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moonlight-prose · 2 days

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RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 07. BENEATH THE STAINS OF TIME

a/n: wow i stalled on writing this chapter until the last minute. i think i really just didn't want to put them through this, but also i love the angst so it's an internal war i fought with myself. this is the pinnacle of the entire series. the one thing i plotted when i first came up with the story. so grab your tissues, a blanket, and a comfort fic for afterwards. because i am sorry for what's about to happen.

summary: he never liked the variant from your universe; the be all end all hero. but in the depths of anger and pain, logan howlett is forced to make a choice his variant self once made. save your soul and the people you might harm...or save the you he loves.

word count: 9.5k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: DARK THEMES AHEAD BE WARNED, angst, pain, ptsd, talk of drowning, insanity, tw: torture, tw: blood, tw: death, grief, violence, wade wilson breaking the fourth wall, deadpool & wolverine energy, laura kinney has enetered the chat y'all, father daughter bonding, wade wilson's commentary, sacrifice, time.

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He couldn't breathe.

Logan had been underwater before, felt the press of the ocean against his chest and struggled for oxygen. Battling for breath, no matter how small. He understood what it felt like to drown—sink to the bottom and never get up. His adamantium skeleton had been the cause of him drowning far too many times in his life; until he'd grown accustomed to the sensation of fighting for air.

This felt magnified. As if he'd been at the bottom of the Atlantic—straight down the Mariana Trench—for centuries.

Was this how it felt to be buried alive? To find yourself in a grave six feet deep with no way of clawing to the surface.

He never thought he'd understand the sensation that kept him up at night; the prospect of death was too little a threat for him to actually worry about. Unimportant to a man who had spent two centuries of his life barely finding any meaning to it. After all, what was the fucking point when he wound up right back here. In the shallow end of his grave, waiting to lay down and exhale his final breath.

Time fell back into place the moment you left. Fortuna. Someone he never thought would find him here; now brought him to his knees with one simple act.

There was misery in love. He knew this the moment he fell in his own universe. He understood the cost of what might come from you using your powers without restrictions; what Charles told you. Yet he fell anyway. He allowed his heart to open up and give you leeway into the broken pieces of his mind—a part of himself he chose to ignore.

He should have fucking known better than to repeat history here.

He should have ignored the strings that bound his heart to yours and left you alone.

He should have, he should have, he should have...

But he didn't.

Now he bore the brunt of consequences he knew would one day show up.

Your apartment door slammed open, nearly getting torn off the hinges as a familiar echo of heavy boots thumped across the hardwood floor. He felt his spine tense where he still knelt—hands clutching the pieces of your shattered mug. Fortuna wouldn't be returning. He knew her tricks, knew her endgame, and coming back to the scene of disaster was never her forte.

The scent of vanilla and Ambrose filled his senses, stinging his nose, as a familiar dark browned girl rushed to his aid. A backpack hit the ground, sunglasses discarded on the counter, as his variant's daughter clutched his hands in hers. He couldn't bring himself to look at her. Not when he broke right there in a place that held such happiness.

She seemed to understand. Peeling the porcelain out of his palms and placing it back on the table; finding what other shards she could to put them all together. The silence felt safe. Familiar.

Logan found himself suddenly thankful for the variant that once existed in her world. She could see the cues before they even washed across his face; the bitter grief that her father once went through. He knew from when he met her in the Void, he couldn't be that person for her. But when she looked at him like that—a daughter willing to fight alongside her father—he hoped that maybe...he could.

"Althea called me," she said softly, hands wrapped around his wrists. "Whoever she is attacked Wade's place first."

His head rose, anger trickling in his chest as Laura's brown eyes mirrored his own. "She's..."

"I know," she muttered, pulling him to his feet. "Wade filled me in."

"Is he-"

"Takes a lot more than that to kill a Deadpool." She grimly kicked shattered glass to the side, shoving it to a corner as he staggered to his full height. He wore a neutral expression—somber even. But Laura could see the pain in his eyes; an exact replica of the older man she once clung to as a child—begging him to live for her sake. "He sounded pissed. Althea hung up before he could fill me in on the gory details."

"Fortuna," he sighed, eyes fixed on the demolished window. He'd have to help you fix it after all was said and done—after he apologized for dragging you into a mess that was never meant to touch you. "She found me."

Laura's nose scrunched, brows furrowed. "You're ex? I thought she could control time, not...multiverses."

"Charles's theory was that she wasn't exactly controlling time. More like what made up the universe as a whole."

She nodded. "Time included."

"Time included," he repeated. "I didn't think she'd...get this bad."

"You left her behind," she stated, rummaging in your fridge for something to drink. "I guess a part of me can understand her anger."

He knew she wasn't talking about him, but rather the man she once looked up to. Nonetheless the words still stung the same.

In a different world Logan could picture her here on nights not spent at the mansion studying and training. He could see you bonding with Laura—teaching her the history of the X-Men. Showing her the love of a mother she never had.

The image punched him in the chest until his breath became nonexistent and suddenly...he was drowning again. A choked noise echoed in the back of his throat. Laura's head snapped in his direction with concern etched across her face. Any other day he'd loathe that look, but tonight he couldn't dig his way out fast enough to care.

The soda can she tossed his way nearly smacked him in the head; effectively snapping him out of whatever fucking stupor his own mind was intent on trapping him in. He caught it, breath rushing back to his lungs, and gulped down the shitty sugary crap his own kid loved.

"That's fuckin' disgusting," he bit out, watching her smile into her own can.

"I like it."

He winced as the taste hit the back of his throat. "You're a kid. You'll grow out of it."

"You've said that before Dad. And I'm not a kid-" She tensed as the word left her mouth. The title that was never meant to fall upon his shoulders; never supposed to tie him to another person.

Something hesitant flashed in her eyes, mouth now a thin line as she waited for his inevitable reaction to her slip up. The words he uttered beside the fire no doubt on the tip of his tongue: Whoever you think I am...you got the wrong guy. But standing there, watching his kid hold hope in her eyes that he might say something different this time, made him finally understand what the fucking point was.

He didn't want to be the wrong guy.

He just wanted to be what she needed. What you needed.

"No," he sighed, lips curling into a smile that said enough. You can call me Dad. You can give me that responsibility and know I'll fight like hell to make sure I live up to his legacy. "I guess you're not."

They allowed the silence to sit in their chest for a brief moment. A moment of understanding passed in their grim smiles that held so much more. He'd tell it all to her one day. How he once longed for a life exactly like this, for a kid of his own. How he never believed himself worthy of the title Dad. How he'd lay down his entire being if she asked it of him.

Today though, they shed the titles of father and daughter and donned one they knew all too well. Wolverine. Ironic that the one thing he loathed would one day be given to a girl who wielded it with pride.

"What are you gonna do?" she asked, pushing off the counter and reaching for her bag.

"Find her."

"And when you do?"

His heart paused as the realization of what was to come began to reenter his mind. Fortuna had you captive, dangling you on a string in the hopes he would latch on to rescue the person who held his heart. Logan felt the urge to leap. Save you from the clutches of someone willing to kill you just to bring him unimaginable pain.

To get even for what he couldn't do that night.

But he also knew...Fortuna didn't deserve what happened. The humans destroyed what the X-Men built. They were the cause of everything that occurred since he left. He couldn't let their trauma bring down the woman he once loved. Even if she was so adamant on watching him give over his life for a version of her not yet broken by unimaginable pain.

"I don't fuckin' know," he admitted.

She took another sip, crushed the can in her palm and tossed it to the bin in the corner of your kitchen. "Wade's gonna want to speak to you. Find out what happened here."

He nodded. "You got everythin'?"

"I'm set."

"You know you don't have to do this kid. It's not your fight."

Her eyes narrowed, the firm set of her mouth so much like his own. She was a fucking mirror he never thought he'd have; showing him pieces of himself he once thought too ugly to be seen. Yet they were the reason she shined so bright. He could see the stubbornness ingrained into her very own DNA. A testament to his own unwillingness to let things go; to take on the battle for someone else as long as they didn't get hurt.

So much like him. So identical.

He felt a streak of fear run down his spine at that thought alone. She'd have to suffer for it. Just as he did. But goddammit if he wasn't going to do everything in his power to save her from the pain of bearing the title Wolverine.

"You love her," she stated plainly, as if nothing else mattered in this world but those three words. "Which means she's my family. We protect our own."

She didn't give him a chance to respond, scooping up her sunglasses and propping them on her nose with a huff. Maybe she didn't notice how he stood there, eyes wide as something pricked his heart. Maybe she ignored it for his sake—so uncomfortable with being vulnerable like him. But either way he couldn't deny the fact that stared right at him in big shiny letters.

She was his daughter. Through and through.

"She took my arms!" Wade's voice echoed down the hallway, giving Logan pause as Laura took the lead. "Do you know how petty that is? When I find that Scarlet Witch carbon copy I'm gonna shove my katana down her throat as I dance to dub-step-"

"Hi Wade," Laura said, cutting him off from what was about to be an impressive rant.

He spun, baby arms swinging limply at his side. "Oh good. The clone of the man I actually need. Tell me, did you find your father cause mommy has to speak to him."

Logan took that chance to follow her through the open door. His eyes took in the destruction of a once nice living room. Burn marks stretched from floor to ceiling in multiple places where Fortuna's whip had made contact. He spotted two limbs in a pile by the couch, blood pooling on the carpet as Wade steamed with enough fury to sharpen his senses.

She’d come here first looking for him. Which means she somehow knew exactly where to find him.

"Peanut!" he shouted, eyes narrowed and baby fists clenched. "Did you have a nice morning? Get some good head? Because I was attacked by the long lost daughter of Princess Diana."

Laura's head cocked to the side, brows furrowed. "Diana Prince."

"Whatever!"

"Wade." His greeting could have been better. Though he was never one for handing out sympathy to the nearest victim.

Wade ceremoniously collapsed to the floor on his back, thumping his head against the carpet as Logan stepped further into the room. The window was ripped clean out of the wall, glass scattered everywhere which showed how Fortuna found out about her variant self. Logan could practically see the fight happen in the present time.

It made his stomach sour—his heart a rapid beat against his chest.

"How long will it take for those to finish?" He gestured to the arms that currently pointed two middle fingers in his direction.

"Couple hours. Why do you ask? Want a handy?"

"Ew," Laura sighed. "I'm gonna find some food. Want anything?" When Logan shook his head, she quickly dipped back out into the hallway, leaving him to deal with the wallowing lump on the floor.

He sighed, stepped over Wade and grabbed him. "Alright c'mon."

"I'm half the man I used to be. Literally. She took the only good thing I had until Ness got back." The limp wave of small hands in his face had Logan cringing back.

"So she came here first then."

Wade barked out a laugh. "Oh you mean your ex? Sabrina the teenage BITCH!"

Logan huffed, dragged him to the couch that had long chunks ripped out of the fabric. "She's a lot older than you think mouth."

"Sorry my bad. We didn't exchange your preferred blowjob tips and trade secrets about you when she was cutting off my arms!" The roll of his eyes was involuntary, barely there, but Wade latched onto it like a dog with a bone. "Did you just-"

He turned his head, exasperation bleeding into the air. "Did he just roll his eyes at me?"

