Sam had to keep moving forward with the case. You watched as the man Sam described to you as Stewie unlocked his car. Silently, you rushed him with a metal spike. You shoved him down onto the car and held a metal spike to the back of his neck.

Stewie grunted. “What the hell?!”

“I know what you are,” you spat. “And I know how to kill you.”

“Wait, wait— Please! If we're overcharging you for the call waiting or something I- I can fix that. I am your friend!” he stammered.

Confusion overtook you, and you turned to an equally confused Sam. You suddenly noticed a man standing behind him with a bat. “Sam, look out!” you cried.

But it was too late. He was hit over the head with a bat, and you released the man in front of you. You threw your spike at him, but he caught it just before it hit him. He stalked toward you, and the man smiled widely. The man you’d been holding down shoved you to the ground from behind, and you were knocked out, too.

***

When you next came to, your wrists and feet were bound; that was the first thing you felt. Your head pounded, and your wrists ached from how tight the bindings were. When you opened your eyes, you turned your head to see Stewie was dead and bleeding profusely from his chest.

You shrieked in horror, and then, the man who’d knocked you out appeared in front of you. “The fuck is wrong with you?!” you snarled.

He just laughed mockingly as he stalked between you and Sam.

You realized something. “My last call with Dean. That was you. You led us here.”

“Some calls I make, some calls I take, but you have to admit, I had you fooled for a while. All that Edison phone crap,” he chuckled. He moved over to a telephone exchange cabinet and sighed in ecstasy.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked.

“I’m killing your brother,” he smiled. “Or maybe I'm killing another guy. We'll just have to see how it goes.”

***

The creature removed the knife from the chest of the man beside you. You grimaced at the wet squelching sound it made as he did.

“Y’know, mimicking Dean's one thing. But my Dad?” Sam complimented mockingly. “That's a hell of a trick.”

“Well, once I made you two as hunters, it was easy. I found Dean's number, then your number, then your father's numbers. Then, emails, voicemails, everything. You see, people think that stuff just gets erased, but it doesn't. You'd be surprised how much of yourself is just floating out there, waiting to be plucked,” the creature grinned.

“Dean’s not an idiot,” you stated sharply. “He’s not gonna kill that guy.”

“Then the guy kills him,” he shrugged. “And I kill you two. And here I thought I was only getting one hunter.” He stalked toward you, and you struggled harder. “Now, I’ve got another. And a pretty one, at that.”

You reared back and spat in his face. Almost like a reflex, he immediately backslapped you.

Unfazed, your head returned to a neutral position and you just glared at him.

“I’m gonna enjoy this,” he said, tracing the knife down your cheek. “Technology. Makes life so much easier. Used to be, I'd hide in the woods for days, weeks, whispering to people, trying to draw them out into the night. But they had community, they all looked out for each other, I'd be lucky to eat one or two souls a year. Now when I'm hungry, I simply make a phone call. You're all so connected. But you've never been so alone.”

Just as the man’s jaw unhinged like a snake to reveal rows of teeth, Sam came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his neck in a chokehold. You sat patiently while Sam and the crocatta struggled for the knife. You watched both men slam each other into various surfaces until they disappeared from view.

You couldn’t do anything to help yourself, and you anxiously waited for— hopefully— Sam’s return into the room.

Much to your relief, Sam stumbled back in minutes later. You grinned up at him happily.

***

You were the one to drive Sam’s rental car back to the motel seeing as he was injured and sore from his fight with the monster. You went at least twenty miles-an-hour over the speed limit for the entirety of the drive.

You burst into Sam and Dean’s room, and you began to panic when you didn’t see him there.

Then, you checked your room, breathing out in relief when you saw Dean holding a wash cloth to his eye. “Dean!” You ran to him, kneeling down in front of him.

He looked up at you, and you immediately kissed him passionately. He returned your kiss eagerly. When you broke away from him, you took the cloth from Dean’s hands gently to help him clean the wound.

“Sweetheart,” he said. “I— I’m so sorry.”

You placed your free hand on his knee. “We’ll talk in a minute, alright? Let me clean you up first.”

He nodded.

***

“There,” you told him having placed the final bandage on his assortment of cuts. “That guy kicked the shit out of you.” Although Dean would normally laugh at jokes like that, his countenance was completely serious. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated.

“I know,” you said softly. “I am, too.”

“I just— I lashed out, and that wasn’t fair to you. You were right,” Dean admitted. “It scares me how well you can fuckin’ read me. And with everything going on, I just—”

“I get it,” you cut him off. “I’m sorry, too. I was being petty. I got mean, too.” You paused for a moment. “I’m sorry it wasn’t really your dad.”

Dean looked down at the ground. “Naw, I gave you a hell of a time on this one.” He huffed. “I wanted to believe so badly that there was a way outta this. I mean, I'm staring down the barrel at this thing. You know, Hell. For real, forever, and I just…” he trailed off, unable to finish.

Your eyebrows scrunched sadly, and your eyelashes flickered.

“I’m scared, sweetheart. I’m… I’m really scared.” As tears pooled in his eyes, he couldn’t seem to meet yours.

You nodded, tearing up as well. “I know.”

“I guess I was willing to believe anything. You know, the last act of a desperate man,” he tried to joke through his stifled cries.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but there’s nothing wrong with having hope, Dee,” you told him gently.

“Hope doesn't get you jack squat,” he scoffed. “I can't expect Dad to show up with some miracle at the last minute. I can't expect anybody to, y’know? I mean, the only person that can get me out of this thing is me.”

“And I’m right there with you,” you told him. “Every step of the way. To Hell and back.”

Dean offered a lopsided smile. “To Hell and back.”

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izzyy-stuff · 1 day ago

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hi!! this is for the 300 bash 💗 congrats!! it’s a huge milestone and i can’t wait to read more of ur work!!

could you write about yeonjun and the reader being castmates in an upcoming drama? they grow close because they spend so much time together, maybe they practice a kiss scene in the dressing room (even though no one asked them to) and it goes a little off-script…

when it’s time to promote it, they fake date to get the drama trending and that’s when they realise they really like each other!!!

hehehe idk ive been thinking about this a bunch and it’s driving me crazy

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 - 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈 𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐍

Actor!Yeonjun x fem!reader

in which Choi Yeonjun really messes with your head when he suggest you fake a relationship with him to promote your upcoming drama

wc 2k

warnings kissing, lot's of flirting

↪ izzy speaks... okay I loved this idea. I do feel like some of the parts are a bit rushed since I had to fit it in my word limit, but I think it's still good :3 this is NOT proofread by the way

event post | event masterlist

“And…cut!” You hear the director’s voice and breathe out, your lips slightly shaking. It feels like you’ve breathed for the first time in forever, but at the same time, you still feel like you can’t breathe. It’s his fault. Everything is his fault.

“Hey, are you feeling–” your co-star – Choi Yeonjun starts, but before he can finish his sentence, you’re backing off from him, excusing yourself to go to the bathroom.

You run away as fast as possible, locking yourself in your dressing room before anyone can stop you. You slide on the closed door, pulling your knees to your head and closing your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. Stupid Yeonjun. Stupid show. Stupid, stupid, stupid– “Stupid kiss,” you mumble, your cheeks red.

How did all of this even happen, you wonder? It’s simple. It all started when Choi Yeonjun, the prettiest guy you’ve ever met, decided to charm you and do everything in his power to make you question your feelings for him.

♡⸝⸝

A few days ago

“The trailer for part one has been released.” You look up from the script in your hands, locking eyes with your co-star who had brought the news to you. “Really? We have to watch it together!” You beam, automatically getting a smile on his face. He nods, sliding into the chair next to you as he takes out his phone. “I saw a bit already. You’re gorgeous in it.” Blush creeps up your face, and you can’t look in his direction. “What? Don’t you believe me?” He whispers, and you can practically hear the smirk on his face as he leans in closer.

“Turn on the trailer,” you whisper, sounding more desperate than you would want to. Yeonjun chuckles, “Alright, sweetheart,” leaving his lips as he straightens his back again.

You do your best to focus on the video playing on Yeonjun’s phone, but the boy beside you makes it much harder. His black mullet fits him perfectly, and you might as well admit he is the most handsome guy you have worked with. You can’t keep your eyes off him, barely paying attention to the trailer. He would have to be blind not to notice you.

“See? You were stunning,” he grins, turning his phone off again. You snap out of your thoughts, averting your gaze. You feel his eyes on you, swallowing a lump in your throat before you look at him again. “Can we rehearse a bit?” He asks suddenly, and you have to blink to assure yourself you aren’t just hallucinating. “Which..scene?” you ask confusedly. He smirks, pulling your chair from the table and turning it so you would face him.

“I had a great time today,” Yeonjun recites one of his scenes. You’re too caught up in the moment to mentally go over all the scenes and figure out how your line goes, so you stay still in your place, waiting for what’s to come. He reaches for your hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing your fingers softly.

“Yeonjun,” his name falls from your lips in an instant, making the scene much more genuine than it should be. His eyes meet yours, and he leans closer to you. He whispers your name right next to your ear, sending shivers all over your body. “And then they kiss,” he continues in the script. “Right,” you mumble, but before you can say anything else, one of his hands is on your waist while the other holds your face, pulling you in for a kiss.

Your eyes widen, your body freezing. You’re not sure what to do. A part of you wants to reciprocate the kiss, kiss him until you won’t be able to breathe anymore, but you know you shouldn’t. Still, your lips move on their own. You give in. As you close your eyes, you feel even closer to him. Just for a little bit, you tell yourself.

Yeonjun is the first to pull away, a small smile that almost passes unnoticed by you on his lips. “And cut,” he mumbles, crushing every scenario your mind created in the short moment. “Cut,” you repeat after him, refusing to look him in the eyes.

♡⸝⸝

You’ve been trying to avoid him since. You weren’t sure how long you could keep going. Every time you locked eyes with him, you could only think about the kiss. You saw him right in front of you. Every movement of his stayed in your mind, and you couldn’t seem to get it out. He was like a virus.

“I’m coming in!” You hear your co-start behind the door, panicking immediately. You think of locking the door, but before you can get up from the floor and do so, you stumble as he opens the door and hits you. “Shit, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He worries, running to you as if you were on the verge of dying.

“I’m alright, it’s fine,” you assure him. “The door barely touched me.” Yeonjun sighs, shaking his head at you. You’re not sure why. “That’s good,” he slightly nods. “I wanted to check up on you. You’ve been…” he looks around as if to make sure you were the only ones in there. “Acting strange lately. Ever since the ki–” he starts, but you interrupt him before he can finish his sentence, not wanting to get reminded. “Strange? No, I haven’t been strange at all! Maybe I’m a bit worried about the rest of the filming, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?” The anxiety in his voice breaks your heart. It destroys you because whenever he looks at you like this, so genuinely, he gives you hope. “Will you be okay during today’s interview?” Your eyes widen. Fuck. You forgot about the interview.