The room went still as the gears in Logan's head began to turn. The fear was now palpable enough for Wade to figure out exactly what was happening. He sat up straight, gaze latched onto the apartment across the street. The wall gaped like a wound, leaving a trail of ghastliness in its wake. Wade was surprised to see minimal bloodshed, merely the path of destruction left by a being with too much power, but the inkling of you in pain made his stomach churn.

The amount of information he extracted out of Fortuna was slim to none, but it didn't take a genius to figure out what she went after once she was done wreaking havoc in his home.

"Logan," he started, anger trickling into his heart. "Where is sweet angel?"

He sagged into the couch—grief cutting into his chest as images of your smiling face plagued his mind. No answer would have been good enough to explain what happened. His face stricken with despair—the way he clutched his hands into fists on his knees—told Wade everything he needed to know.

Fortuna wasn't here to only kill Logan. Why dismantle one life when she could bring an end to the memory of Logan Howlett in this universe too? She'd take all of them down with her if it meant enacting her revenge.

Starting with you.

"No," he breathed.

"I don't know where they would have-" He bit down on the inside of his cheek until copper burst on his tongue. "Where they'd be."

The longer he sat there, the more he felt himself sink into the despondent pit in his mind. Yet no matter how he struggled to claw at the ground, it continued to drag him in earnest. The sharp peal of laughter—of taunting words that set his teeth on edge—mimicked the sound of Fortuna.

He wanted to scream, but who would be there to listen? Who would be there to drag him from the darkness now that you were gone?

A bag was tossed to the couch, barely breaking through the murkiness in his own mind. Laura dragged the only working chair in the kitchen closer to the couch. The snap and hiss of a Coke being opened filled the dire silence. Giving Logan something to latch onto. He might tell her one day how being near her settled the raging storm in his head; the calm he could never quite acquire somehow flowing through her with ease.

He had people to help him find you; people who cared for your well being.

People who would die to bring you home.

There would be no end for them where you weren't safe. Where they didn't offer themselves up on your behalf. You were the best of them. It certainly wasn’t your fault you fell in love with a man too twisted and mangled by pain to offer you even the illusion of peace.

"I know someone who might be able to help," she said, chewing thoughtfully on a granola bar. "You may not like it."

Wade's sigh was deafening, his body flopping back onto the couch with a groan. "We are not dragging McAvoy into this. Not when Stewart is better drama wise."

She took another bite, distant gaze stuck to a busted picture frame of Wade and Vanessa on an anniversary of some sorts. Wade wore red, Vanessa wore black. They resembled a couple others might look up to. Logan used to stare at it often in his fitful nights of sleep. More so when you wandered into his life; thoughts of a future tantalizingly close to the tips of his fingers.

He wanted that with you. A life worth more than every battle he fought, every scar that didn't stick. All the fucked up things he did evaporated like steam floating off water the second he met your eyes.

You and your honey-like smile; your hand a soft yet sturdy grip in his.

"Is your universe similar to this one?" Laura inquired, back in the moment as her mind reeled with possibilities.

"Somewhat."

"In what way?"

"Places and people still exist. It's pieces of time that are different. History isn't the same here." He could recall you begging him to explain his past. What wars he fought in, what happened for him to get to this point. Yet whatever you recorded wouldn't match the history books housed in your library.

Laura nodded, downing the last of her soda. "So places. Anywhere special she might have gone that might mean something to you?"

His mind fell to the one place even he couldn’t approach. The space that housed so many memories—so much agony. But going back there would mean facing the other X-Men and Fortuna wasn't stupid enough to risk falling into that trap.

"The mansion is too risky."

He thought back to your shared room. The walls that once flickered blue with Fortuna's power as he held her through the nightmares. He thought of a small two story farmhouse that sat on the outskirts of the property line. A home Charles offered. One he intended to rebuild with the promise of holding onto a love so permanent.

His heart dropped, laying in the base of his stomach like a stone he never intended to swallow. "I know where they are."

Wade perked up, arms an inch longer than before. "Mind sharing with the class peanut?"

Logan couldn't hear him over the noise in his head; the knowledge that Fortuna would pull such a heinous act of revenge. Taking you to the place he promised her. It made for the perfect ending to her already tragic story. Logan wasn't sure if he wanted to rip his claws into the couch below, or charge out the door with no plan.

He settled for heading to the hall closet, yanking the door open with more force than intended. It slammed against the wall as he tugged free a black unlabeled duffle bag from the top shelf. After the battle to save Wade's universe, he didn't think he would need this old yellow suit anymore. At the time he was tempted to throw it out and forget it existed.

He eventually came to his senses.

Salvaging what he could and rebuilding small pieces in case the time came formed an amalgamation of what once resembled an X-Men suit. His fingers traced the silver X attached to the belt. The symbol that once held so much hope. Fortuna wore the same. A tie that kept them forever bound; forever each other's equal even in a different universe.

"You're going after her," Laura said.

"Of course he is." Wade stumbled to his feet. "We're finally getting that family road trip."

"Would now be the wrong time to say Avenger's Assemble? Or should we wait for the third act battle sequence?"

Logan felt the gaping maw of his heart grow the longer you were apart from him. An itch formed beneath his skin. The source was indeterminable but he knew what caused it to start. His entire being called out to you, begged you to survive until he managed to carry you to safety. Yet the biting horror of reality began to settle like a frozen chill in his veins.

What if he finally destroyed the only good thing about his life?

What if he was too late?

What if...you didn't survive?

You couldn't differentiate night from day anymore. After the first two hours, you were left with a stabbing pain in the side of your head—turning your vision blurry. After what felt like five or six (or perhaps eight) you gave up on trying to keep count. The veins were prominent against your hands as blood steadily dripped to the floor.

A pool of crimson agony that you could practically see yourself in.

If you opened your eyes, would you see the broken parts of a soul she seemed intent on dragging out? Would they match hers? The sound of her gravel lilted voice murmured in the corner of the room where she waited. A stoic figure of patience. Seeking penance for the harm caused to someone so innocent.

You both knew this was a fight meant for Logan. You knew only one of them walked away from whatever age old hatred still burned bright enough to burn the skin off your body.

That didn't stop you from wishing you could shoulder the burden for him. The words collateral damage didn't mean anything to you before. Merely things spouted to harm your already vulnerable and emotional state. But the longer you gave them time to sink in, the more you accepted her veracity. You would cease to exist one way or another come tomorrow morning.

This was the ugly undeniable truth.

The one thing Logan could not save you from.

"I know you're awake."

Fear curled around your heart like a fist as your eyes cracked open sluggishly—triggering a dull pain in your skull. The ability to speak was stripped from you after an hour of screaming. The hoarse echo of your voice sent a throbbing knife down your throat you chose to ignore.

So you stared at her; watched while she paced the floor in front of you—blue rolling off of her like waves from the ocean.

"He's gonna come for you," she muttered more to herself. "He'll show up."

You groaned and watched her stiffen—milky eyes flashing cerulean. The burn of the rope on your skin counteracted the searing ache in your torso. Her whip hung around her waist—coated in a dried layer of your blood. The sight sent bile up your throat even though your stomach remained empty. She stared at you as if you were someone else entirely; someone from a past life you'd never know about.

The need to inquire—to know more—began to build under your skin. But your body would no longer respond to what you wanted. The depletion of your energy affected more than your ability to speak; it tore at what little movement you had, ripping everything to shreds on the inside. You knew you looked half dead—felt like it too—but she could see the slight twitch of your mouth almost ready to open.

"Charles would have liked you," she revealed as if it were a small secret meant to be kept between the two of you. "He always had an affinity for those interested in mutant powers."

Sucking in a breath, you managed to force your voice to work. "I-I know the history."

"I bet you would." She glanced at the window where dusk crept into the late afternoon sky; brilliant hues of orange and red mimicking the pain in your body. "I didn't think I'd exist in this universe."

"You don't," you croaked. "I'm not a mutant."

Her lips curled, a small laugh exhaling from her mouth. "Yeah. I guess you're not. Maybe that's what he likes about you."

Logan's face seeped into the back of your mind; the tender smile he wore when you woke up together. The hope in his eyes that this might remain a consistent part of his life. That he may have lucked out on the prospect of getting to have you for as long as you chose to keep him.

Suddenly that part of your life felt a million miles away. Just barely out of reach, growing further in distance the harder you tried to capture it.

"I-I'm you," you mumbled, head tipping to the side. "That's why."

"No. You're not me." She regarded you with a look of pity, lips down turned in a mock pout. Ire burned in your chest with the embers of a flame lit by Logan. "You're weak."

You huffed, digging your nails into your palms to divert your attention from the pain. "I survived you."

The slap that whipped across your face was unexpected. You cried out—head falling back against the chair—as she stood over you. Power emanating from her stance. This wasn't someone to toy with. You could see how she craved to rip your tongue from your mouth; the need to silence her variant crawling beneath her skin.

But something held her back from approaching that final line.

Something scared her.

"You won't die if you do it," you wheezed, struggling to breath through a nose so clotted with dried blood. "That's not how this works."

She sneered. "And you're smart enough to know how all of this works."

"So it seems."

Her fingers gripped your wrist, nails boring into your already sliced open skin, as she leaned over you. "The Logan in this universe is dead." You stuttered out a halfhearted breath; body ringing with a plea to stop. To put an end to this fucking torture. "How did he die?"

You winced, leveling her glare with one of your own. "He sacrificed himself."

"You're fucking with me," she laughed, the sound shrill and hoarse.

Neither of you heard the creak behind her. You could barely register anything other than the rush of blood that pounded against your eardrums. She seemed to be enjoying how your body slowly deteriorated beneath the strain of the pain. Far too distracted to notice the person creeping into the house—sunglasses on her face—claws extended in a stance of defense.

"Who garnered enough fucking attention from Logan Howlett for him to sacrifice himself?" she jeered.

"His daughter."

Fortuna spun whip in hand, as a young woman stood mere feet away. Her head was cocked in interest as if she'd never quite seen two identical people in the same room. You knew her name the second your eyes locked on her form. The same dark hair, same grim tight lipped frown. The same silver claws and stubborn streak.

The sight of Laura Kinney took your breath away.

She stood before you every bit the girl that Logan made her out to be as he spoke about her in shared conversations at your kitchen table. You could see the mirror image of her father in each expression, each small twitch of her body that prepared to fight. And something flared to life in your chest.

You were angry that Fortuna was about to hurt her. Logan's daughter was ready to put her life on the line to rescue someone she'd never met before.

A missing detail which didn't appear to matter to her. Logan loved you. That was certainly enough for her.

Fortuna gaped at her—astounded by the familiar details and hints that Laura was indeed telling the truth. Not only had Logan Howlett died in this world, but he left behind a legacy that would live on for him. He saved the only important thing in his life so she could one day do the same for the version of her father who would stay.

"He's here isn't he?" she asked calmer than you expected. The whip snapped to the ground. You flinched at the sound. A fact that Laura clocked within seconds—her head tilted in your direction.

Though you couldn't see her eyes behind the pink sunglasses, you knew that fury burned in them as they would her father's.

"He sends his regards." Laura's fingers curled into fists.

"A child," she spit. "He sent a child to do his bidding?"

She shrugged, lips curling into a false grin. "Don't worry. I'm more than capable of killing you."

You felt pride flicker in your heart as Logan's cocksureness bled through her words. Where Laura went, Logan wasn't too far behind. You pulled at the restraints, the burn of ropes dragging along open wounds, but you refused to let Laura do this on her own. It seemed that the both of you had turned to the same page—her head nodding in your direction subtly.

"Well." Fortuna stepped forward, sapphire pouring off her body. "I suppose Logan's legacy won't last long in this universe."

Laura charged forward with a scream, claws slicing at Fortuna's middle only for the whip to wrap itself around her arm. With a shout, Fortuna flung her to the side—watching with an unhinged smile as Laura hit the wall hard enough to make you wince. You tugged at the rope—a hoarse cry ripping from your throat when a boot slammed into the legs of the chair.

"Don't tell me you're ready to leave," she shouted. "We were bonding."

"Fuck you," you snapped.

"Ouch." Her hand gripped your chin, lifting you to meet her expressionless eyes. "Is that the best you can do, human?"

"No," you gasped, hand scrambling for the knife at her thigh. "This is."

It embedded in her arm, slicing open skin as she shouted in rage, stumbling back into Laura's vicinity. Claws ripped through the back of her leg, cutting open her calf, as a familiar dark head of hair slid past her, crouching in front of your chair with a roar.

"You bitch!" Fortuna tossed the blade to the side, her hand forming around the open wound.

It clattered against the floor seconds before the door burst open—a man in red bursting through and flinging yet another baby knife towards Fortuna's healing body. She ducked, whip coiling like a snake in the air, slamming down with a crack. Wade shrieked, flipping to the side and ducking behind the broken couch as the familiar click of a bullet falling into the chamber resonated in the air.

"I'd say I'll put my hands up but you'd probably tie them together huh. You kinky minx!"

You winced through the grin, Laura's eyes tracked Fortuna's movements like a predator waiting when to strike. Whatever the plan was, Logan was sure to make sure someone was on you at all times. If only to get you out of the house and into the forest safely. From there it was quick to disappear.

Wade seemed to be the distraction in this case. Fitting.

His head peeked over the couch—the whip slicing over him with a sound that pierced through you. "You die tonight Deadpool."

"You don't want me. You want my buddy right outside this house." He stood, finger pulling the trigger quicker than you expected. Only for a silver and blue whip to slice through it—the fragmented pieces of a smoking bullet hitting the floor and rolling away.

"Surrender you walking condom."

"Pump the hate brakes Wanda Maximoff." Another bullet slid into place. "Peanut junior? Would you like to take it away?"

Launching herself into the air, Laura toppled Fortuna to the side with a scream, her claws slashing to get her pound of flesh. Wade laughed, striding towards you—boot effortlessly kicking his knife up and into his hand. You’d never wanted to hug the man more.

He winced at the sight of your puffy face; your right eye was nearly swollen shut from where Fortuna decided to land her hits. A pastime she seemed to enjoy, simply to hear you scream.

You wondered if you took off the mask, would you see Wade's face bleeding with rage. Or did he too wear an expression of pity.

"Logan's gonna kill her," he muttered, crouching in front of you and sliding the knife through the ropes with ease. "I've got ya sweet angel."

"W-Where is he?" You staggered to your feet, Wade's arm wrapped tightly around your waist to keep you upright. "He can't be here. She'll kill him Wade."

He clicked his tongue, leading you to the front steps, past where Laura was busy twisting Fortuna's whip around her own neck. "He knows what's at risk, angel. Believe me. I offered to be the noble sacrifice but I played that card when it came to saving this universe and there's no take backs."

"He's gonna die," you rasped, your knees buckling as he got you over the last step. "H-He can't die."

Wade gripped your arms, settling you to the ground with a grunt. "You forget who you're fucking sweet angel. He's the Wolverine."

"But she's-"

"A toxic ex who can't seem to take no for an answer. We've all got one of those."

You huffed. "She's more than an ex."

"I know." Pulling the gun free from his thigh, he made sure you were safe before stepping back to the front stoop. "But that doesn't mean this isn't a daytime soap opera." He turned to the treeline with a sigh. "You coming, your majesty or should I roll out the red carpet?"

A glimpse of the man in question stopped your heart, the breath catching in your throat, as Logan finally stepped forth. His suit was sewn with pieces of black leather (no doubt from Wade's leftover stash), a yellow X stretched across his chest now became the sole focus. Yet that isn’t what filled your body with warmth.

This time he wore the suit with pride. A glint of determination was in his eyes that once never used to exist. He stepped forward the X-Man this world needed; ready and willing to take on the legacy of a man he once loathed. You felt your heart twist violently at the sight—love pouring into your chest faster than you could stop it.

"Honey," he breathed, rushing over—hesitation and a storm of outrage clashing together in his hazel eyes.

"I'm okay."

He huffed through his nose, hands gathering you gently in his arms. "Don't bullshit me honey."

Wade's cough was exaggerated, his hands gesturing to the doorway. Laura's shouts and the crashing of furniture being demolished spilled through the broken windows—her rage matching her father's right down to the familiar lilt of her roar. She was a fighter. Just like the man who held you as if you were glass. Your pain, now a reflection in his eyes as he took in what Fortuna did to you.

"You can't kill her. She’s too powerful," you stated.

“You’re safe.�� He didn’t seem to comprehend your words. Opting to press you close enough to feel his body heat sink into your frigid form. “That’s all that matters.”

Wade ducked down, pressing his face close to Logan's. "Yeah. I don't mean to interrupt your romantic hero kiss the girl moment. But what the fuck are we gonna do?"

"She can't keep going like this," Logan replied. "Eventually she's gonna have to tap out."

"Of course! Makes perfect sense. Mind elaborating for the audience honey badger?"

Logan sighed, his hand cupping your face with a pained noise in the back of his throat. "Her energy will run out. Same as Charles and...Jean. They couldn't keep up the fight forever."

"Okay but the whole freezing time business." He glanced to the side, shoulders lifting in a perfunctory shrug. "I know right, we really could have explained this earlier."

"Mutants are aware." Logan rose to his feet, leaving you to sit on the ground, your hand outstretched to keep him here. "We have to struggle but we can break free if she's weak enough."

"Wow." Wade sagged, a muffled groan coming through the mask. "That's just lazy writing."

You gripped Logan's hand, forcing him to step closer. "You're not going in there."

"Honey-"

"No." Gripping the stair railing, you struggled to your feet—eyes blazing with a headstrong fighting spirit Logan loved you for. "She'll kill you Logan. I can't lose you. I-I won’t."

His breath was heavy, hand curling around the back of your neck to press his forehead to yours. "You're not gonna lose me alright? Not today."

"Logan-"

Wade gripped your arm, drawing your gaze to him. "Don't worry sweet angel. He's got a bodyguard." You leveled him with a glare that would have sent him six feet under if his mutant power wasn't regeneration. "Have I ever mentioned that your eyes are the perfect shade of rage and violence. It's like a beautiful fucked lava lamp from the eighties."

You weren't sure if he was paying you a compliment or trying to lighten the mood. Logan sighed against your cheek, disappointment practically bleeding through his words.

"Seventies Wade."

"He would know. He's from 753 B.D." He turned. "Before Deadpool."

"A.D.," you spit, fighting the hint of a grin that threatened to bloom across your face.

"Not in this universe."

A shout tore through the small sliver of peace as Laura was thrown from the house, landing in a bloodied heap on the grass. Mere seconds passed before she was flipping to her feet again, claws extended and glasses forgotten about in the dirt. You wondered if the surge of warmth in your chest was pride or something else entirely.

Perhaps one day you'd get the chance to figure it out.

"Time to go do what heroes do," Wade said, nudging Logan as Fortuna floated through the open doorway, landing mere feet away from where you stood.

"Wolverine," she crooned, her boots a steady thump against the wooden porch. "Come to rescue the human I see."

Logan gripped your waist, moving you away from the house with quick steps. You clawed at his back to get him to stop. To keep him from leaving you behind. But Laura's hands on your shoulders forced you to remain calm—to remain on the edge of the property and watch as the man your heart screamed for walked away.

"Logan!" you shouted, fighting against the girl's hold, but the wasted energy was all for naught. There was no breaking away from a determined Wolverine.

He rejoined Wade with a darkened grimace. His claws ripping through the flesh of his knuckles as Wade pulled free the katanas strapped to his back. Your voice shouting his name set his entire body on edge; the urge to go to you, comfort the panic that filled your veins, nearly breaking his spirit.

But this was not your war and Logan would go down fighting before he let another person he loved fall into the hands of death.

"Alright," Wade grunted, cracking his neck. "Maximum effort."

Fortuna's whip snapped in the air, slicing a gaping hole in time as Logan and Wade charged. She leapt forward, boot pushing off the railing and toppling into them with a shout—a stolen knife carving into Logan's shoulder. He shoved her off, claws swiping for her neck, teeth bared in a snarl.

She ducked, foot slamming into Wade's stomach, rupturing the surrounding area with a blast that sent Logan sliding back into the dirt. He grunted, claws burying into the soil as Wade reached for his guns. A single katana forgotten on the ground.

"Pathetic," she sneered.

"Look who's talking McFly." Wade fired off three rounds, watching her roll to avoid the bullets, her hands crushing the dead grass beneath her.

She pointed to Wade. "You're first."

He laughed. "Bring it on you witch bitch."

Fortuna scoffed, glancing at Logan. "Does he ever shut the fuck up."

"Ha! Good luck with that. I can go on forever."

The whip unraveled from her wrist, rapidly slicing towards Wade—wrapping around his arm in a dramatic rendition of what already happened. This time he was prepared. Sprinting towards Logan, he rolled to the side as claws dragged down your arm. Opening a wound in her arm; blood pouring down her skin, dripping onto the grass.

“Fuck!” she snapped, knife lodging into Wade’s back as she leapt towards Logan.

His knee met her stomach, slamming her a few feet back until she landed on the ground. A groan reverberating in her chest.

Time flickered, punching them in the chest as they fought to move. Air rushed to his lungs as she stumbled to her feet—time falling back into place. Wade grabbed the second gun strapped to his thigh with a huff. The shot went off, the bullet finding its mark in Fortuna's wounded arm.

She screamed, falling to one knee—waves of blue pouring into the ground, forming a bubble of safety. She plucked at the fabrics of the universe, pulling them towards her as Wade pulled the trigger until the mag was empty. A pile of bullets by her body now trapped in light.

"Fuck!" Wade tossed his gun to the side.

Logan turned to see Laura holding you back, your face stricken in fear as you watched them battle it out. It was a struggle to have you here. To keep himself sane. He longed for you to be you close. What he wouldn’t give to take you away from all of this carnage. But you weren't safe as long as Fortuna was around.

She would always be a step behind, ready to chase him to the ends of this universe simply to watch him burn. He knew what he had to do. But the cost of making that choice weighed heavy on his chest—choking the very breath from his lungs. Wade could see it clear as day even as Fortuna began to build enough strength to keep herself going—to pull one final move.

With a shout, she swung her arms out, forcing enough energy their way to fling them into the air. Logan watched as spots began to form on his skin—time ripping away the very makeup of his DNA as she swung her whip in the air. It latched to his waist, dragging him forward until he was on his knees—body struggling to heal from something so unknown.

"Is she worth it?" she sneered, fingers curling into his hair to maneuver his head to keep his eyes on you. The struggle you put up to free yourself from Laura's grasp. "I'm going to kill her next Logan."

"No." He pushed against the vice of your whip, eyes latching onto the white streak hidden in your hair. A sign of what Fortuna had already started.

"I'll age her day by day, year by year, until she's dust."

"NO!"

She laughed, her lips brushing his cheek. "And you? You will have to live without her."