“Uhm, yeah, definitely,” you nod. “Okay,” he nods too. “The director and I had talked about our promotion strategy, so I need you in the right mind.” You question him with your eyes, a wave of worry washing over you when you see him smirk. “We are going to fool the public eye,” he explains. “And pretend that we are dating. It will attract more viewers. They’ll want to know what our relationship is like behind the cameras.”

You swear you must have hit your head when you ran here. There was no way. Absolutely not– how could you? You couldn’t play his girlfriend even if you wanted to– “I see. Okay,” you agree. Great. Just how stupid are you? “That makes sense, I guess.”

“Okay,” he smiles at you, and for a second, you don’t regret your decision at all. “Great,” he nods. He stays still for a second afterward, and it’d be obvious to anyone that he wants to say something. He sighs, speaking his mind. “Are you sure we’re okay?”

You chuckle, nodding. “Yeah, we are.” And you mean it. You’re as okay as you can be at the moment. If it stays that way once you start pretending you’re his girlfriend is a different thing.

♡⸝⸝

“We actually worked on…a surprise,” Yeonjun admits, teasing one of his upcoming projects as he answers a question for the WIRED interview about how he and Soobin, one of his close friends, met. “But you will have to wait for that.” You smile, watching him talk.

You remember the look on his face when he told you about the song they were making a few weeks ago, unable to hold back your smile. You don’t even notice him revealing another question on the board. Instead, you snap out of your thoughts when you hear him answering.

“Ideal type…” his eyes drift to your figure, and he thinks for a second before looking back at the camera again, smirking. “I’d say it’s someone who gets me. Someone smart, who could be there for me and I could admire. Someone who gets as excited for me as if my achievement was theirs,” he smiles, your cheeks flushing red when you notice his eyes on you. “Safe answer,” you joke, trying to brush the tickling feeling in your stomach off as you avert your gaze. “Then maybe,” he starts, leaning closer. “I should use the not-so-safe answer and remind everyone what your name is.”

You freeze, swallowing a lump in your throat. Then you remember. He doesn’t mean any of the things he says. He doesn’t like you, and you definitely aren’t his type. You bite your bottom lip, remembering his idea of this fake relationship. You knew this was coming. You didn’t expect it this soon, though.

“Oh, come on,” you gently push him back, rolling your eyes playfully. It pains you how unreal you sound, and you’re sure anyone with eyes will see through you. Still, you don’t back down. “You’re here to promote our drama, not flirt with me,” you mumble with a smile. Yeonjun chuckles, spreading his legs apart and resting his back against the chair. “Shit,” you mumble quietly, hoping the microphone doesn’t catch your words. He is hot. Too hot.

“I can do both, don’t worry, sweetheart,” he teases, glancing at the cameraman before his eyes land on your lips, carefully watching you. You definitely won’t be able to air this. You hesitate, rethinking if it’s worth it. They won’t air your kiss. They’ll definitely cut it out, so why bother pretending to that extent? Except maybe you aren’t pretending. You lean closer to him, catching him off guard when you connect your lips. You hear the direct cough, reminding you you’re not alone, but you don’t care. And it looks like Yeonjun doesn’t care either as he pulls you closer.

There it is again. The weird feeling in your stomach that makes your heart skip a beat. It feels almost dangerous. The speed at which your heart is beating and the way you’re getting addicted to his lips.

“Okay, cut the cameras!” The director interrupts you, making you giggle as you pull away from your co-star. “Keep rolling, we’ve got it,” Yeonjun laughs, throwing the board he was previously holding on the ground behind him. You laugh at him, waiting for the staff members to bring you a new board with more questions.

The interview flows after that. Even though Yeonjun keeps flirting any chance he gets, you stop minding and get used to it. You’d dare to say you even enjoy it now.

“That went well, don’t you think?” Yeonjun asks, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you leave the set. You nod, briefly glancing at him. “I’m sure your plan to make us blow up worked,” you agree. “Yeah, I’m sure it did,” he nods, stopping. You question his movements, raising an eyebrow. “But you know I’m not doing all this just to make the drama do well, right?”

And then your heart stops completely. “What?”

“With you, I don’t have to pretend anything,” he mumbles, taking a step closer to you. He holds your hand in his, carefully watching you. “I never had to.” You blink a few times, assuring yourself this isn’t some weird dream of yours before you open your mouth to answer. No words leave your mouth, though. You don’t know what to say. Instead, you close the gap between you, pressing your lips on his once again. “Good, I’m not sure how long I could keep pretending this is fake,” you mumble against his lips, and he wraps his arm around your waist, keeping you as close as possible.

“Let’s not pretend then. Let’s make us real,” he says confidently, not letting go of you. “I want to be with you for real.”

⋆✶ izzy's tags @beomiracles @seoulzie @adel222 @inkigayocamman @flowzel @love-be0m @virgo-and-libra @hwanghyunjinismybae @liaatiny @minaateez ✶⋆ Want to get notified? Join taglist here !

#tomorrow x together #txt #izzy writes ✶⋆.˚#tubatu #choi yeonjun #yeonjun #choi yeonjun x reader #fluff #yeonjun x reader #txt yeonjun #yeonjun fluff #izzy's 300 bash #choi yeonjun fluff

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legally-allowed-to-slime · 2 days ago

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ok the way gem actually was walking towards pearl's general area while pearl was holding the mace. and idk if she actually saw pearl but im pretty sure gem looked up, turned back and walked right to where skizz asked her to??? and pearl just had to stand there and watch as gem basically gave the kill to skizz. like ohhh my god i have so many thoughts about this but all i can say rn is what in the world of yuri.

- 🐫

it’s so funny how they spent half their episodes effectively trying to provoke the other person as much as possible

i mean, do i even need to explain. they want each other baaaaad. on surface it might seem like another failing-to-kill-gem bit, especially with the comical sequences of pearl putting down the creeper eggs and gem easily dodging. however, both pearl and gem approach their “designated” roles of would-be killer and exasperated target a little differently than they did before. pearl doesn’t try her best, and gem doesn’t mock her like she did mumbo/tango.

gem and pearl hold each other in high esteem. even when they hate each other they obviously still respect the other’s skill. i suspect this is part of why gem was so offended when pearl tried to “2v1” her with impulse; because pearl was being stupid by underestimating herself, and then obviously because it was SL all over again.

let’s not even talk about both of them beelining for a camel. this is by far the number one WL ship right now in terms of content and actual interactions (besides ethubs). it’s not shipper mind, they’re actively pulling these stunts to see how crazy they can drive the fandom. like, the thirsty comment, “my poor red pearl”, “gem you’re beautiful”??? i swear they’re scheming on discord before recording or something (jk i know they aren’t).

cc!pearl did mention on stream that she should probably back off which is funny because it shows she didn’t pick up the obvious social cues that gem wanted to give her a chance by offering a 1v1 instead of flat out saying “don’t kill me” or “you suck at killing me”. also, if there are other pearl stream watchers reading this post, you would know that pearl said the same thing about not wanting to bother gem too much over the pickle bit, which is why she dropped it so suddenly. honestly very considerate of her

as for their convo on the camel. gem is explicitly grasping at straws over the end portal thing, but “did you even look me in the face during the murder camel… thing” is a great one-liner out of context. i thought it was going to be like a “you couldn’t even face me properly” but no it was just over the yellow life skin. pearl defending the disloyal allegations by saying scar was her ally is funny as well because it was the exact same argument she gave scott and i don’t think she understands that gem and scott have very different priorities. and gem clarifies she wasn’t upset over the betrayal (suree) but over the 2v1 which reveals some interesting things about her character and moral code which i’ll leave to the gem mains*. i do hope pearl keeps up the “how much do you love/hate me” thing though it’s a funny bit in general, plays into the pining/unmoved dynamic, and opens up the conversation. fluff duo that wants to be angst so badly

and if you’re following me and for some reason don’t watch gem or pearl, please do. there’s a reason why everyone’s saying they’re flirting because they’re toeing the line as close as you can.

what can i even add to this. it’s like going to a michelin restaurant and pointing out that the food is good.

*i always say this but i am effectively a gem main. i think her character is just too difficult for me and i don’t want to admit that i can’t figure out how to approach it

#ask #i didn’t proofread this i need a little more time to rewatch and process their episodes #so it’s not very coherent

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raina-at · 3 days ago

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Fic writer meme

Thank you so much for tagging me @discordantwords.

How many works do you have on ao3? 34. 6 SPN RPF (J2), 1 Supernatural (Wincest - if you have opinions about this, I don't want to hear them), and 27 for BBC Sherlock. I feel compelled to add though that my fandom history predates AO3 by about ten years, and that most of the fics I wrote during that time aren't on AO3. All of my TPM fics, all of my HP fics and most of my Supernatural fics are in fact not on Ao3. So I actually have no idea how many fics I've written since I started in 2001.

What’s your total word count? 585,261 words.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Don't Read the Last Page, Bakers with Benefits, Running Obliquely, Guess Who's Coming to Christmas Dinner and All I Want for Christmas (is Proof) (you guys really like my Christmas fics :-))

Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

Yes, I love comments, and I love getting into dialogue with readers about their interpretation of the characters and canon! I try to answer everyone, if I ever forget to answer, I'm really sorry!

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Um... None?

Of the ones on AO3 that is. I once wrote a Supernatural fic where Sam was a ghost and Dean had to exorcise him and it was heavily implied that Dean would commit suicide as soon as that was done, so that was pretty dark. And I wrote 2 Supernatural post Apocalypse fics that end well but the setting is very bleak.

But all my new stuff, especially all my Johnlock stuff, has happy endings.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Probably Bakers with Benefits. Sherlock gets everything he wants, including John, and they basically live happily ever after. But like I said, all my fics end happily.

Do you write crossovers?

I haven't yet, but that doesn't mean I won't, one of these days. I wrote a Bake Off Sherlock AU, but crossovers means having characters from both canons, and I re-cast both hosts and jurors, so it probably doesn't count.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

No, thankfully not. I've received a few odd comments here and there, but I never had the feeling that they were mailcious, just tone deaf.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, I do. Mostly of the vanilla kind, I'm not super kinky, and I'm not much for writing PWPs these days, but I like a good, spicy sex scene that shows you something about the characters and their dynamic. And sometimes it's just hawt. Which is also fine.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I heard a story once that someone stole one of my J2 fics and turned into a Het Degrassi fic, but I could never verify this claim because the fic got deleted. Other than that, not that I know of.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, several, and it's a great honour.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, mostly with my wife @nuttersinc, we co-wrote an entire fic series and some other, smaller fics, and we once at a Boondock Saints RPG (I know. I know.) I haven't co-written with anyone in ages, and I'm not sure how good I would be at it these days, since I'm a pantser and don't have very much time, so I think I'd drive anyone with a regular writing schedule bananas. But I'm open to try.