Tears stung his eyes when you finally managed to slip through Laura's hold, legs trembling as you forced your body to sprint his way. The sight of Logan's hair graying, wrinkles carving across his skin, brought you to the edge of your sanity. It ripped at your chest until blood poured from your heart. Staining the ground beneath you.

You couldn't lose him; you didn't know how to breathe without him. And you refused to watch him die from the sins of his past; actions he did not commit.

"Wait!" Laura shouted, running after you as Wade staggered to his feet.

"Angel!"

There was no thought process to your actions, no sense why you did what you did. All you could think about—all that filled your heart with dread—was the knowledge that Logan wouldn't survive this. He wouldn't be there to love you, give you the future you desperately ached for. He would never know you loved him.

That alone drove you forward with a pained cry.

Flinging yourself onto Fortuna, you sent the both of you flying a few feet away as Wade and Laura ran to rip her off you. But time stopped. Every sound stilled, and they were forced to stand and watch as Fortuna straddled your waist—her hands reaching for your throat.

"What do you have huh?" she snarled. "What the fuck do you have that I don't?"

"Please!" You punched her wherever you could reach, desperate to get her off of you. "He-"

"He what?"

"He wouldn't want you to do this Fortuna."

She laughed, manic enough to chill your heart with fear. "Who Logan? You think I fucking care? I would kill him in a-"

"CHARLES!" She froze, eyes flashing sapphire as her grip loosened. Giving you a chance to suck in air. "H-He loved you. Logan told me."

"Charles," she mumbled—a glimpse of your shared original color of her eyes coming through the expanse of white. "He's..."

"Dead." You gasped, turning to see three people you'd die for struggling against time—their bodies battling the power of someone far too corrupt. Someone who forgot where they came from; who their home was. "Your family...my family...they wouldn't want you to become this. P-Please. Charles, Jean, Storm. They didn’t want this for you."

She turned, gaze softening. "You would die for them."

Hot tears burned your frigid skin—falling down your temples and into your hair. "I would."

Stuttering out a breath, she fixed you with a gaze of someone you might have recognized in the mirror. A woman so broken by what time did to her. What the humans caused all because of her DNA. You wanted to promise that life might have turned out different if Logan stayed; that she would be safe. But even you knew it would be a lie.

There would be no saving her from the one thing that created her.

Time.

Leaning down, she pressed her forehead to yours—defeat curving around her shoulders, weighing heavy against her heart.

"Tell him I'm sorry," she murmured.

Pain detonated under your skin before you could open your mouth to respond, forcing your body to convulse in her tight grip. Scarred hands pressed tightly to your face, pinning you to the ground as her whip latched around your chest. Logan's roar became a distant buzzing sound that surrounded you as blue washed over your twisted bodies.

Her brows furrowed, eyes bleeding white as her iris began to form once more—the long lost color that matched your own gaze.

A mirror you wanted to shatter. Damn the bad luck that might befall you; this remained too agonizing to endure.

Her lips pressed to your ear, the pain ebbing from your veins with each pulsing wave. You clawed at her wrists, nails slicing through calloused skin as a scream erupted from the depths of your chest. Piercing the air and slamming directly into three chests.

People who were ripping at the ground to get to you—pulling their bodies across dirt as the curse of time began to lift from the air.

"Do better than me," she whispered, the hot drip of her tears mixing with your own.

Someone yanked her off of you, hurling her to the side with a familiar rumbled growl. You gasped for air, dragging your half limp body away from where Logan stood over her—claws a silver shine emanating with a promise.

"No!" Laura and Wade's hands clamped on your shoulders—keeping you at a safe enough distance. This time refusing to give you any leniency in your movements.

Logan lowered himself to one knee, chest heaving with stunted breaths as Fortuna lay before him—eyes wide with fear. He knew you were behind him. He could feel the burn of your gaze. But all the pain Fortuna caused began to splinter at what little mercy he might have held onto. Yet still the familiar fist of grief wrapped around his heart, reminding him of who Fortuna was.

The woman he once loved.

The woman he couldn't save.

"P-Please," she sighed, hand gripping onto his wrist, tugging his claws against her chest. "Before I hurt you Logan. Before I hurt her."

"I-" He squeezed his eyes shut to the sight of a you so broken—so defeated. "I'm sorry."

She grinned, eyes clear for the first time—weightless after such suffering. "It’s okay. I-I’ll get to see them again. Charles. Jean. Storm."

A sob wracked his body as he dragged her into his lap, hand cupping her face with the tenderness she deserved. "Tell them I'm sorry. Tell them..."

"I will," she murmured, allowing him the freedom to break the final vow of their love. "Till death huh baby?"

Your shouts of his name echoed in the background—Wade's voice mixing with Laura's—and suddenly Logan understood why he found himself here. Why he would stay.

They weren't just his family. They were pieces of his heart sliced open and bared to the ravages of the world. And he would be their protector. The one to meet what danger threatened them head on; willing to fight till his last breath.

He'd be the person he could never be for her.

"Of course," he sighed, tears streaking down his cheeks. "Till death."

"Love her," she breathed, cupping his cheek and forcing his claws to pierce her chest. He sliced through her with a choked shout, the warmth of her blood spilling over his hands. Tainting him further; breaking his already tormented heart. "Love her how you couldn't love me Logan."

"I will honey." Her eyes dragged to how you lay on the ground, Wade's body practically covering yours to keep you from getting any closer. "I promise."

Light flickered in her vision—white and blue and perfect—as Logan clutched her close. Sobbing over a woman he would forever hold the memory of. The last of his family that he couldn't save. Her lips curled into a smile—serenity glistening in her eyes—as a familiar voice echoed in her mind. Tugging her close into welcoming arms.

"Hello Fortuna."

She stuttered out what little breath remained in her chest, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Charles."

"I like it," a voice mumbled, breaking through the darkness that shrouded your body. "And not just cause Ness has one."

A girl hummed. "It's cool."

"Very superhero."

You groaned, body battling any slight movement as your eyes fluttered open with a wince. Light streamed through a grand window, the bed too soft to be yours, yet you knew who sat beside you. Even through the blurred haze of vision, Wade's face was unmistakable. Shifting, you felt everything in you lock up—a hoarse cry falling past your lips.

Hands pushed you back down, steadying you gently as you were finally able to see the other person sitting on a table, munching on some fries. She had a shake beside her—feet propped up on the back of Wade's chair. The sunglasses she lost in the dirt were back atop her head, keeping her hair back.

"Whoa there angel face." He fluffed the pillow violently, jolting you slightly. "You've got two broken ribs and a wound across your torso that would give me being ripped in half by Juggernaut a run for my money."

"W-Where's-"

"Shhh." He raised a crystal glass of water to your lips. "Nurse Wade is here to take care of you. Sorry I don't have the outfit. I couldn't get to a Spirit Halloween in time."

Laura snorted into her food. "It's July."

"That doesn't matter. Those stores are like herpes. You can't ever get rid of that fucker."

"Where's Logan," you said through a broken whisper.

The silence isn't what scared you. No, you'd been through too much to be scared by the threat of nothing but melancholy looks in favor of telling you the truth. You could handle the quiet. What sent terror into your heart was the fact that you knew before you even opened your eyes where he was. His warmth was nowhere to be found in this bedroom; it barely lingered on your own body.

The man who held your heart, who promised to always protect you, was gone.

"No," you breathed, tears welling up and once again blurring your vision.

"He didn't want to go," Laura interjected.

You blinked furiously to keep them at bay. "What do you mean?"

"Fortuna." She pointed to the window that overlooked an expanse of green.

With a pained gasp, you turned to see what she was directing you towards—eyes fixing on a clearly buried grave covered in fresh dirt. A shovel stood straight, plunged a foot into the ground—the handle covered in a stain of deep brown.

Laura exhaled heavily. "She's dead. Logan buried her after he...killed her."

The breath rushed from your lungs, anguish slicing through your heart. "He..."

Wade nodded, somber and horrifyingly quiet. "He wanted to stay sweet angel. We forced him to go."

"Why?" you exclaimed, your body trembling under the stress of waking up too soon. "If he wanted to stay-"

"He was broken. I thought when I found him it was bad. This was worse angel face." Wade gathered your hands in his, drawing you close with a sigh. "He needs to grieve her."

"But I love him," you whimpered, unashamed by how fast the tears were falling. Laura watched you with the eyes of her father—striking your heart in a way that split you in two. "I-I didn't get to tell him."

"He knew," she murmured softly. "Trust me."

Wade pressed a swift kiss to your hands. "He'll come home. I made him fucking promise to return to you. But right now he's gotta figure some shit out."

Laura slipped off the table, curled onto the end of the bed and handed you something folded and crumpled—streaked in stains of blood and ink that bled through the thin notebook paper. You took it with a shaky breath, cold hands closing around hers with a grim smile. Something to let her know that you were thankful for everything she did.

She wasn't your daughter. This you knew. But you wouldn't mind if she bestowed that title on you one day.

In fact...you hoped she would.

"He told me to give that to you," she said, eyes brighter than before.

You sucked in a painful breath, unfolding the letter with trembling hands. Seeing his handwriting was like a punch to your chest. The smudged words and crossed out lines as he attempted to explain himself in words for the first time. This wasn't his forte—you understood that—but the fact that he tried filled your chest with warmth.

Honey,

Don't hate Wade or even my kid for me not being there. Believe me I fuckin' wanted to. Almost ripped him to pieces when he told me I had to go for your sake. But they were right. You Fortuna was the only family I had left. I have to remember what loving her felt like. I need to let her go.

Wade and Laura are there to protect you, care for you like I can't right now. But I made a promise to you and her. So you can expect me back one day.

I care about you

I love you.

So much.

I'll love you till the end honey. Don't forget that.

-Logan

You clutched the paper to your chest, salt coating your taste buds as you sobbed for the man that you failed to protect. You would have died for him. He knew this. Perhaps that's why he left; to give you a chance to heal without him. To return as the Logan you met, not the one mangled by grief.

Laura moved closer, her hand shifting to clutch yours as tears glistened in her eyes. A solemn smile on her face. This is what Logan offered you. People who loved you; people who would die for you. Logan made sure that even in his absence you'd be safe—protected.

He gave you the one thing he couldn't keep for himself. The one aspect of his life he had to learn to accept.

Logan left you a family.

note: my brain is mush but i love you guys. it will get better i promise!

#logan howlett x f!reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #my writing

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dekusdante · 2 days

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Things that annoys me in the Jujutsu Kaisen Fandom

Sorry but this is going to be all over the place.

Am I the only one tired of the same trope being used when it comes to Gojo from JJK? In other words the enemies to lovers trope where the oc or reader is basically Utahime with out the name.

Like we all remember the episode where he gave out what type of person he was into which was a nice girl or something along those lines. I that as writers you have to take creative liberties but why are all the readers in these stories are exactly the same.

They either hate Gojo or is super easily annoyed at him. Jerks but its okay cause for some reason he loves them unconditionally. This is so annoying cause there is no push back from Gojo in these stories. Just him taking back the reader or waiting for them to return his feelings when in actuality he shouldn't.

Another thing that annoys me is why is it always the guy that's simping why can't it ever be the woman being madly in love and trying to win him over?

This enemies to lover trope has completely taken over the Reader x Gojo fandom and its so overused. Now I will admit there are some gems out there, but I just don't even bother reading anything that is enemies to lovers anymore. I'm just tired of reading the same thing over and over again with the same copy and paste formula/reader.