What's your all-time favourite ship?

All time.... omg... Ok, so mirroring @discordantwords here, I adore Mulder and Scully still. They're the OG ship for me, they were the first pairing I read fanfic for. They'e such a good example of The Dynamic (repressed bisexual disguising as the "normal" one when they're just a more adapted sort of crazy and socially awkward genius crazy himbo the normal one has to save all the time). Scully especially owns my heart, I love her, and Gillian Anderson is, like. So. Hot.

But Sherlock and John... they're just... so GOOD. You can do anything with them. You can put them in any scenario, any time, any space, and they're just so magnetically drawn to each other, they complement each other so well and they're so bad and so good for each other... I love them. So much.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

Oh, quite a few. The one where John is Sherlock's neighbour and they have this 'we're just friends' dynamic and everyone thinks they should just get married, including Rosie, who's a sassy teen in this fic. It's got a lot of potential but I don't think I'll ever finish it.

What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm good at dialogue and character dynamics. I think I'm also good at building character arcs, and I think I'm good at setting scenes and making oblivious idiots fall in love.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm not the greates plot writer in the world. It takes me much more effort than writing a fic where, say, Sherlock and John have breakfast and talk, to pick a random example. I tend to lose the thread of the plot because I start writing the vibe before I have everything figured out, so I tend to get 'stranded' at some point. That's why my WIP folder looks the way it does.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I don't attempt it if I don't have a native speaker to look it over and tell me if it's correct. (if the other language isn't German, which is my native language).

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Roswell (the one from the early 2000s, not Roswell New Mexico. Yes, I'm a Fandom Old.)

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

None, honestly. If I wanted to write for a fandom or ship, I would.

What's your favourite fic you've written?

Oh my god I'm not sure I can answer that. I really like all of my fics, and I love most of them still. Some were such fun to write, some harder but the hardship made them more beloved.

I'll probably have to go for Bakers with Benefits, though, because I still like to re-visit that 'verse and I just LOVE these two.

That was fun! I'm tagging anyone who wants to do this, but especially @jrow @meetinginsamarra @lisbeth-kk and @thetimemoves

#my fic #fic writing #writing meme #fandom love

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too-many-rooks · 2 days ago

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an au where Taverner agrees to giving River up to Frank would be crazy because like... would mi-5 even hope river would feed them back info? or would it be like just getting rid of a loose end like Taverner wanted to do since the training exercise? it's such a wild train of thought I love it

One of the reasons I’m so obsessed with Frank is all the myriad ways that he could totally mess River up, and why the idea of Taverner agreeing to Frank’s pitch, or maybe part of his blackmail failsafe demands being to let him nab him River is so fun, is that there’s just so many potential takes on it, and they’re all super interesting! Bc, yeah, yes all of these! Would there be a hope/expectation from River to be feeding information back, even after he’s essentially been sold and burned by them, and presumably growing increasingly indoctrinated and under Frank’s control? Mi5 have apparently been using Frank to do their dirt work for years, so is River joining the family assassin business/cult presented as just like… a wild secondment from Slough House?

Would Diana be tempted to just get rid of the problem/ constant thorn in her side that is River Cartwright? @sloughhousestaircase made the really interesting point of Diana being like ‘where were you x months ago when I needed to ditch this kid?’ Bc yeah, if Frank had approached her before River was sent to Slough House, and came under the protection of Lamb, and Diana still trying to figure out how to get rid of him, would she have been more tempted? Would she be able to pitch it to a much less disillusioned and more naive River as an undercover operation - but would she be able to mantain any level of control over him once he’s with Frank, and realising who he is, and how they’re connected?

Me and @countessrivers, who are very much driving the ‘River being part of his dads assassin cult’ train, have pitched each other a bunch of different ideas for how a Diana trading River scenario would go down, which a range across a whole spectrum of au’s from like, post s3 developing werewolf River needing to be trained and controlled (to be used as an asset by Diana,) and Frank coming in as like the werewolf specialist, (and then obviously indoctrinating his son and bringing him back to the werewolf pack at Les Arbres.)

Or more closely following on canon, Frank’s promise in the books that they’ll ‘talk soon’, maybe Frank finally being able to have a drink with his son once he’s finally out of extensive debriefing/medical treatment for Thames water in the lungs, which he can achieve by breaking into River’s flat and waiting for him and drugging his glass to knock him out, and making it easier to take his son home without any fuss.

There’s just, so many ways Frank could absolutely fuck up River’s life. And I think that’s beautiful.

#Diana trading River to Frank is like the worst version of y/n’s mom selling them to one direction #I just want River to be mentally unwell assassin bc of his daddy issues. is that too much to ask?#kinda rooting for Frank to win a bit. he’s awful and I’m fascinated and I want him to ruin rivers life!!!#slow horses #river cartwright #frank harkness #diana taverner

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sunatsubu · 2 hours ago

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Jayvik and time paradoxes

I can't stop thinking about Jayce/Viktor. They're driving me insane, absolutely INSANE. Because everything about them is a time paradox??

This is pretty rambly, I'm just trying to get my thoughts down in my attempt to stop going crazy over them and also just figure out what the heck happened because I'm still kind of confused about some stuff, also I am not very familiar with game lore, mainly just the show.

They circle each other and are so intrinsically linked in so many ways, being both cause and effect to each other's fates. Starting at a random point that ends up circling all the way back:

Jayce and Viktor invent Hextech

Jayce gets drawn into politics as a result, away from Viktor

Viktor gets desperate, experiments with hextech on himself, with Consequences (Sky)

Viktor asks Jayce to destroy hextech

Jayce, unable to let Viktor die after Jinx's attack, fuses him with it instead

This leads to Machine Herald viktor, but not quite; like Pre-herald I guess? Where Viktor still retains some humanity

Jayce gets told by alternate Viktor to stop him from becoming the Herald

In his attempt to do so, he kind of causes/hastens it instead?! (more thoughts on this below*)

alternate Herald Viktor regrets everything and saves baby Jayce/gives him the runestone**

Jayce grows up wanting to research magic thanks to mage Viktor, and cue s1 events that end up circling back to the first point**

*I can't stop thinking about how kind and gentle Viktor seemed when he was trying to help Vander. It really seemed like he was on a path to using his new powers for good, without any sinister effects (though maybe I missed some hints, need to rewatch). It wasn't until after Jayce blew his heart to smithereens that he seemed to start on that path of deeming emotions and humanity unnecessary, solidified when Jayce rejected him to join him as partners again.

**Still trying to wrap my brain around these last two. The existence of alternate Herald Viktor that brings our Jayce to his destroyed world in order to ask him to stop our Viktor - does this imply that Viktor would have still become Machine Herald even if Jayce hadn't tried to kill him? Was it an inevitable thing? Or is this still more time paradox shenanigans, where Viktor asking Jayce to stop/kill his younger self, is both the cause and effect of Herald Viktor? And yet another paradox, Viktor inspired baby Jayce to research magic and ultimately invent Hextech, which is what was needed for Machine Herald Viktor to come to pass. So it seems like there are actually 2 paradoxes related to the creation of Herald Viktor/apocalypse post Viktor's revolution.

These time paradoxes defining their existences makes me think they weren't supposed to exist. Or at least, the ways they so significantly affected the world, weren't supposed to come to pass; Hextech, Viktor's Revolution, apocalypse. So while their ending breaks my heart into a million pieces, it makes a lot of sense. In order to cancel out what they'd do to the world (or just Piltover? this is another point I'm curious about, did viktor's revolution affect ALL of humanity?), they had to erase themselves from existence. It's so. romantic and tragic, but not really on both those counts? Like somehow deeper, too deep, to put such simple labels on. Honestly I don't even really know how to describe what their story makes me feel.

Bit of a tangent, but one interesting anomaly is the alt timeline Ekko was in. So Jinx would always be an important factor in Jayvik's fates since her attack almost killing Victor is the catalyst for a lot of things. Mage Victor says Jayce is the one thing across all timelines that could stop him, implying there are MANY timelines where Herald Viktor comes to be. Which thus means in all those timelines, Jinx is the unstable mess we know and love, the one who would attack the council. So that makes it interesting (and kinda gutting because its like Jinx is destined to suffer in most timelines) that Ekko's alt timeline was most likely rare in its stability, where despite Vi being gone, Powder is relatively happy and the world (Piltover/Zaun) is quite peaceful.

This is a seemingly random segueway, but Jayvik very strongly reminded me of the german show Dark. (WARNING FOLLOWING IS MAJOR SPOILER FOR THAT SHOW)

A completely different genre and story, but both are about two people whose destinies are so linked together throughout time and alternate universes, but weren't supposed to exist. And they could only save the world, allow it to go on untouched from the devastating effects they would have on it, by taking themselves out of the equation.

#jayvik #arcane jayce #arcane viktor #arcane spoilers #dark spoilers #mypost #league of legends

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mayhemspreadingguy · 2 years ago

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aaaaand it's finally done :D. Coffee shop date.

Why use a chair when there's the better option?

#dreamling #yes. Dream is wearing Hob's sweater :))))#another lap sitting? like i said that's where Dream belongs and nobody can convince me otherwise. the concept lives rent-free in my head #they're both shameless and nothing can stop them from publicly displaying their affection for each other if they so desire #also Dream is a menace so that's that #silly rabbit au #i suppose (not sure where this came from anymore but I think I could blame magnusbae again x'D)#and yes this is the wip that i was sitting on for some time now and i had to stop myself from adding more details and say it's done #before i drive myself crazy xD. don't get me wrong i loved working on it - this is the treat myself drawing. but i really need to move on #because there's too many other things that i want to do and so little time!#and maaaybe just maybe I'm doing a lap sitting collection - or at least that's how it looks like considering recent posts and my other wips #dream of the endless #hob gadling #sandman #mayhem art

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gorillaxyz · 5 months ago

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im insanely nosey and really into gossip stares at couple that have been dead for decades stares at couple who died over a decade before i was even born

#txt #domestic violence #abuse #what i know abt them already drives me crazy I HATE NIXON SO MUCH GET A JOB. STAY AWAY FROM HER #but when they got togetyer ahahhhhhh AHHHHH #AND PAT ALLEGEDLY HAVING TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL;BC HE HIT HER DURING THE PEAK OF WATERGATE #GET ME OUT OF HERE. GET HER OUT OF THERE. I NEED TO KNOW EVERYTHING #i wish i was a fly on the wall #touches hand ro window pane it hurts so much. from the peak of their relationship in the 40s to the most turbulent times #they are soooooo ohhhhb ouhhh ohhhhh ohhhh i hate him so much im so angry for her #i choose to believe the hospital thing is true idc it seems so predictable of course hed take it out on someone #sigh. sigh #i know i talk abt how much i love them a lot but i dont want anyone to think im like. romanticising abuse... im not #they just drive me crazy. and i love them. because i do think they had their good moments together #but agghhhhh aghhhh ahahahahhggghh the pain #sorry for being insane abt this ciuple i really should not care abt at all #us presidents

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arolesbianism · 6 months ago

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Sigh. It begins (being forced to see the worst aro hcs I've ever seen in my life because ppl have a talent for finding the absolute worst characters to be their token aro hc)

#rat rambles #hey pros of oni. no fandom to make shitty aro hcs #cause like you just know ppl would roll out their aro jackie fanart and Id have to delete my blog #and like normally with shitty aro hcs for things I like its not even that I don't share the hc just that I dont trust allo ppl #but jackie isnt even aro to me shes allo as fuck #I could dig some arospec olivia tho #Im also an enjoyer of aro joshua and aro otto #anyways time to block the wx tag but like for realsies Im not dealing with this shit #anyways happy pride months. Im going to spend most of it being the evil homophobic acearo that they warned you abt <3 #I jest I will be trying to enjoy it on my own time I just hate fandom culture and ppl having shit takes #honestly be glad I don't touch sekai tags anymore or Id start posting some real unreadable shit #its so hard being an aromantic person who hcs mafuyu as aromantic and romance repulsed because they're just like me fr #because god damn would that be a red flag to me if it were anyone else's hc lol #oh also does a little dance kanade is unlabeled as hell and no one can convince me otherwise #anyways I should make some dst pride art but its abby and walter in their aromantic echo chamber arguing with everyone that love isn't real #like I've said before its me healing my inner child who had too much of an anxiety disorder to be the obnoxious aro kid I couldve been #I bet both of them are like a wall to argue with but in different ways #walter will do the age old strat of just stating his points over and over again like it makes them right #and abby will do the 'prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt or you're automatically wrong' approach #because theyre both lil bastard kids who drive ppl around them crazy when they feel like it #wendy is also a bit of a wall but more in the sense that he will just plain refuse to believe things that he doesnt want to believe #because his coping mechanism is trying to wallow in his misery in hopes that it'll start to hurt less if he expects the worst #and I think if you tried to correct his stupid emo quotes he'd get all pissy abt it since its not abt accuracy it's abt his shitty coping

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ulmus-spellook · 8 months ago

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Me on Saturday: looking up info for timing in the closest city “I know I won’t be able to see the total eclipse from my part of the country, but I could at least see a partial one!”

Me on Sunday: it’s raining outside and it looks like the kind of rain that lasts more than 24 hours “oh no.”

Me on Monday: I look outside around noon, it’s cloudy out and when I opened my weather app it said it would start raining soon *sigh* “the clouds have once again prevented me from witnessing a cool sky event” we really need this rain though. It would have been nice if it came a few days sooner! There would be less fire and the sky could be clearer for the eclipse

So today I’m hearing people online talking about how cool the eclipse was and just being like: “I’m gonna be honest. I accidentally slept through the last partial (solar) eclipse and I couldn’t even see this partial solar eclipse if I was trying”

I know I’ve seen lunar eclipses though, my insomnia was at least useful there

#emma posts #I ask for rain because it’s been really dry and there’s been a high fire risk lately #what/whoever would listen or just happen to coincide with what I asked:#on it. but wouldn’t it be super funny if I chose that week specifically to do it?#me: sigh ‘I can’t even be totally mad. I’m not missing a full eclipse and we need the rain’#lately there have also been more solar storms and it’s supposed to continue for a few years #so the chances of witnessing the aurora are even higher these last few years even though I live a bit below where they are sometimes visible #I only ever saw them once before these recent storms and it was faint on the northern horizon #but last summer while I was visiting my parents there was a really strong storm and I got to see them across the whole sky!#they weren’t as colorful as the ones farther north. but I have apps that alert me of possible viewings for a reason #I’m obsessed with them. and this was the clearest and closest they’ve ever been to me and where my parents live #I live in town now though so when I’m not visiting my parents I don’t often see them #in winter or fall when the trees have lost their leaves and the crops have all been harvested you can see so much of the sky and it’s #just stunning with or without the lights. but oh my god was seeing some so close wonderful #I thought I was going crazy though because I could sometimes hear a weird staticky humm when they would get particularly close #but apparently some people just hear them 🤷‍♀️ it… I loved it #and I think I’m gonna cry because before that the last time I had seen them a little clearer on the horizon it was parked in one of my #families fields with a friend of mine who was driving me back from dnd and we just sat in the car looking at the horizon together (it wasn’t #so close that you could see it above. but the northern horizon you could) and that friend has since passed #ah. I’m rambling though. this was supposed to be a joke post about my experience 😅

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arminsumi · 12 days ago

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Another geto size kink vanilla smut please. I can't get enough. I always go back to reread yours it's so good

Oh, boyfriend Geto Suguru and his petite girl — who he's obsessed with.

+ warnings; size kink, panty-humping, some dirty talk

+ an; omg this was so yum to write, thank you for reminding me that Geto Suguru + a size kink exists 😋💗

Bf!Geto who's got one enormous hand resting on the small of your back during parties, his straight lips twisting into a grin when he looks down at you — a dirty grin that gets you tingly all over. Oh his heart lurches when you crane your neck to look back at him. As he commented when the two of you first met three years ago, "It's cute that you have to put in so much effort to look up at me."

... and pre-bf!Geto who used to randomly whisk you off your feet, big biceps twitching and flexing against your sides, as a 'joke' — yeah, yeah, it was just to surprise you. But he just wanted to have a sweet small girl in his arms, and wanted to show off how strong he was.

Just standing behind him and seeing his big broad back worked your imagination — how d'you think he'd look from the back while driving into your sloppy hole, how his muscles would flex?

And you know, Suguru was always aware each time you were staring even though you thought you were little miss slick, so of course he straightened out his posture — he had to remind you that he hits that 6'3 mark!

Bf!Geto's favorite thing is rubbing his thick fingers up and down your tiny clit through your innocent pink panties, making you shiver and twitch and whine in response to the subtlest friction as he's got you bent over his black-sheeted bed. It makes him smirk, it makes his cock stand stiff and upright in his pants, leaky cockhead dripping precum against his inner thigh.

It's in this bed that bf!Geto loves eating you out — of course, he likes to get you impatient, taking his time tying his hair up until you tug at the hem of his shirt and practically pull him into you for a hot, sloppy, open-mouthed kiss that he just melts into. In minutes he's sliding down, big rough n' calloused hands prying your thighs apart, dragging you closer to his face like you weigh nothing — because you do weigh nothing to a big boy like him.

You're especially reminded of his size kink when he thumbs your pussy lips apart, or when he stuffs his thick fingers inside you, rubbing against your favorite spots like it's just a fun little game for him. Or when he thumbs your actual lips apart to explore your mouth a bit before sliding his fingers in — "Get 'em wet for me, baby." he murmurs, eager to feel your tiny mouth.

Bf!Geto loves squishing his cock against your slit, dividing your soft lips until they sandwich him. Of course, he acts so nonchalant, blowing his hair out of his face as he looks down at the pretty sight of your pussy getting dwarfed by his thick girth.

When his black, sultry eyes drift up to meet yours, you feel your stomach drop and your face heats up.

"Feel me pulsing, baby?" he teases, "Aw, sorry, I didn't mean to make you shy. No, come on, don't be shy — " he giggles, leaning in for a fat kiss. "You're so cute."

As the thick middle of his cock's sliding through your folds, his free hand meets yours and pins it down, holds it tight — did you see that? Did you catch the glimpse of his bicep twitching when he squeezed your hand?

bf!Geto still goes crazy each time you grind your pussy back on his cock as if it's the first time all over again. He lets out a hot breath, presses his cockhead tightly against your hole, and rubs so hard through your thong that he half-fucks it into your gushing pussy. They're totally ruined with gooey cum and sticky juices by the time he's done obsessively rubbing his cock against you.

And bf!Geto loves your tiny thongs, loves pulling them back and letting them snap against your holes when he's got you in reverse cowgirl.

And he just simply loves how much smaller your clothes are. When you and him weren't dating yet, he'd let you wear his big t-shirts or hoodies for sleepovers — only to choke and drool the next morning over the sight of little you in his big clothes.

bf!Geto's got thick, thick muscular thighs that press into the back of your plush, smaller thighs. And his long legs? He loved flirting joking "... I think I'm too tall for you — yeah we'd have a hard time having sex, huh?" long before you and him were dating.

And it's true. It's pretty difficult, getting railed by a 6'3 thick-muscled boy like him — that's why sometimes he just resorts to lifting you and fucking you while standing, weighting you against the wall with his whole body and each thrust of his cock.

#🎵I NEED A BIG BOY GIMMIE A BIG BOY #;D #tw: smut #geto suguru #geto #suguru #geto suguru smut #geto smut #suguru smut #geto x reader #geto x reader smut #suguru x reader #suguru geto smut #geto x you #suguru geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut

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not-neverland06 · 3 months ago

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n a s t y d o g I logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

One-shot A/N: I've never felt this way about a fictional character before. Every gif I see of him has me gnawing and biting at the bars of my enclosure. I want to bite him. If Hugh Jackman ever discovered what thoughts lurk inside my rotted brain about him he'd get a restraining order. This isn't OKAY Anyways... Summary: You'd thought you'd had a good thing going with Logan. You weren't officially anything to each other, but you were getting close. You truly saw a future with him, but he made it incredibly clear he did not feel the same 18+ HATE FUCKING (MDNI)

(one chance please, just one chance with him)

“Are you sure this isn’t totally clingy girlfriend of me?”

Ororo gives you an irritated look and Jean laughs. “Not at all, Scott loves it when I surprise him like this.” You’re all huddled in your room, each of you in varying stages of getting ready. Jean is finishing off her eyeliner at your vanity, Ororo is putting on her boots, and you’re trying to decide between a skirt and a dress.

You’re not entirely sure how, or why, Logan and Scott decided to go to the bar together tonight. You suspect it has something to do with Jean. She wants them to start getting along so there’s less friction when you’re all around each other.

At Jean’s idea, Logan had muttered, “When hell freezes over,” in your ear before he had left for the night. You’d gotten a little antsy without him to entertain you and had mistakenly blurted out the idea of going to visit them. Ororo had been dying to get out of the house and Jean was a little worried about her boyfriend as well. They’d agreed to go along with you and you’ve felt a weight in your stomach ever since.