Also why is smut so strong on here. Like don't get me wrong those writers are killing it with the plot aspect but man does all the smut kill me. Like I want more plot these are really good and creative ideas but man the smut kills me lol. Still reading the plot but stop at the smut parts which is usually the end so we gucci.

Hmm, another trope I refuse to read in these are arranged marriage were we are supposed to be upset with the guy who is forced to marry someone they don't want too. Why? Well for starters it always start with the reader being mistreated by the guy for some reason and the reader putting up with it until something happens and the guy falls in love with them and has to gain both their trust and love again.

I can get behind this but they always make the guy so unredeemable in these that it would be crazy if she takes him back. [She always does] Another thing is we are supposed to hate the guy because he wants to remain faithful to the person he was with before the arrange marriage. Like why are we bashing a faithful man?

Another trope I hate is when the guy is always in the wrong. A while ago I read a Gojo x reader fic were reader was mad that Gojo couldn't spend a lot of time with her so she broke up. Okay valid even though I am sure this would have been addressed before or earlier in the relationship but okay. What annoyed me with this story is that she then goes on to get in a relationship with Nanami who then calls Gojo an idiot for losing a woman like her.

I could not believe what I read. Like what the hell did Gojo do? At this point Gege posted about Gojo's life and how the man is booked to the max and I couldn't help but think how distasteful it was to first make it appear as if Nanami would do something like that to Gojo and secondly pretend that they don't have more free time compared to him. Like Nanami even understood why Geto did what he did.

Anyway that's all I got for now. I am not here to argue but I would love to hear about what you think on this. A second opinion is always welcomed and if you have a trope you don't like then I would love to hear it.

Also if you have a story that you would like to promo then please do so in the comments. It is a okay if you want too. No pressure,

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader #tropes #rant #gojo x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 22 hours

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Just One Reason: New at This

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

masterlist - to be added

Summary: A chance encounter at the sandwich shop doesn’t end how you expect.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Lloyd tugs in his ear lobe as you get up to take your empty bowl to the counter. The lone cashier smiles and gives a nervous look past you to the corner. You return to the table and wonder if he has a reputation here. You wouldn't be surprised with his behaviour.

"Is your ear alright?" You ask as you take the cup of iced tea.

"Huh?" He turns to you and drops his hand. "Yeah, hearing's f-- off. Just got back from a job and... the machinery was loud."

"Hm, it could be a busted ear drum. I know someone who had that. He never could hear me but that coulda been the TV too," you shrug.

"It's fine," he taps his fingers on the table as you stay standing. "So, you headed out?"

"Yeah, I guess I should. Getting dark."

"Right," he nods. "Well," he stands and tugs at the bottom of his shirt, shaking off the crumbs. "You need a ride?"

He zips up his jacket, the collar ending just below his chin. You button up your blue houndstooth coat. "No, I can make it."

"Wait, you're not walking are you?" He asks as he gathers up the wrapper and napkins.

"Not too far if I cut behind the barbershop--"

"Cut behind-- are you serious? You can't be walking down alleys in the dark. Trust me."

"Oh?" You give him a curious look, "you hang out in dark alleyways a lot?"

His brow tweaks and his lips twitch, "is that a joke?"

"Not a very good one," you smile. "I always make it."

"And this might be the time you don't. Least I can do. You bought me dinner, I feel like I owe you a ride."

"You don't owe me anything," you assure him.

"Huh, you're too nice, you know that? You could give a guy the wrong idea." l

"No, I don't think so," you sigh. "Being nice isn't anything but. I hope your enjoyed your dinner."

"You know what? The chipotle wasn't bad," he says. "So now that's two things. I owe you for paying and for the good advice. What's that you said about paying it forward?"

Checkmate. Using your own words against you. As it is, you're starting to feel rude for saying no so many times. It would be nice not to have to walk home with your phone light on.

"Is taking a ride from a strange man better than walking home alone?" You ask, "since you're the expert?"

"Wow, you can be mean," he snorts. "Reading me like a book."

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m kidding.”

“I know, tootsie roll,” he says, “sweet like candy, aren’t ya?”

You smile again, “well, you can be too. I’ll take the ride. Thank you.”

He dumps the garbage in the bin and heads for the door. He lets you out ahead of him. It’s colder than when you got there.

“It’s cold as... hell out here,” he says follows you out. He points you ahead, “the white one.”

He blows into his hands and rubs them together. You’re no fan of the cold either but you can see his nose already turning red. You approach the white car; it’s sleek and shiny. You’re not sure what make it is but it must be expensive.

The doors click loudly, “should be unlocked.”

You nod and open the passenger door. You sit daintily, wary of the luxury interior. You shut the door just as carefully as he gets in the other side. He grumbles as he starts the engine and flicks switches.

“Get those seat warmers on,” he says. “Ah, better.” He puts his palms to the blast of warmth from the vent before he grips the wheel. “Help me out, tootsie roll, where am I going?”

“Right down to Harbour. East.”

“Harbour East... you kidding me? You were really going to walk there alone?” He scoffs.

“It’s not so bad once you get to know the area,” you say.

“How’d you end up there?” He pulls into a three point turn as he reroutes.

“I guess it’s just where I am right now. Thing’s changed fast and I had to make it work,” you lean into the seat. You’ve never been in a car with seat warmers.

“Huh, that’s too bad,” he clucks. “You still looking for a place? I know a guy, owns a few properties...”

“Oh no, it’s okay,” you hum lightly. “Really. It’s nice. I got my own space, I got food, I’m happy as can be.”

“Simple things, so I’ve heard,” he mutters.

You let a lull wash over you. Judging by his car, simple isn’t exactly to his taste.

“So...” you brush your fingertips over your palm, “what do you do for work? You travel? When you mentioned your ear...”

“Ah, yeah, er,” he squeezes the wheel tighter and coughs, “you know, I’m on the road when I need to be. Work can be sporadic but pays well enough. Specialty type of work.”

“With loud machinery...”

“Military engineer. You know, artillery, tanks... whatever,” he peeks over at you as blows through a four-way.

“Hey, you missed the stop sign,” you crane to see behind you.

“It’s fine, no one was crossing,” he says.

“Yeah but... it’s not safe.” You turn forward again and frown.

He’s quiet again. He sucks his teeth, “fine, you’re right. Not fair of me to offer you a ride then drive like a maniac. I’ll do better.”

You let out a breath and subtly grab onto the door. Despite his promises, he doesn’t let off the gas. With how quiet the car is, it must be easy to go over the limit.

He pulls onto Harbour and finally slows, “so, uh, why don’t you give me a call next time you head down to the shop? We could do it again. I’ll be nice this time.”

“I don’t go too often but sure, I could use a friend,” you perk up and direct him to your building.

“You telling me you don’t got friends, tootsie roll?” He stops in front of your apartment.

“I... did. They’re gone now,” you look away. You try not to get to wistful about it. “Anyway, thanks--”

“Holy f—moley,” he corrects himself as he leans forward to see around you, “this place can’t be up to code--”

“Lloyd,” you blurt out. “I’m fine. Really. Home safe. Thanks to you.”

“Mhm, well, friends are supposed to worry about each other, right?”

“And as your friend, I’m telling you not to worry,” you smile and pull the handle, “have a good night.”

He huffs as you undo your seat belt, “yeah, good night.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #series #drabble #au #just one reason #the gray man

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writeonwhiskey · 2 days

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the skz house: ch 26

a/n: i'm so glad you're all still here with me after that long break. thank you to @bahablastplz for editing. ahhhh i'm getting so nervous for you all to read the next few chapters! alright, fuck it, here we goooo!

[ read chapter 25 here ]

Chapter Twenty-Six: Of Tears and Relapsing

The following morning you untangle yourself from Hyunjin and head straight to the bathroom to wash up. You throw on a pair of black jeans, combat boots and your school hoodie before heading to campus with Jeongin and Allie. You try your hardest to focus on whatever it is your teacher is droning on about, but your thoughts continually shift back to seeing Chan later and having ‘The Talk’.

You consider delaying the inevitable, you could probably talk Jeongin and Allie into making a pit stop on the way back like you did with Changbin and Seungmin what feels like years ago. You know that’s not the right move in this situation, though.

After class, you make it back to the house—walking in like a woman on a mission. You have to rip the band aid off now. Felix lets you know Chan is in the workout room, and that’s exactly where you find him. The house is equipped with two garages—one double, one single. The singular garage is walled off from the larger one and filled with all sorts of workout equipment—a treadmill, power rack, bench press, stationary bike and various kettlebells and weights.

Chan is seated on the bench press, sitting up at an angle and facing the mirror across from him. He turns to you when you enter, and you feel the familiar, heavy thumping of your heart behind your chest as you approach him.

“How was class?” he asks with a smile.

He seems to be in good spirits, at least. However, that doesn’t seem like a good thing knowing what you’ve come here to say to him. You remain hopeful that you can handle this delicately and he will understand where you’re coming from.

“I don’t think I retained much, if I’m being honest,” you reply.

You look around the room for a place to sit, but there aren’t any chairs. Seeing your dilemma, Chan stands from the bench and walks towards you. The sight of him walking to you causes a lapse in your regularly scheduled breathing. He’s clad in a pair of gym shorts and a black muscle shirt, leaving his shoulders, biceps and forearms on full display. His veins are more prominent than normal—accompanied by a slight gleam of sweat covering his exposed skin—showing he has been putting the equipment to use.

When he’s close enough, he puts his hands on your waist and delicately guides you towards the bench. You feel the instinctual pull to touch him, too. To grab him, wrap your arms around him and pull his mouth to yours. But you refrain.

“Sit,” he instructs.

You pull your backpack off, hugging it to your chest and sit sideways on the bench. Chan takes a seat on the treadmill across from you with his legs outstretched in front of him.

“I’m sorry about the other day, I was—” you begin.

“It’s okay,” he interjects, shaking his head.

“No. It’s not,” you proceed. “You were there to prove the exact things I said to be wrong...in hindsight I could have handled it so differently. I am sorry for what I said.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, after everything…but I get it.”

You nod, hoping he really does.

“I never got to properly say it either, so—thank you. For the rose,” you say, opening your backpack in your lap and digging out the card inside. “…and this.”

You hold up the card, the word written on it is facing him. His eyes don’t even acknowledge it, they’re focused on you instead. He arches an eyebrow, though, seeing you take it out of your bag. Perhaps surprised, or pleased, to know you’ve kept it close since he gave it to you.

“This is fucking heavy, Chan,” you say when you realize he isn’t going to speak first.

He looks down at the ground in front of him, tearing his gaze away from you for the first time. He remains completely still; the only sign of movement is when he blinks.

“It’s true, though,” he says softly.

“Why? Why me? Why all of a sudden? You tell me I have to be the one to stop this, to stop letting you ruin me, and now this?”

“It’s not all of a sudden…I don’t think,” he contemplates. “I’ve just given up trying to fight against it now.”

“Do you realize what you’re asking me, though?” you place the card back in your backpack. “To let you throw away your life for me?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing…”

“It is.”

His face contorts at that, offended.

“I mean, the sentiment is beautiful, don’t get me wrong,” you say with your hands up. “But the actual thought of it is awful. I could never let you do that. What happens if we don’t work out when the school year is over? We have to be realistic about this.”