Your relationship with Logan was relatively new. Hell, a month ago you’d thought he’d hated you the same he did Scott. You’d, of course, been proven wrong when you’d had a few drinks with him and things had taken a very physical turn.

You weren’t sure if he’d just wanted a one-night stand or something serious. But when you’d tried to sneak out the next morning and he’d muttered a grumpy, “Where’re you going?” You’d gotten your answer.

You hadn’t been on any real dates, there didn’t ever seem to be time for them. But you spent most of your days together. Sometimes just silently enjoying each other’s company, other times you would be holed up in one of your rooms cuddling. The thought always brings a stupid lovesick grin to your face.

It’s one of your first real relationships and you’re worried that things are moving a little too fast. At least on your end. You can already tell that you’re falling for him. Headfirst into the deep end of love. And it’s terrifying because you truly cannot tell what he thinks about you. Clearly, he likes you. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t let you follow him around like a lost puppy.

But he’s never truly said anything to you. There’s no official label as to what you two are. You say girlfriend off-handly and you usually don’t mean it when you reference yourself. You’ve never outright said he’s your boyfriend and he’s never really claimed you. He’s made it explicitly clear he doesn’t want you sleeping with other men, and you’ve said the same to him about women. You both agreed on that, but…

You kind of drive yourself crazy trying to figure this out. He’s not vocal about his feelings and everything’s still new so you don’t like pressuring him. You also worry that if you push him too far he’ll just get tired of you and move on. It’s not fair to assume that of him, and you know everything would be better if you just talked to him. But you’re scared. You’re scared the conversation will take the wrong direction and everything will blow up in your face.

Jean calls your name and your head shoots up to see both Ororo and Jean looking at you expectantly. You flush when you realize they must have been talking to you and you’d just completely zoned out thinking about Logan.

“Huh?” You blurt out, cringing at how dumb you sound.

Jean gives you a concerned look, “I can practically taste your anxiety.” The telepath frowns and offers you a comforting smile. “Don’t worry about it, I promise, Logan won’t mind at all.”

“You’re fine,” Ororo adds, because clearly the look on your face screams, I need constant validation. They’re not wrong, but still, you hate feeling like an exposed bundle of nerves. “Think of it as girl’s night, the boys just happen to be there.”

You force a smile on your face and give your most enthusiastic nod. You change into the dress and finish up with your hair. You finally start chatting with them again, engaging so it might disguise just how nervous you feel.

There’s this clenching feeling, traveling from your stomach up to your chest. It makes you sick, makes you hurt. And it’s not because you think Logan will be upset with you for crashing. He’d be relieved, if anything. There’s something else. Premonition isn’t one of your abilities, but you’re seriously starting to doubt that now.

The bar is loud when you walk in. The soles of your shoes immediately start to stick to the floor and your nose screws up in disgust at the loud laughter coming from around the pool tables. You glance around, trying to see if you can spot Logan.

You’d say you could spot him in any crowd. But has a propensity to hunker down and try to attract as little attention as possible so people don’t bother him. “There he is,” Jean taps your shoulders and points to the two men at the end of the bar.

Like you’d thought, Logan is hunched over his whiskey, glowering down at the wood under him like it had insulted him. You almost want to laugh at the sight. Some of the earlier anxiety eases its grip on you and you feel your shoulders begin to untense.

Before you can walk over Ororo grabs Jean’s wrist. “Gotta go to the bathroom,” she tugs Jean behind her.

Jean looks over her shoulder at you and smiles encouragingly, “Go to them, we’ll catch up in a second.” You give her a tentative nod and slip through the crowd. There are more people here than you thought there would be.

You’re happy not to spot any kids in the crowd. You’ve had a few too many nights out crashed by kids who thought they were good at sneaking out.

It’s easy enough not to spot you or the other women in the crowd. Mutants have gotten good at blending in with the people around them. Makes it easier to get around. It’s probably why neither Logan nor Scott stop their conversation as you approach. “So,” Scott draws the word out, fingers tapping against the glass of his beer.

“Don’t,” Logan warns. You want to laugh at his grumpy demeanor, but someone’s accidentally elbowed you and you find yourself stumbling a few steps back. It’s taking entirely too long to get to them, the bar isn’t even that big. There’s just that many people here.

Scott ignores him and rolls his eyes. “Look, we’re stuck here for a while. Try and pull that stick out of your ass.”

“How about I put one in yours?” Logan’s claws come out slightly. But then they both share an odd look and Scott smirks. “Shut the fuck up,” Logan grouses, “not like that.”

“Right,” Scott huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. He picks up his bottle and takes a long drink. You’ve nearly reached them now. You stop, though, when you hear Scott say your name. You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. Eavesdropping now is just asking to get hurt.

You drop back into the crowd, hoping the smells of others will stop Logan from discovering you lurking behind them both. Scott continues, “How’s that going?”

You crane your neck forward, trying to hear them better over the karaoke happening behind you. Someone is butchering Britney Spears but you couldn’t care less right now. Logan shouldn’t answer. Since when has he ever shared anything with Scott?

So, imagine your surprise when his answer isn’t immediately telling him to fuck off. “Eh,” he shrugs, downing the rest of his whiskey. Your face drops in irritation. Seriously, all this skulking around for an Eh? That’s bullshit.

You keep yourself from stepping forward, forcing your feet still, and ignoring the little voice in the back of your head telling you this is a bad idea. You’ve committed this much, you’re seeing it through. Scott whistles lowly, “That bad, huh?” Oh, fuck off, Summers.

Logan shakes his head and for a moment you have a brief feeling of hope lifting you up. “Nah, not bad. It’s just, I don’t know.” Logan sits up and signals the bartender for a refill. Your snooping senses go off and you briefly see Ororo and Jean exiting the bathroom. Desperate for something to keep them at bay, you flick your wrist. The man in front of them tips his drink down Jean’s shirt, slurring out apologies. Jean huffs and Ororo brings her back into the bathroom.

Scott and Logan somehow missed the whole interaction and you promise yourself that you’ll pay for Jean’s dry cleaning. You’re definitely not going to. “Think she wants something I don’t,” Logan tells Scott, and your heart plummets to your feet. You can practically see it deflate, all the lovesickness draining out of it and onto the floor of this grimy bar.

“Like, she just wants to fuck around?”

Logan shakes his head and downs another glass of whiskey. He’s just swallowing it down like it’s water. At a certain point, the bartender gets sick of it and just leaves him with the bottle. “No, she wants something real. Like a real relationship.” Scott’s brows furrow and Logan shrugs. “Not interested.”

It’s the way he says it that really bothers you. There’s nothing wrong with wanting something different in a relationship. It happens all the time. But he says it so dismissively. He knows that you want something real with him, something secure and loving. He knows that, continues to fuck you and lead you on, and then speaks as though you’re an idiot for ever being interested in that.

Hurt hasn’t set in yet. You’re staring wide-eyed, jaw agape with shock as you stare at Logan’s back. You’d thought a conversation needed to be had. But you didn’t think that he thought of you like this. You’d thought you meant something to him.

Scott seems to share the sentiment, his lips tugged down into a frown. He leans against the bar, surveying Logan with a disbelieving look. “What?” Logan snaps.

Scott raises his hands in surrender, shaking his head and backing off. “Nothing, man, I just thought you two were serious about each other.” You miss whatever Logan says as an arm slings itself around your shoulder.

“What’re you doing?” A husky, seductive voice whispers against the shell of your ear. You jump in shock, glaring at Ororo as she grins at you. She lets her arm slide off your shoulders and glances over at Jean. “I think she was spying.”

Jean nods, nudging you forward. “Definitely spying. Hear anything good?”

You fortify your mind against her probing fingers before she can find out. “Nope,” you blurt out. You hope the racing of your heart is dismissed by your constantly frazzled nature. You hope the look on your face is explained by your earlier boredom and anxiety. You pray that none of them notice the way you lean away from Logan when the men finally turn around and notice you all.

Scott breathes out a dramatic sigh of relief and slumps onto Jean. “Thank god, I thought I was going to die trying to talk to this brick wall.” his eyes flick towards you in a blink-and-you-miss-it moment. There’s a brief pitying look before he grins. “Come to get your boyfriend?” There’s a heavy emphasis on the word that you never would have noticed had you not heard their conversations.

It’s clearly a petty dig at Logan. And you would appreciate it if you didn’t feel the sudden urge to vomit up your dinner. “Thought you might need saving from Logan.” You tell him, a chuckle hiding the slight tremor in your voice.

You’re not sure if he does, but you hope Logan notices how you avoided the word boyfriend. You hope that he hurts the same way you do. But you know, deep down, that he doesn’t care. He’s probably relieved that you didn’t use the title.

Logan gets off his stool, he wraps his arm around your shoulder, and pulls you into a brief hug. His lips press against your temple before he dips down to whisper, “Thank you,” in your ear.

Asshole, he’s not allowed to smile at you the way he is. If you weren’t in such a crowded place and already overstimulated, you’d shove him away. If your friends weren’t watching you’d take his arm and slam it down onto the bar until you hear his fucking adamantium bones break.

That might have been too far. Maybe you’re not that angry, but you’re hurt.

You place your hands against his chest, a thin smile on your lips while you hum a simple, “Mhm.” He doesn’t seem to notice the way you push away from him. It’s easily dismissed by you cheekily stealing his seat at the bar.

He comes up behind you, hands bracketing you and keeping you stuck against the bar while you order your drink. One of his hands drifts down, laying against your thigh. You know this isn’t sexual, this is him comforting you.

He shouldn’t know how horrible you feel in such busy places. He shouldn’t know that and know that his touch is grounding and then help you. Not if he doesn’t want something serious. If he didn’t want to be your boyfriend, didn’t want to be anything but a fuck, then why do this to you? Did he not think this was leading you on? Is this just him caring for you?

You’ll drown in a sea of unanswered questions before the night is over if you linger too long. You tip your head back, let your shot burn its way down your throat, and turn towards the others with a smile. You feel your worries fade and your focus loosen as you simply drift further into your mind.

You must have disassociated or something. By the time you realize you’re no longer hearing bad karaoke and your elbows aren’t sticking to the bar, you’re already home. You stare in the mirror, hand pausing as you brush your teeth before you quickly finish.

You didn’t drink much, you never do. It fucks with your abilities and causes migraines. You rinse your mouth out and glance into your bedroom. Logan groans and stretches. His back bows, muscles flexing and you rip your eyes away. You can’t let yourself be distracted by the chest you want to drape yourself across.

You need to talk to him. It’s never been more clear. You wipe your mouth and toss the towel onto the rim of the sink. You take in a deep breath, trying to get rid of the nerves plaguing you. It’s never worked before, it’s not going to suddenly cure you now.