Perhaps Changbin should give him a lecture on simulacrum, too. Maybe that would help get him to see through the lust filled haze that consumes the room when it’s just the two of you.

“That wouldn’t happen,” he says incredulously, finally looking into your eyes again.

You take a deep breath. You want to appreciate his optimism. You want to smile at his words, to tell him you agree. You can’t do either, though. You can’t encourage this behavior. For his sake, whether he realizes it or not. There’s a contract in place that clearly outlines you are forbidden from being with him when this is over. Letting him choose you, means letting him throw away everything else.

He stands from the treadmill and approaches you again.

“Do you think I would let it?” He asks, stopping in front of the bench. His eyes are still locked on yours as he places his hands on your knees, slowly spreading them apart so he can step between them. “I’d make you so happy, y/n.”

His russet brown eyes are soft, almost pleading, as he speaks. That, combined with his hands on you, is almost enough to unravel your restraint.

You gently remove his hands from your knees and shake your head, looking down at the ground.

“I can’t.”

He hooks a finger under your chin and tilts your head up.

“You could.”

You can see the sincerity in his eyes now. He means this wholeheartedly. It should feel more assuring to hear, but it leaves you feeling terrified. You’ve never had anyone care about you this way or shower you with such devout proclamations.

“I won’t, Chan,” you shake your head again, keeping your eyes on him this time. He needs to know you mean it.

His eyebrows come together as his lips turn down ever so slightly. It’s clear he’s not used to rejection, least of all from you. He drops his hand from your chin and takes a small step back.

“Okay,” he gives you a curt nod.

You watch him carefully as he continues to retreat from you.

“Just ‘okay’?” you repeat. “You know I care about you, that’s not what I’m saying here. It’s the exact opposite, in fact.”

“This is your decision to make, and you’ve made it,” he says, turning his back to you and walking to the treadmill.

He steps onto the treadmill, starts tapping the buttons until it turns on, and begins to lightly jog. You stand from the bench and put your backpack over your shoulder, feeling flabbergasted that he would just abruptly end the conversation like this.

You walk along the side of the treadmill and stop next to him.

His words and behavior feel unfair, but after the actions he’s taken that are so on par with the man you know he can be, you understand that this might feel like a rejection. He has to understand why you’d make this choice, though, right? Even if he can’t see it now, he has to eventually.

“I’ll text you when dinner is ready?” you ask, opting not to push the subject any further.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

His tone is drier than the Sahara. Still, you offer him a small smile before turning away and exiting the room.

You sit between Hyunjin and Chan during dinner. He seems okay, but doesn’t say much to you directly other than asking you to pass the condiments. When he’s doing eating, he heads straight down to the basement with a few of the other members. You keep your composure as you clear the table, not wanting to jump to conclusions or take deep offense to his actions. You remind yourself that he just may need some time to think things over, like you did.

You help the girls clean the kitchen, chiming in on their conversation occasionally but otherwise remain quiet. You shower in his room, as normal, then climb into his bed. You try wait up for him, but end up dozing off.

When you wake up the next morning, Chan isn’t lying next to you. You must have stayed up til nearly midnight and he never showed. You try to think if he came to bed at any point during the night but can’t recall if he did or not. Part of you knows you’d remember, the other part of you wants to remain in denial that he would avoid you to such an extent. And where is he this morning, even?

He does have a morning class today. Perhaps he just went in early. Perhaps not.

You push back the blankets and get dressed before going down to the kitchen to make breakfast. You make a large pan of scrambled eggs and fry up some bacon for the others. You attend your afternoon class, and when you make it back home, you have to go straight to the den. Rhiannon and Charlotte are already inside, covered in blankets and watching something on the TV.

“Do you want us to turn it off?” Rhiannon asks.

“No, you guys are fine,” you tell her, dropping your backpack to the floor as you sit at your desk. You pop your headphones on and focus on your assignment.

Halfway through, your phone buzzes.

It’s Chan.

Come upstairs.

You save the document you’re working on without hesitation and make your way to his room. You want the chance to speak to him again, to check in and see where his head is at. You have to get him to see that you’re doing this for him, not to hurt him. Hopefully he’s given it some more thought on his own.

The door to his room is open when you get there. You enter the room and close it behind you.

“Chan?” you call out when you don’t immediately see him.

He saunters out of the bathroom, towel drying his hair whilst fully naked. The sight does startle you, but it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Your eyes do betray you, though, flickering down to his exposed cock, then back up to his face.

He tosses the towel onto his bed as he walks towards you without saying a word. He cups your face with his right hand, stroking your cheek tenderly before bringing you closer. Maybe he wants to show you that he still cares. So, you let him.

His lips meet yours and you let out a soft sigh.

Yes. I’ve missed you, too. You convey as you kiss him back.

He places one hand on your waist, pulling you with him as he walks back towards the bed.

“Take your pants off,” he instructs.

You stare at him for a moment, recognizing the flat demand in his tone. You’ve not heard that in a while.

“Chan, can we—”

“Off.”

Your hands are already working on the button and zipper of your jeans as your brain struggles to catch up with what’s happening. You slide your pants off, followed by your underwear as you assume that would be his next command if you don’t. You sit on the bed and slide back, watching as he crawls onto it, advancing towards you. You try to interpret what he’s thinking from his eyes.

You feel a sliver of something in you crack as you realize there’s nothing there. He’s looking at you, yes, but it doesn’t feel like he sees you.

Once he’s hovering over you, his mouth is on yours again. You’re kissing him back, wanting to give him whatever reassurance you can, to fix the damage you may have done to not only him, but yourself as well.

“You still want me, yeah?” he asks, pulling away from you.

You cup his face in your hands, staring into his hardened eyes, pleading with them to see you.

“Of course I do,” you tell him.

You attempt to bring his mouth to yours again, but he pulls back. In one swift motion he flips you over so you’re on all fours. You look over your shoulder to see him spitting in his hand before cupping your pussy with it. He rubs you, in the way he knows that you like, slipping his fingers inside briefly.

He grabs his cock and lines it up with your opening and thrusts forward, hard and deep, with no warning. You let out a startled gasp and drop your head. You can’t deny how good it feels to have him inside of you again, regardless of the thick tension hanging in the air.

He says nothing else as he continues to slam into you, gripping your hips, smacking your ass, grunting out his apparent frustrations. And you let him have it, let him have you, let him take it out on you.

You reach your hand down between your legs to rub your clit. He grabs a hold of your arm to stop you, bending it slightly and holding it hostage against your back.

You moan as he fucks and restrains you. Unable to deny how amazing it feels. And you want more. You always want more.

“Chan, please,” you beg. “I want to come.”

“No,” he growls.

He releases your arm and places both hands on your hips, pulling you against him with wild force, causing you to scream out.

“Please?”

“No.”

You know this is what he likes—and it’s not as if you’ve lost trust in him. Perhaps this is a twisted form of punishment. You hate that you’ve hurt him. Maybe this is how you can make it up to him. Maybe he just needs to get this out.

His pace quickens and he suddenly pulls his cock out of you. In seconds you feel his warm come coating your back as he groans through his release.

When he’s done, he grabs the towel he tossed on the bed earlier and wipes your back clean. You collapse onto the bed, feeling unsatisfied at your orgasm denial. Your clit makes contact with the fabric of the sheets and your body instinctively starts to move against it to create more friction. You feel his palm connect with your ass forcefully and whimper at the pain, immediately halting your movements.

He slides off the bed and retreats to his dresser, pulling out a pair of boxers and slipping them on. He then takes out a pair of shorts and dons them, too, followed by a shirt.

“You can sleep in your own bed tonight.”

He walks to the door and exits without saying anything else as you choke back a sob. He hasn’t spoken to you this way in months. You almost managed to forget how physically painful it feels.

On Wednesday morning, you’re up with the sunrise. You hardly slept through the night; so much tossing and turning and just staring up into the darkness. Anytime that you actually fell asleep, you woke up soon after with your brain already in the middle of an anxiety-stricken thought. And the cycle repeated itself again and again.

You didn’t expect Chan to jump up and down with joy at your response to his confession, however you also didn’t expect him to retreat so far back into his shell. He somehow feels further than he even was in the beginning. How can he so abruptly go back to treating you this way? Like an object.

Your initial instinct is to make excuses for him. He’s putting his walls up in self-defense, to protect himself from the pain that you’ve caused. But, no...you can’t reason away his behavior.

At least not while maintaining your own sanity. And you need to start prioritizing that, if you intend to leave this house unscathed. As much as you care for everyone here and will be saddened to leave them in a few months, you must put yourself first. You won’t have any of them to lean on when this is over.

Chan’s alarm for his morning class blares through the room and you sit up in bed, watching as his hand shoots out from under his blanket to silence it. He grumbles and stretches before throwing the blanket off. He lets out a long sigh, swings his legs off the side of the bed and sits up too. You wish he could learn to sleep with a shirt on sometimes.

He looks over at you, eyes squinted as they adjust to the light of day.

“Good morning,” you say softly.

“Morning,” he replies.

“What was that last night?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

He shrugs.

“No.” you shake your head as you push your blankets aside and walk to him, standing between his legs. “You’re not doing this to me.”

While his expression is blank, his eyes are saying so much but you don’t have the code to decipher the meaning.

“What was that?” you ask again.

“How it has to be,” he replies.

“Why would it have to be like that again? Just because I refuse to run off into the sunset with you?”

He shrugs once more.

You take a deep breath and let out a long exhale.

“Chan.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits. He places his hands on your hips and you feel the familiar warmth his touch provides course through your body. Instead of pulling you closer, though, he moves you to the side so he can stand. “I don’t know how to want you, and want be to with you, and still accept that fact that you’re okay with this ending.”

As he’s talking, he walks around the bed and into his bathroom, you follow after him.

“I’m not okay with it,” you tell him, reaching out for his hand. “Is that what you think?”

He looks down at your connected hands, then up to you.

“What I think, what I want…none of that matters. You’ve made that clear, y/n.”

“So, you’re okay with spending the next three months like this? Just fucking me and nothing else?”

“That’s what you’re here for,” he says coolly and removes his hand from yours.

You grit your teeth and swallow the expletive hanging on the tip of your tongue. You resolve to just nod your head as you slowly back out of the bathroom. He disappears into the closet, and you turn around on your heels. How can this man, whom you know for a fact is capable of giving you so much warmth and fleeting, albeit dangerous, glimpses of his love, turn against you so quickly? For a decision that’s not truly yours to make, all you feel you can do is accept the truth of your situation.

You don’t even bother to grab your phone before exiting the room, wanting to put as much space between the two of you before you spew words that you might later regret.

Fuck. You.

[ read chapter 27 here (coming soon ]

a/n: our poor Channie has no healthy coping mechanisms. be gentle with him. more coming soon! you can join the mailing list [ here ].

#stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfiction #stray kids #the skz house #skz smut #bang chan #bang chan imagines #bang chan smut #bang chan fanfic #bang chan x you #bang chan x reader #bang chan x y/n

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harmonic-intervention · 21 hours

Text

Since it is almost 911-day, and I am sure to be proven wrong about all of my headcanons (can't fucking wait!), I need to put some out there about my special guy. Don't even know if any of this makes sense, but here you go.

When Tommy opened his eyes, he stared at the burnt-out corpse of a helicopter.

Oh, he thought, I'm back here. His thoughts felt thick and slow, and he couldn't quite make sense of what he was seeing.