You give up on the thought and instead, shove down the anxiety until you have enough confidence to speak. It takes a little while, Logan peaks an eye open, eyebrows quirked when he sees you just staring at him. “Something up, bub?” he flexes, on purpose, and you roll your eyes. You grab his shirt out of your hamper and toss it at him.

“Put this on. Can’t think when you look like that.”

He chuckles, “That’s the point.” at your pointed glare his smile drops and he tugs the beater on. It barely does anything to deter you. If anything you’re having more trouble paying attention. Especially now that his full attention is on you. The humor is gone from the room, a thick tension replaces it. Logan seems to feel it, sitting up straighter and glaring at you like he’s trying to read your mind. “What’s wrong?” It’s a demand more than a question.

It’s hard to look at him. But you refuse to let yourself cower now. You take in a fortifying breath and let your gaze bore into his. You put all the hurt and anger you feel into it, willing yourself to be firm. “We need to talk.”

“‘Bout what?” He’s brusque, but there’s a slight concern to his tone.

There’s no point hiding this. And maybe you had misheard, maybe there was a conversation prefacing the one you’d heard. And you’ll talk it out and everything will be okay. “I heard you and Scott talking at the bar.”

The hope you had, as minimal as it was, is dashed at your feet. He sucks in a deep breath and the look on his face has you crestfallen. You can feel your chest cave in. You feel so stupid all of a sudden. Constantly following after him, even before you started dating him. Looking at him with stars in your eyes and latching onto his every move and word.

You’d worshiped him, put him up on a pedestal he didn’t deserve. Superhuman or not, at the end of the day he was still a man. And they’ve done nothing but disappoint you. You suck your teeth, gaze dropping to your feet as you fight back the tears in your eyes. “Right,” you whisper, stepping back from him.

“Look,” he starts. You force your eyes up and watch as he rubs uncomfortably at the back of his neck. He takes a step towards you and you shake your head, stepping away from him. His arms fall to his sides and he sighs. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“That’s it?” You demand, tone incredulous. You weren’t some great love or anything. But that’s seriously all he has to say.

He opens his mouth, eyes softening as he stares at you. Then he snaps it shut, something covers his face and his expression is borderline cruel as he sneers at you. “Not my fault you got in over your head, kid. Never said I wanted anything more with you.” He points at you, and you suddenly feel like a little girl getting scolded. You’ve never had a partner make you feel this small, especially not Logan. “You were just convenient.”

You rear back like he slapped you. You think it might have hurt less than that. To know you wasted so much time on such a fucking dick makes you want to throw up. Or scream, or cry. You can’t decide on one. But your powers can, the walls are shaking, knick-knacks falling off your shelves as energy pulses from you.

You’ll face the hurt, the sadness, the horrible ache of rejection later. Right now, you need him out of your face before you bring the whole mansion crumbling down around you. “Out.” You grind the word out, turning away from him and clutching your hands to your chest. You take in quick, rapid breaths, trying to think of anything other than how horrible you feel.

You haven’t lost control like this in a long time. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of being the reason you get put on probation again. He whispers your name, coming up behind you like he’s going to touch you.

You want to lash out, want to hurt him like he’s hurt you. But you’ll only cause more damage than necessary. He’s not worth hurting the kids in the rooms around you. You shove past him, ignoring the way he shouts your name.

You dart out into the hall, grateful there are so few people milling around. Nearly everyone’s asleep, just a few stragglers finishing up their homework for tomorrow. A few of them give you odd looks that turn concerned when they see Logan chasing after you. Your bones are practically vibrating by the time you make it outside.

You rush towards the grove of trees at the back of the mansion. Your knees give out under you before you can make it very far. Energy pulses out of you in an explosive circle. You hear bark crack and turn into nothing but dust as the air around you trembles.

It’s a relief, like going to the bathroom after holding it all day. You feel it drain away from you, a plug pulled out as the energy rushes from you. It slows after a minute, feeling more like a leak than a steady stream.

Your hands shake by your sides as you lay trembling on the grass. Your eyelids flutter shut and you try and keep them open but it’s hard. All of your energy had been spent keeping yourself in check until you made it out of the mansion.

“I’ve got you,” a voice mutters near your ear. Familiar strong arms dip under your knees, lifting you up and pulling you into a sturdy chest. You recognize the body, recognize the uncomfortable warmth coming from him. But your tongue won’t work and you're passing out before you can try and push him away.

You’re in your own bed when you wake up again. You’re briefly comforted by the warm feeling of the sheets around you before you realize how cold the other side of the bed is. You’re so used to the feeling of someone being beside you that it’s jarring for no one to be there. You sit up, a spark of anxiety lighting up inside you before it’s being quelled by an outside force.

“I think it’s best if we keep that under control.” You’re not surprised to hear Charles’s voice. You can’t be, not when he’s actively keeping you calm and placid. You lean back against your headboard. You tilt your head lazily, looking at him while he looks out the window.

“That tree was a hundred years old.”

You wince, face screwing up when you remember the large oak tree you obliterated last night. “I can remake it,” you promise.

“You could,” he corrects, “but whatever happened last night between you and Logan is causing your powers to be volatile.” He finally turns towards you, the motor of his wheelchair a dull buzz as he smiles at you. There’s no resentment in his gaze at least. You’d known he wouldn’t be mad at you. He was used to accidents like this. Had you hurt another person, however, this would be an entirely different conversation.

There’s a dull ache in your chest at the mention of Logan, but it’s quickly covered by another wave of calm from Charles. He smiles and holds out two metal bracelets. They’re thick, something red inlaid into the black metal. They look like handcuffs more than anything. His lips quirk up at your thought and you frown.

“That’s what they are, right? Cuffs.”

“You’re not a criminal,” he assuages, his tone gentle as you take them from him. There’s a small silver button inside that you click and the metal springs open. You place your left wrist inside and it snaps shut, it’s a snug fit. It won’t be moving around anytime soon. You put the right one on and feel Charles’ hold on your mind ease the second it's closed. Every horrible feeling from last night crashes down on you and you nearly choke on it.

You wonder how Charles managed to keep you asleep for so long without the roof crumbling. He chuckles, the noise tired. “Jean helped me. It took a while for the cuffs to be ready.”

The way he says that causes alarms to go off in your head. “How long?” He takes in a sharp breath and shakes his head, attempting to dismiss the question. “Charles,” you snap, voice bordering on a shout.

“Two days,” he says. You gasp and slump back against your sheets. He says your name but you get to your feet and pace. You don't know what to do with yourself. There’s energy buzzing under your skin, but the cuffs are keeping it at bay. It feels wrong like your pores are being clogged with acid.

“Two days.” You look over at him, horror painting your face and you can see why he was so apprehensive to tell you. “It’s never been that bad before.”

“No,” he starts cautiously, “It hasn’t. Which makes me wonder, what transpired between you and Logan that destroyed my grandfather’s tree?”

You cringe at the mention of the tree. He’s never going to let go of that. Even when you recreate it, he’s still going to hold it over your head. His teasing eases you out of the spiral you were heading down and you glance over at him. “You’ve been in my head for two days. I’m sure both you and Jean already know.”

He smacks his lips together and shrugs, clasping his hands in front of himself. “Simply seeing if you wanted to discuss it, my dear.”

You vehemently shake your head and sit back down on your bed. “No, I don’t want to talk about him. I don't want to see him.” Charles gives you a look like he doesn’t believe you and you hate it. You truly don’t want to see Logan again. Just thinking about him makes you want to explode. He was a pig and you regret ever wasting your time on him.

There’s a shriveled part of your heart weeping somewhere, but you crush in your fist until it shuts the fuck up. “Right,” Charles nods. “I do believe it’s best for your recovery that we keep you two separated for a while.” He rolls past you and places a comforting hand on yours. “Rest, you’ll feel more like yourself soon.”

You nod and watch him leave. Exhaustion suddenly seems to drop its heavy weight on your shoulders. Two days being restrained by telepaths probably wasn’t very restful. You lay across your comforter, rolling over and hoping when you wake up your heart will be healed.

Two weeks. Two pathetic, snot-filled, and disgusting weeks of sobbing over Logan. You felt like a sixteen-year-old again, crying over the boy that didn’t like you back. It was awful, especially knowing that the entirety of the mansion knew what was wrong with you.

Your students would leave your class and you would lock your doors, hiding under your desk as you wept. Those with superhearing or telepathy would bake you cookies and leave gifts at your door. It was sweet, but honestly made you feel ten times worse. You felt like your sadness was a burden you were forcing everyone to carry.

Your mother would be so disappointed in you. She’d always told you that you mourn a relationship half the amount of time you were in it. Of course, hers never lasted more than a few weeks. And she’d had more boyfriends than you could count on three hands.

Besides, you were allowed to wallow for a while. This was someone you were starting to fall for. To be so blind going into and leaving the relationship was awful. Having the rug ripped out from under you had been cruel and needless. You’re resentful and grateful he’d been so horrifically honest with you. On one hand, if the relationship had just ended, you’d be pining after him. Wondering what you’d done to lose such an amazing guy.

But being faced with the brutal truth, knowing he was a piece of shit, it makes you hate yourself. You should have seen it. Should have known that he didn’t want you like you wanted him. But there were never any signs. You’d run it through your head a million times. Every interaction you’ve ever had with him. None of it shows you where he’d been lying to you or using you. You can’t even trust yourself anymore.

There’s a loud knock on your door and you sniffle, tossing another tissue in the trash as you go to answer it. “Hello?” You croak. You can barely see, eyes puffy and so swollen your vision is blurry.

“Holy hell,” Ororo scoffs and shakes her head. She pushes into your room and slams the door shut before anyone can see how awful you look. To be fair, you keep yourself relatively put together during the day. But it’s after hours now, you’re allowed to be a mess.

“You look like shit.”

Neither of you are prepared as you begin to blubber. Your lips tremble and your voice shakes as you begin to sob. “I know,” you wail. “I hate it.” Ororo’s eyes widen in horror and she quickly pushes you into your desk chair, grabbing a box of tissues and shoving it in your hands.

“I feel,” you stutter, having to take in a few shuddering breaths before you can get the words out. “He tore out my heart and ripped it up with his stupid fucking claws.”

“Okay, okay,” Ororo runs her hands over your arms, trying to soothe you. “I know, sh, it’s okay.” She groans, “Stop crying,” she pleads under her breath.

“I’m trying!” You snap at her, running hands over your wet cheeks and trying to swallow down the rest of your tears.

“Look,” she steps back and shakes her head. She glances down at you, disgust poorly hidden on her face. She’s really fucking bad at comforting someone. “This is awful, I can’t take it anymore. You two keep dancing around each other and you’re putting everyone on edge. You won’t stop crying and he keeps going off,” she holds her hands up and shakes her head. “I just can’t do it anymore.”