He had been here before.

He had crashed his chopper once before. He had done several emergency landings, but only actually fell out of sky one time, and that was in the army.

He couldn't fully remember. He couldn't remember what went wrong, and the theories that everyone else had were just that - theories. All he knew was that he lost control, he crashed, and was the only one to survive. Three were dead on impact, one died before recovery, one died as the medics were still working on him, and Tommy made it.

He hadn't been awake when they had gotten him, and he had only seen the photographs of the crushed chopper, so whenever he found himself back here, he stood outside of it, staring at the thing that clipped his wings for years to come.

After, he was discharged and sent home, and the thought of flying filled him with anxiety, so he didn't. He stayed on the ground, only able to stare up into the endless blue and yearn and fear. About so many things.

He blinked.

"Tom."

He turned around, no longer in the middle of nowhere staring at a broken chopper.

He was in the backyard of his aunt's house - his father's sister. The person who had spoken was Michael, one of his cousins, who, like the rest of the family, insisted on calling him Tom because Tommy is juvenile! Grow up!

"You know the rules, man," Michael continued, sounding almost apologetic.

Tommy remembered this day. His mother had just died a couple of months back and he was still getting used to the loveless house and the polite coolness of his father's family that his mother had done her best to shield him from.

His thoughts felt disjointed, and he couldn't quite remember what this was about. Someone said something that made Tommy feel awful, at the very least, and when he tried to speak out, Michael had stopped him.

You know the rules.

Like be seen, not heard, don't disagree with the adults, and, most importantly, don't be gay.

It was the moment that Tommy realized he needed to keep quiet about everything. Don't speak up, don't do anything but nod when faced with their opinions, be straight.

He blinked.

"Thomas."

There was only one person who called him Thomas, and only one person who did it like this - slurred together into almost one syllable, always sounding angry.

He was back in the living room of his childhood home, seventeen, a backpack slung over his shoulder, his father sat on the couch with a bottle of whiskey.

He had trouble grasping his thoughts for a moment - hadn't he just been in the yard? Much younger? What was that about a helicopter?

He knew what would happen that day. He'd kissed Andrew Jenkins behind the old hunter's shack three weeks ago, and the rumors had finally reached his dad.

"What did I always tell you?" his father asked, or tried to.

He had said a lot. Never anything worth listening to.

"Didn't ya hear me, boy? What did I always tell you!?"

Tommy's father was not a man who liked being ignored. He yelled and roared, spittle and drops of whiskey flying from his mouth. Tommy stayed quiet.

"No fucking son of mine will be one of those queers, you understand me, boy!? So, when I ask you whether what I heard is true, you better say no!"

Tommy had to think of something about a forged signature, of running away, of a camp and drills and training and men just like his father, of a helicopter.

"Is what I heard today true, boy?"

"You're a sorry excuse for a man." Tommy was reasonably sure that was not what was supposed to come out of his mouth. He never said anything like this. He only ever wanted to.

His father, in a blur, suddenly stood in front of Tommy. His face morphed into Gerrard's for a moment, then back into the haggard, cross-eyed man Tommy had known in his youth.

He was close enough that Tommy could smell his alcohol-stained breath, something he had become too familiar with. When he was young, his father had seemed scary, intimidating to him. Now, he seemed weak, not able to keep himself upright.

All his life, he had wished he had taken a swing at his dad, just once. Fought back, just once.

Violence ran in the family, after all.

He had a hand fisted in the collar of his father's shirt. He didn't know how it got there.

His father smiled. He had never smiled. Sneered, yes. Frowned, a lot. Never smiled. It didn't suit him. "Do it, you coward. Be a man."

He hadn't said that in this context. Not to Tommy. He had said it to his brother-in-law after Tommy's mother had died and a fight between his father and the rest of the in-laws caused them to never contact Tommy again.

God, Tommy hated this man. He didn't hate many people, he didn't think. Vaguely, he thought that he would normally just wash his hands of them and never think of them. That sounded better.

But he would never completely remove this. He was his father's son, after all.

He blinked.

"Tommy."

They had moved from the living room to the entrance. He wasn't seventeen. He was 40, holding onto his father's shirt collar, and in the open door of his childhood home behind him stood Evan.

He reached out a hand, and Tommy immediately dropped his father in favor of turning around and accepting Evan's grasp. His grip was strong, a bit tight, clutching at him almost in desperation.

"Tommy," he said again, but there was almost an echo there, far away and urgent. He seemed to be staring right through Tommy.

He gripped Tommy's shoulders with both of his hands. "Tommy, come on. You gotta be here."

"I- I am?" Tommy said, or he thought he did. His voice got lost in Evan's.

"Tommy, please."

He blinked.

Then again.

And again.

He smelled smoke. The side of his face felt tacky and the sun was painfully bright in his eyes. His head was pounding.

He tried to sit up, but everything in his head slid off a slope and he dropped back down, closing his eyes against the spinning tree tops.

He breathed against the nausea rising up in his stomach, but that just made him cough thanks to the smoke. God, his ribs hurt. He'd probably cracked a few.

His copter had gone down, he remembered suddenly.

He had told them that something wasn't quite right, but they had sent him up anyway. And then, he started having issues with the rotor controls.

He'd tried for an emergency landing, but when there was nothing but forest underneath him, there wasn't excactly room to safely land a chopper.

He remembered being conscious after hitting the ground. He remembered crawling out of there and throwing up as soon as he got his legs under him, before he stumbled away as the hunk of junk left of his copter burst into flames.

He had made as far as his legs could carry him until he collapsed to the ground.

His head hurt. Breathing hurt. He kind of just wanted to go to sleep.

"Tommy!"

He smiled a bit. Maybe he could go and find Evan in his dream again.

"Tommy!" Louder this time. Closer, it seemed. Urgent.

How long had Evan been shouting for him? He'd heard that same urgent undertone in his dream.

"Tommy!"

He could hear additional voices, now. He couldn't identify them. He could hear the sound of several heavy boots making their way through the undergrowth.

Good. He didn't think he could talk if he tried.

For a moment, the sounds stopped. Then picked up again, louder, and faster, and coming closer.

"Tommy!" A heavy body crashed to the ground next to him, and hands on his face gently, slowly helped him turn his head to look at Evan, kneeling next to him.

He slowly raised his hand. His shoulder hurt a bit, too, but not as bad as his head. Evan took his hand before he could try to figure out what to do with it.

"Can you talk? Where are you hurt?"

Everywhere? Tommy didn't think he had broken anything but his ribs - miracle of miracles - but he was pretty banged up. He'd probably be bruised all over. He was probably also concussed, now that he thought about it.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Swallowed, and it felt like nails scraping against the inside of his throat. Kept looking at Evan, despite the presence of other people appearing at his side, other hands trying to figure out what was wrong with him.

"Ev-Evan," he croaked, and almost regretted it immediately, if it wasn't for the relieved smile it caused.

"Yeah, it's me, it's Evan. We've got you, now. You'll be okay."

Tommy nodded as best as he could, and Evan didn't leave his side for a moment when he was picked up.

He kept mumbling his name over and over whenever Tommy's eyes shut for too long, whenever it looked like Tommy was about to slip away. He kept holding his hand.

"Tommy."

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #kinley #tevan #harmonic writing

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froggiewrites · 19 hours

Note

Hello! I was wondering if i could request a Zoro or a Law x gn! or m!reader with angst? They are in a fight and reader kinda ignores them and hides from them and Zoro or Law realize how in love they are with the reader? Can end however you want!

Sorry I've been so slow on requests, writer's block hit me pretty hard this week! I chose Zoro with a gn!reader for this one, it just seemed to fit him pretty well (man is not good with his emotions). I hope you enjoy it!

A Bridge Too Far

Pairing: Zoro x Reader

SFW

Summary: Zoro is terrible at handling his frustrations, and you're tired of being his punching bag. He doesn't realize what he's lost until it's gone. Warnings: Angst, Zoro being a bad boyfriend, not a happy but possibly a hopeful ending? Word Count: 2.3k

Like most of your arguments with Zoro, he started it.

He always starts it, even when he doesn’t want to. When his frustrations start to bubble, he can’t help but lash out at whoever’s closest, and that’s normally you. You’re always there, waiting for him, and you never hold it against him once he calms down. Frankly, they’re less arguments and more one-sided furious rants, as you never rise to the provocation. So he doesn’t think much of it when he snaps at you again after a particularly tough battle, one that left a buzzing under his skin and a strain in his muscles that he couldn’t shake. You wouldn’t mind. You never did.

A few minutes after you follow him to the training room, sitting quietly in the corner while he readies his swords, he finally snaps. “Will you just leave me alone for once? How am I supposed to relax with you trailing after me like this?”

You don’t just sit there and take it like you always do. You don’t just get up and leave, ready to come back when he’s calmer. You stare at him a moment, not radiating fury or indignation, simply…disappointment. Weariness. “Again?”

“What?” He snaps.

“We’re doing this again? Really?” You seem completely composed and calm. It infuriates him more than snapping ever could.

“What do you mean, doing this again? You following me around like a lovesick puppy? Yeah, I guess we are.” He hits the target in front of him harder, sending splintering wood everywhere. The sound of it pierces his brain, rattling around, making him feel even worse.

You sigh, sounding horribly burdened and beaten down. “You know what? Sure. Whatever. I’ll leave you alone, Zoro, if that’s what you want. But this is the last time. I’m not putting up with this anymore.”

He grits his teeth. “Won’t put up with this? Shouldn’t that be my line?”

Your eye twitches, finally a show of emotion, a show that he’s affecting you. “I’m not your punching bag, Zoro. I’m not here for you to use to work off your adrenaline instead of learning to deal with your emotions like an adult. I’m supposed to be someone you care about.” You finally stand, gathering your things and turning to leave. You don’t look back at him as you call, “You’re going to regret this, but I won’t.”

The door slamming echoes through the room, sounding horribly…final.

He ignores it.

It takes a few hours for him to finally wind down, for the buzzing to quiet and leave nothing but a blissful silence. He doesn’t bother cleaning up the wood all over the floor, or taking a shower to rid himself off all of the sweat. He has only one thought: his bed, warm and soft and welcoming. If he’s lucky, you’ll be in it, waiting for him to hold you close and kiss your face, the closest thing he’s ever given to an apology. He eagerly makes his way to the Sunny’s sleeping quarters, opening the door slowly to the cacophony of snores coming from Luffy and Franky, accompanied by Sanji, Chopper, and Usopp’s quiet breathing. Brook is still on deck, on watch for the night, so it makes sense his bunk is empty, but Zoro notices your bed is also suspiciously clear. Even your pillow and blanket are gone, the sheets not even wrinkled, as though no one had ever slept there at all.

A small part of him tells him he should check on you, make sure you’re alright. But a much larger, louder part is crying out for rest, and he cannot help but give in, falling face first onto his mattress without even changing clothes. He’s asleep within seconds.

He’s alone when he wakes up. He doesn’t typically sleep very long, instead napping in short bursts throughout the day, but he can see the light pouring in under the door and he realizes he must have slept at least until noon. He’s shivering, still on top of his blanket. Usually when he falls asleep like this, you throw one of the extras in your locker over him, tucking him in like a child. You must not have come back in at all last night.

He ignores the uncomfortable feeling nipping at him, something he will not name. You’re fine. You’re an adult, and one night away from your bed doesn’t mean anything.