You frown, brows turning down in confusion. “What?” You didn’t think Logan would be mad. You pictured him skipping through a field of daisies, happy to finally be rid of you. It only made you hate yourself more that you were still crying over it all.

“He’s kind of losing it,” she seems reluctant to relent the information. “Look,” she kneels in front of you and snatches the tissue box from your hand. She tosses it to the side and forces you to meet her eyes. “He’s in love with you. We all know it, Jean’s confirmed it. He loves you, he needs you, he’s just terrified to admit it. He’s afraid of what's going to happen if you two become real.”

Your eyes widen with the realization. She nods enthusiastically as you connect the pieces. You can’t deny what’s so plainly laid in front of you when she assures you that even Jean knows. Jean knowing means she just did a nosy dive into his head.

You can picture what could happen. With rom-com levels of nauseating romance, you run to find him. You tell him you don’t care that he’s afraid. You don’t care he pushed you away and you do love him. He’s not going to lose you. Nothing can rip you apart. You ride off into the sunset on Scott’s bike blah blah blah.

This isn’t a fucking romance. And you’re not going to cry over a man who's too much of a pussy to admit he has feelings. You like men who have emotional depth deeper than a teaspoon. “Are you fucking kidding me?"

Ororo’s face blanches and she slowly backs away from you as you stand. “No,” she answers slowly, like she’s not sure of herself now.

“That’s what I’ve been crying over?” You feel upset for an entirely different reason. You never misread the signs. You never missed a hint that he didn’t feel what you did. He did! He was just happier letting you doubt yourself and the love you held for him than admitting he felt something. You tear off the depression hoodie you’ve been living in for the past two weeks. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

You don’t know where you’re going. Normally, you’d run into a forest to let out a blast of energy. It drained you enough that you wouldn’t have to feel anything. But with these cuffs on, you can’t do anything.

You storm out of your room and stomp down the stairs, uncaring who you wake up. You’ve wasted so much time on Logan, you refuse to stay in your room and cry for another fucking night.

“I want to see her,” Logan growls. He tries to move around Charles, but he stops him with his mind, holding him in place while Jean disappears inside your room. Logan watches her go and glares at her retreating back as the door closes behind her.

It’s been a day already, you’ve never needed to be out for more than a few hours. He doesn’t want to think that there’s anything wrong with you, that he might have permanently broken something inside you.

That talk at the bar with Scott had been stupid. He would have said anything to get him to shut the fuck up and leave him alone. He didn’t really mean what he said, he just wanted him to back off. And saying that your relationship wasn’t anything was quicker than pouring out every thought he’s had of you.

It was easier lying than it was to admit just how much he wanted you. Just how far he would go for you. But then you’d overheard, and you brought it up. And there’d been faith on your face. Like even you couldn’t believe what he had said because you could see through the bullshit.

But all Logan had seen was a way out. This was an opportunity to finally get out of the suffocating clutches of something he didn’t want to admit was love. He took the chance before he could think. It’s what he was used to. Taking the easy way out, especially when it came to shit like emotions.

He hadn’t thought you were going to explode, though. Because that’s exactly what you’d done. By the time he’d caught up to you, you’d burned a crater into the ground and had destroyed Charles’ stupid fucking tree.

Seeing you like that, laying there lifeless, it terrified him. He didn’t want to live in a world that you weren’t in. There was no fucking point. It was sobering, realizing that, and then realizing that he was the reason you were like that in the first place.

He didn’t want to live without you and he certainly would never be able to come to terms with being the reason you were dead. But it didn’t matter, whatever realizations he was coming to. Charles and Jean were completely blocking him from your room. They weren’t even giving him a chance to look at you. And he was about five seconds away from ripping the old bastard’s head off and just barrelling inside.

He didn’t care what they said, he needed to see that you were okay. “I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to see her for a very long time.”

“Stay out of my head,” Logan growls, glaring down at the man. “What are you talking about?” He presses, finally processing the rest of his sentence.

Charles sighs and rolls away from him. Logan glares at his back but ultimately follows. “You were the cause of this, yes?” Reluctantly, Logan nods, there’s no point in hiding it. He’s sure Charles already knows. “For her own safety, the two of you will need to remain separated.”

That had been it. There was no arguing about it. No fighting Charles. It was for your safety that he stayed away from you. No matter how much he wanted to explain himself, he wouldn’t risk another meltdown like that.

You didn’t deserve to get hurt because of someone like him. He wouldn’t be able to stand hurting you again.

But two weeks seemed like a lot. At a certain point, he’s sure you’re just avoiding him. He knows he can’t blame you. He’d been a fucking idiot. But that didn’t make him any happier. If anything, he was getting more and more pissed off every day.

He had less patience for mistakes. Was lashing out at the kids more often and don’t even get started on the petty fucking fights he was picking with Scott. How long did you fucking need before you talked to him again?

He knows you’re upset, your crying keeps everyone up at night. Something he’s sure you’d be mortified to learn about. Why won’t you let him comfort you? Why do you have to be so petulant, running around the corner every time you see him? Pointedly ignoring him when you’re in the same room together.

He could fix this, make this all better. But you’re just not letting him. He knows this is why he loves you. It’s why he was so drawn to you. You seem like a bundle of nerves, constantly flitting around and keeping yourself small. It had been off-putting at first. And then he’d seen you training with Scott, kicking his ass more like. A switch had been flicked in his head.

He could finally see you for what you were. He finally realized that it was your abilities you were keeping small. You were a fucking spitfire and you didn’t hesitate to tell him off, he loved it. Loved arguing with you just so he could see you get all pissed off.

But that stubborn attitude he loved was really biting him in the ass right now.

There’s a knock on his bedroom door and he doesn’t even get to pretend it’s going to be you. He smells Jean’s perfume and rolls his eyes. He puffs on his cigar and contemplates ignoring her.

“Don’t be a jackass, open the damn door.”

Fuckin’ telepaths. “What?” He snaps at her the second the door is open. Her face screws up when she smells the smoke from his cigar. He knows she wants to put it out, and can see it in the twitch of her fingers. He raises a brow, a silent challenge to try him. He’s itching for another fight and she can feel it.

She lets out a sharp breath, choosing her battles wisely and backing off. He’s almost disappointed. “We need to talk. This whole thing between the two of you is ridiculous. You’re a mess, she’s a mess…”

Her voice trails off into nothing more than the annoying pitch of a fly. Logan can’t be bothered to listen to her scold him. He’s not a fucking kid, and maybe if you were acting like an adult, they wouldn’t be having this problem.

A few doors down he can hear you shouting, then the door to your room slams open. He darts off his bed, opening his own door to see what you’re doing. He only sees the back of your head as you angrily stomp down the stairs.

Enough is fucking enough, he was finishing this now. He was sick of your side of the bed being empty and the stupid fucking glare on your face every time you saw him. He doesn’t even bother saying anything to Jean as he leaves, just chases after you.

Jean watches him go with a perturbed look. She steps out of the room and glances down the hall. Ororo steps out of your room and walks towards her. “Well?” Jean probes.

Ororor shrugs, “She’s over it.” Jean smiles but it’s quickly wiped off her face by Ororo’s expression. “Not in the way we wanted.

Jean clenches her eyes shut and takes in a deep breath. She needs you two to figure your shit out or she’s never going to be able to get a good night’s sleep again.

You find yourself in the gym. It’s not your favorite place in the world, you don’t usually get to train with the others. You’re stuck with telepaths, mainly the ones who can shut your powers down if you get too out of control. That hasn’t been a problem since you got the cuffs, but you’ve been too sad to test them out.

Now you find yourself obliterating a punching bag. You wrap the energy around your fists and let it protect the thin skin as you pummel into the bag. You don’t know what else to do. You can’t have energy meltdowns anymore. You have to try and funnel it all out physically, but it’s not working. Nothing is.

“Imagining it’s me?” You pause midswing. You glance over to the door just in time to see Logan stalking towards you. He unzips his jacket slowly. So slowly it almost seems provocative. He tugs it off and tosses it onto a nearby bench.

You scoff as you watch him. “Do you ever have a shirt on?”

He shrugs and moves towards the ring in the middle of the gym. His movements are lithe and fluid as he hops onto the ring, every bit a wild animal. You watch as the muscles in his torso ripple and force your eyes off of him. You try and focus your attention back on the bag, but all your earlier energy is gone. Your mind is completely wrapped around Logan.

Which you’re sure is exactly what he wants, or he wouldn’t be staring at you so smugly as he leans against the ropes and waits for you to acknowledge him. You suck on your teeth, irritation blooming in sporadic bursts throughout your body that has you nearly shaking. Finally, you give in.

He smirks the second your eyes meet, “I can take it, sweetheart. A lot better than that little toy of yours can.” He nods towards the punching bag but the insinuation isn’t lost on you. You and Logan had been very active in your relationship. You could barely go a day without tasting each other.

You’ve been pent up since the breakup. You’d given in a few days ago, pulled out your old vibrator, and tried to bring even a semblance of joy back into your life. But nothing could compare to Logan.

His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as he waits for you to react. He’s standing there, staring down at you with all the surety in the world that you’re going to fuck him. It makes you want to dig your nails in and rip him apart, bit by bit.

You can already picture it in your mind, using your abilities to pick him apart until he’s nothing but molecules dispersed through the air. He’s lucky you have the cuffs on, without them you’re sure he’d already be dead.

You smirk and move towards the edge of the ring, your voice drops as you purr up at him, “You wanna play, Logan?”

He grins and moves off the ropes, starting towards you as you make your way onto the ring. You’re slightly less graceful than he was, but you’re too focused on wiping the smug look off his face to pay attention. “Come on kid,” he taunts, voice as low as it usually is when he’s fucking into you. “Let’s see what you got.”

You’re not stupid enough to just outright swing at him. You feint to the right and bring your knee up into his ribs. He only needs one hand to wrap around your thigh and drag you forward. His other hand goes to your hip, tugging you closer until you’re practically grinding against each other. You grit your teeth and glare up at him.

“Come on, sweetheart, that can’t be all you got for me.” Energy wraps around your head, blurring the air around you. You slam your temple against his, it provides enough of a distraction for you to yank your leg out of his grip. You throw your right fist into his ear, bouncing back with a grin as he shakes his head.

He practically growls as he reorients himself. You shrug and smirk, “What, don’t tell me that’s all you got, wolvie.”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that,” he grumbles. You open your mouth, prepared to taunt him again. But he’s lunging towards you and you just barely have enough time to dart out of his way. You know he’s going easy on you. He could have had you just then if he really wanted this.

But he’s dragging this out. Forcing you to spend as much time with him as you can. It only pisses you off further. You plant your foot on his back and kick him forward. He barely even stumbles and it only further confirms your suspicions. “Stop fucking holding back,” you yell at him.

He turns around slowly. You almost expect there to be a sneer on his face, something angry. Instead, he looks fucking thrilled, like this is all just foreplay for him. He laughs, so low you can barely hear it, and his chest flexes as his claws come out.

“You sure?” It’s a taunt, a dare, he knows you aren’t going to take the bait. You’d be stupid to, you don’t heal like he does. Once those things get in you, you’re screwed. But right now, you’re too pissed off to try and care.

You don’t say anything, you just duck under his fist as he swings at you. You know he made it easy for you, giving you an opening to fall into. He’s treating you like you’re something fragile. And maybe you are. One wrong move in this fight and you might not make it through the night. But anger is making you blind to logic.

Him playing fair just makes you want to play dirty. You use the opening he gives you, letting energy form around your fist and pulling back just enough to slam into his ribs. He coughs, doubling over as you hear bones crack under your hit. He’ll heal in seconds, you can’t bring yourself to feel too bad for him.

Maybe if he ever took you seriously you might not be such a bitch. But he didn’t think you were good enough to be honest with and he still was treating you like a plaything. In your opinion, he deserves whatever you give him and more. He doubles over and you swing your leg around, bringing it down across his face.

You hear a crack as your socked foot connects with his face, something crunches underneath you. And when your sole hits the mat again you see the blood leaking from his nose. You almost apologize. Almost, then you see the look on his face. His pupils are swallowing the hazel of his eyes, lips parted as he pants through his teeth. He looks fucking animalistic.

You have no warning as he pounces on you. His lips smother your own, moving over you with little to no grace. There’s nothing romantic or gentle about this. His fingers are digging so hard into your shirt, you’re sure you hear the seams rip. But you can’t bring yourself to care.

One of your hands goes to his hair, tugging at the roots until he’s groaning into your mouth. You rake your nails up his back roughly. He cusses against your lips, hand traveling up to your chin so he can roughly jerk you back.

He stares down at you, a silent question on his face. You’ve barely nodded before he’s descending upon you again. Lips and teeth clash borderline painfully as he lowers you onto the mat. You’re missing all the usual love and tenderness he treats you with, but you don’t care.

You want to be rough. You want to hurt him like he hurt you, make him ache for you the way you do him. You wrap your legs around his, lifting your pelvis until you have enough leverage to flip him. Your thighs straddle his waist and you grind down against the prominent bulge in his sweatpants.

He groans into your open mouth, large palms grabbing at your ass and spreading you so he can thrust between your clothed thighs. You can’t help but moan at the friction. It’s just enough to keep you on edge, he pulls back every time you think you might be close to something real building.

You rip your mouth off his. He glares up at you as you grab his hair and yank his head back. You slam his head hard enough into the mat for it to echo through the room and he growls against your grip. You grin down at him as you slowly get off him. You make a show of stripping, enjoying the way his eyes track your movements. He looks like a dog, panting and waiting for his treat.

You’re tempted to get yourself off, making him watch, and then leave him straining against his sweatpants. But you need this bad, need him to scratch the itch you can’t reach so you can finally get him out of your head. Neither of you are patient as he jerks his sweatpants down just enough for his cock to pop out.

It’s already leaking from the tip like a faucet. You kneel, straddling his waist again. You don’t have to do much to slick him up. You pump him a few times before he’s gripping your wrist and jerking your hand away. “Get up here,” he commands, voice rough as he grips your hips. You don’t even get a chance to protest before he’s flipping you over.

He grabs your thighs and wraps them around his waist. Your ass is off the ground, hovering above his lap as he lines up with your slit. You moan when the tip rubs against your clit. “Whose teasing now?” You grit out, glaring at him.

His lips curl up, that insufferable smirk on his face before he slams into you. The attitude is practically fucked out of you as he starts pumping in and out. You groan, raking your hands down his chest. He fucking moans at the pain, blood blooming under your nails and immediately closing the further down you go.

Neither of you are giving up this fight, you don’t want to lose, not even while you’re fucking. He pulls out of you and flips you over so fast you don’t even have time to whine. He’s back in you before you can blink, hips slapping into you in a way that you know is going to leave bruises tomorrow. You’re not going to be able to sit for a week and he knows it. His hands are groping at the skin of your ass, pulling you apart and watching the skin ripple as he fucks into you.

You’re not going to last long. You’ve been too desperate, too pent up while you’ve been pissed off at him. He leans over you, draping himself across you lazily. You groan at the added weight, it only adds to the sensation, only makes you want him deeper inside you. “Thought you didn’t want me anymore, sweetheart.” He whispers in your ear and you flutter around him as his hand snakes around your waist, rubbing tight circles on your clit.

You open your mouth but all that comes out is disjointed moans. You know there’s something sarcastic in there, and he must know too because he laughs at your pathetic mumbled sentence. “I don’t know,” he leans back and watches as he makes room for himself inside you. “Seem to need me real bad now.”

Your nails dig into the mat, energy leaking through your fingertips and warming up the canvas beneath you. You can feel it fluctuating, fighting against the cuffs the closer he brings you to the edge. “Fuck you,” the words escape you at a particularly deep thrust and you struggle to keep your eyes open.

He pauses and you nearly cry at the loss of movement. “Sorry, couldn’t hear you. What’d you say? Stop?”

You glare over your shoulder at him “Don’t you fucking dare, Logan.” You let your power push up against his back, forcing his hips to move again. He chuckles at the move, fingers creating figure eights on your nub.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” he protests, voice innocent. “Ah, fuck,” his voice is nothing more than low grunts and groans in your ear the closer the both of you get to your release. You can’t speak anymore, can’t think. You can feel it cresting higher and higher inside you.

Your abilities are rising with your release. They’re pushing against the cuffs, fighting desperately against the control the foreign metal has on your powers. You can feel it, heat building up under your skin, like a tingling on the tip of your tongue that you just can’t reach. It’s Logan’s release that finally tips you over the edge.

The way his breath catches and his hips stutter in their perfect rhythm as warmth floods you from the inside out. You can feel it, him, dribbling down your thighs and staining the mat beneath you. It has you clenching around him, pushing your hips back weakly while you let the feeling overwhelm you. You nearly black out. Two weeks without him hadn’t felt long until you remembered what you were missing.

You lose your sense of time, dropping to the mat like your bones have gone liquid, dripping out of you. You can feel Logan draped over you still, his weight a comforting blanket that nearly has you drifting to sleep. Naked, in the middle of the boxing ring. He pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss.

He shushes you, rubbing a hand up your spine and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your temple. He wraps his arms around you, laying down and pulling you back into his chest. It takes a few minutes of quiet cuddling for you to remember what exactly led you down to the gym in the first place.

You feel disgusted with yourself for giving in to him so easily. It’s clear what his plan had been. And you’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. You’d barely even fought against him. Of course, you could reason that you needed to get the tension out. This was the perfect way to funnel out your built-up energy.

But you’re disgusted with yourself for giving in to him so easily. You just disregarded dignity and self-respect for a chance to get him between your legs. You were such a fucking idiot. No wonder this is all he wanted you for.

“Shit,” you mutter, trying to pull yourself out of his grip. Your eyes widen as his arms tighten around your waist. He tugs you back down until he’s got you in what essentially feels like a headlock. He could easily pass it off as spooning, but it feels a little more demanding than that. “Logan,” you warn, the silent peace of the moment officially shattered.

“Don’t,” he gripes. You can fight against him for as long as you want, but you’ll only tire yourself out. His arms are literally metal bands around you. “Let me talk and then you can run off.” You huff and wait, but he never speaks. Finally, you look over your shoulder and glare at him. “Well?”

You roll your eyes, “Fuck’s sake,” you mutter. “Alright, speak.”

You can feel his grin against the back of your head. If he didn’t have you in such a tight grip, you’d elbow him in the gut just to be petty. “I made a mistake,” you scoff and he keeps going. Stopping you from interrupting him with something bitchy. “You weren’t just something convenient to me, sweetheart.” he pauses and chuckles, “You’re a huge fucking pain in my ass.”

“Is this your idea of an apology?” You snap, “Because this is pathetic.”

He doesn’t say anything and you’re tempted to snark at him again. But then the world is flipped on its side as he jerks you around and forces you to face him. Your chests rub together, the sweaty skin sticking together and bordering on uncomfortable. “You ever shut up?” He asks, but there’s no heat to the words. If anything he looks fond of you, and it makes you shift around, trying not to look him in the eye. But there’s nowhere for you to hide, you’re both naked and bare before each other.

You’re as physically vulnerable as he must feel emotionally. And as much as this is a horrible way to display how he’s feeling, you’re starting to understand him a little better. You know why this conversation is so hard for him, why he can’t accept that someone truly loves him and he loves her back.

But that’s not going to get him out of it. He’s still yet to say the words. Maybe if he manned up and said something real you’d consider forgiving him. You give him an expectant look and he sighs, forehead pressed against yours as he slumps over you. You want to pretend you’re annoyed at the contact, but you’ve been craving it since you ran away two weeks ago.

You’ve been desperate for this warmth that only he can provide you. Without realizing it, you nuzzle further into his chest, hands drifting up to wrap around his bare waist. Logan feels the tightness in him ease slightly at the way you curl into him. He’s got a shot, even if you try and tell him he doesn’t.

It’s silent for a while, while you linger in the emotions of what just happened and he tries to find the right words. He leans down, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and smiling against the shell of your ear. “I love you,” he whispers.

You’d told yourself you’d only consider forgiving him if he said those words. But that’s only because you’d never thought he would actually say it. You didn’t think he was capable of admitting that to himself. It seems so out of character for him. But, maybe, you don’t know him as well as you thought you did.

He pulls back, hand landing on your jaw and gently guiding your head out of his neck. He gives you an expectant look but you’re finding it hard to meet his eyes. You’ve been waiting for him to say that, but now it feels like you can’t. You’re still struggling to forgive him. He put you through so much unnecessary hurt just because he couldn’t face his own feelings.

And now you’re struggling to do the same. “I want to say it back,” you tell him. “But how am I supposed to trust that the next time things get hard, you won’t lash out again?”

He frowns, an irritated huff of breath shooting out his nose. But you know it’s frustration towards himself. For letting you both get to this point because he couldn’t just say three words. “I’ll wait,” he promises. “For as long as it takes, I’ll wait.”

You smile and nod, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his neck. You’re sure you’ll be saying it sooner rather than later. But what’s the harm in making him squirm a little? He deserves it.

A/N: I don’t write smut, it’s literally in my rules. I think I stared at a gif of him for too long and some horny ass demon possessed me and made me write this. Forgive me, universe, I’m no better than a man.

#Wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x you #x men #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #smut #ohmygod #i can’t believe i wrote this #Someone sedate me #im just a girl #i cant be blamed LOOK AT HIM #he's actually older than every adult man in my life #can you tell i need therapy

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