But then you aren’t at lunch.

Sanji is giving him dirty looks, and Nami is giving him the most foul side-eye he’s ever had the displeasure of receiving. The rest of the crew are trying to act normal, but Franky is suspiciously absent and Usopp is so nervous he keeps dropping everything he tries to pick up, ending in him spilling water all over himself and taking the excuse to “take a second to go change” and never come back.

He finally breaks after Sanji brings Nami another drink, takes an obvious glance at him, and they start to whisper to each other. He makes out the words idiot, asshole, and loser (the first two from Nami and the latter from Sanji), before he slams his fork down. “What? What is it?”

Nami turns to him, filled with the sort of righteous fury she only saved for those who dare hurt her friends. “God, Zoro, you don’t even know? What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? You’re all acting weird as hell!”

Sanji jumps in. “Because you’re acting like a jerk and have the gall to pretend everything is normal, asshole! What the hell did you say to them yesterday?”

What he said to…oh. That feeling comes back again, and he furiously clamps down on it, replacing it with a significantly more comfortable and familiar indignance. “That’s none of your business, cook.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, I think I deserve to know why I had to find them sleeping in the goddamn kitchen this morning, actually.”

In the kitchen? Of course. It’s the one place you knew he would never find you. He never went there other than mealtimes, avoiding the possibility of another stupid fight with Sanji when he wasn’t up for it. “How the hell should I know?”

“Are you still pretending you don’t know it’s your fault? They were bawling their eyes out after leaving the training room.” Nami’s even angrier than Sanji is, and Zoro genuinely thinks she might hit him. The smaller, more tender part of himself, the one he’s ignoring, wouldn’t even blame her.

But that part isn’t in charge today. “My relationship isn’t your goddamn business.”

“Relationship? You seriously think you still have one of those?”

His blood runs cold, but he forces the feeling away, standing up from the table and stalking off. “I don’t have to take this.”

Nami calls after him, “I hope they dump you!”

Sanji cries out soon after. “I hope you fall into the sea, asshole!”

Zoro could go look for you. Should, even. But he instead makes the trek to the crow’s nest, cherishing the quiet, the solitude, the safety of it.

But as he sits in what is usually his sanctuary, he begins to feel that itch beneath his skin. Quiet turns to unbearable silence, solitude turns to loneliness, safety turns to suffocation. He tries to close his eyes, to center himself, take control as he loves to do, but the moment he does he can see nothing but your face. He can almost feel your hands on his back, rubbing soothing circles while your voice gently shushes him. You were so good at that, calming him down right when he needed you. Giving him a patience he simply didn’t deserve.

A patience he had been taking for granted.

What would he do, if another man had made you cry? If someone else had raised their voice at you as he had, time and again?

Part of him tried to justify it. But I don’t mean it, some petulant part of himself cried. They know I don’t mean it.

But do you? And would it matter, anyway? He’s still shouting. You’re still taking it. How long can you perform the same song and dance before it stops being a performance?

He needs to apologize.

He just needs to find you first. You aren’t in the kitchen, though Sanji is, and he doesn’t even speak with him this time, just giving him a mean glare that would send a lesser man running. Zoro hates to admit he deserves it. You aren’t in your bed, and your things are still missing. Not in Chopper’s office. Not in the library. Not in the bathroom, though Robin is, and he has to take a moment to furiously apologize for not knocking while she laughs at him.

He can only think of a few more places to check when he remembers who was missing this morning.

Franky’s workshop is quieter than he’s ever heard it, only filled with the quiet clanking of a small hammer against an even smaller piece of metal. Franky is using his second set of hands to put together some clockwork trinket, a significantly more delicate project that he usually takes on. Zoro is confused only for a moment, then he sees you, eyes intensely watching, and he realizes what’s going on. Franky has taken you in today, chosen something simple and small to distract you, to allow you to participate in some way. He’s always been great at small comforts like this, allowing someone the peace of his presence without worrying about being a burden.

Zoro could learn a lot from him.

Franky clearly knows he’s there, shoulders tensing slightly, but he doesn’t speak, waiting for one of you to take the first step. You don’t seem to notice either, too enraptured by the small metal bird in Franky’s hands, a look of wonder on your face that makes Zoro’s heart skip despite himself.

“Hi.” He cringes the moment he speaks, the peace shattering instantly. Franky doesn’t turn to acknowledge him, but he can practically feel the wince that must be on his face from the lame opener. Your head shoots up like a frightened rabbit, every part of you tense and ready to run. You pull in on yourself, making yourself smaller, like if you’re lucky he might miss you entirely, move on to the next prey. He puts up his hands, the first and only act of surrender he has ever performed, before continuing. “Can we talk? In private?”

You look to Franky, and Zoro doesn’t know what the look you two exchange means, but it makes you get up and approach. You give him a wide berth, not even coming within a foot of him, but you nod at him briefly to indicate he should follow. However small of a gesture it is, you’ve finally acknowledged him. That’s something.

You lead him back down to the training room, still covered in splintered wood and reeking of sweat. He can’t help but notice you didn’t pick a neutral location. You lead him somewhere he feels safe.

You turn to him. “Talk.”

He hesitates a moment, trying not to trip over himself and somehow make this work, but he can see that he’s finally reached the end of your apparently not-quite-infinite patience. “I’m…sorry.” He says the words through gritted teeth, feeling as though they burn his mouth as they leave. He doesn’t like to apologize in words, but in action. In gentle hands, in small acts he could deny later. He doesn’t know why it embarrasses him, to admit he was wrong. He is pretty often. But something about it makes him feel so small, so weak. But he can be small and weak for you, right now. No matter how much it hurts.

Your eyes widen, and you take the smallest step backwards. Shocked by him admitting for once he’s at fault. “You’re…sorry?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

You narrow your eyes at him, searching for some kind of trick, some hidden knife ready to plunge into your back. “For what?”

“For…for what? You know for what.” He winces at how defensive he sounds, at how you start to pull in on yourself again. “Sorry. Um. For yelling at you. For taking my anger out on you when you did nothing wrong. For how I always do that. I…I don’t know why I snap at you. And it’s wrong.”

“Yes, it is.” You close your eyes for a moment, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “It isn’t fair of you to keep doing this. I tried letting it slide, because I know you just don’t know how to handle your feelings, that you aren’t coming from a place of malice. But that doesn’t make it okay. And you never stopped.” You turn your back to him, approaching a nearby window, staring out at the sea.

“I’m going to stop now. I swear it.”

“I won’t be with someone who speaks to me like that. I deserve better. You know I deserve better.” You’re trying to play tough, but he can hear the shake in your voice, and he realizes that just like yesterday you’ve only turned around so he can’t see the tears on your lashes.

He wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your hair. “You do. I swear I’ll treat you like you deserve. If I ever talk to you like that again, I’ll fall on my own sword.”

“...Swords.”

“Huh?”

“Swords. All three.”

He chuckles despite himself. “Alright. I’ll fall on all three at the same time.”

“Good. …You deserve it.”

“I know.” A silence hangs in the air. “I love you.”

You don’t answer.

You don’t hug him back, and you’re still sniffling, but you let him hold you. That has to be enough for now.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece (if you saw I forgot the taglist when I first posted this no you didn't)

#roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #one piece x reader #zoro x you #one piece zoro #roronoa zoro #one piece #zoro roronoa x reader

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bbydoll18xx · 3 days

Text

This Is Me Trying

'I just wanted you to know that this is me trying.'

Azzi Fudd x Reader

Based on this request (sorry it took forever lol)

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.1k

Themes: depression, mild alcohol abuse, hurt/comfort

A/N: hiii so here i am trying out writing for someone other than Paige, and I really hope you like it! If this is a decent success I may write for other people as well :) And of course it was time to write a fic to go along with my most favorite song of all time (folklore stans rise up)

Lets do thisss

also sorry this is lowkey kinda depressing i am a sad girly

Your lack of sleep was showing in deep purple bruises under your eyes that no amount of even the heaviest concealer could adequately cover. You haven't slept well in days, and today’s shift had not helped your exhaustion. The day was filled with incessant neediness, people cussing you out, and an endless amount of shit.

Literally and figuratively.

You walk into your apartment, just wanting nothing but to fall into Azzi’s warm and loving arms, but you’re met with the still darkness of an empty home. Your girlfriend was in Las Vegas playing against the Aces, and she would not be home until tomorrow afternoon.

She had promised to call you after the game, but you weren’t sure if you would even make it through your shower, much less wait up for her by the phone for another three hours.

Your eyes fill with tears, the feeling of overwhelming loneliness mixing with your exhaustion, and as you throw your stuff on the floor, dredging your body into your bathroom, letting the downpour of water drown out your own tears.

You had become quite accustomed to hiding your feelings behind bright smiles and fake laughs, desperate to clutch onto the need to prove to everyone that you were okay.

Even if you really weren't.

Your girlfriend had enough stress on her, and the idea of her needing to worry about you, too, was enough to send guilt shooting through your entire body.

You had kept up your facade all throughout college, choosing to take long, solo car rides until you had to pull over, the tears swimming in your eyes nearly blinding you. And when you were strung along to the bars with Azzi and the rest of her teammates, you drowned your sorrows and fears with liquor, numbing your thoughts and your body until you were delirious.

You were the golden girl.

You knew what jokes to crack for which group of people you were around at the time. Your grades were stellar. And you had bagged the prettiest, sweetest girl in probably the entire universe.

So, you resented yourself for feeling anything other than being on top of the world, because it was actually quite the opposite.

It got worse once you graduated.

Azzi was often gone, traveling for away games, and that left you alone to process the unimaginable emotions that came with your budding nursing career. Feelings of loss and incompetence clouded your brain constantly.

Today was no different.

You had lost a patient, a kind, gentle woman who finally let go, taking her last breath while gripping your hand, completely alone.

It broke you, and the devastating reality had sunk into your chest, crushing all of the air out of your fragile lungs. And you were now gasping for air, leaving you feeling bereft and vulnerable, like an open wound.

Maybe that’s all you’d ever really be, and you could not help but think that you were the festering wound in yours and Azzi’s relationship, threatening to slowly tear it apart until the two of you were left standing in the tattered shreds of what used to be.

You wanted things to be okay so, so badly, but the overwhelming feelings of loneliness and longing had set in, chilling you down to the bone. And you were scared.

So you would just continue on pretending.

Azzi comes home the next day, and you put the mask back on the second she walks through the door. You’d be lying, though, if her presence didn’t make you feel the tiniest bit whole again. You melt into her arms, drinking in her presence, as she rubs your back soothingly, her face pressed into the crook of your neck.

Maybe everything would be okay, if only you could be honest with her.

Azzi lays in bed next to you, and you indulge in the way her smell has permeated the soft bedsheets again, after days of the scent slowly becoming less and less potent. She smells warm and comforting, and you nuzzle into her, desperate for her to fix every little part of you that was screaming out in insecurity and despondancy.

A low sigh escapes your throat, secretly wanting your girlfriend to pick up on your mood, and because she knows you better than anyone else, she does.

“What’s wrong, baby?” She questions, her tone filled with concern and worry. She places a hand on your cheek, coaxing you to look into her eyes, and the glow of the lamp on the bedside table illuminates the kindness emitting from her deep brown irises.

“I–” You begin, taking a deep breath and then stopping. Trying to put all your emotions into coherent words was quite the task. And honestly, you were terrified of how Azzi would react.

Her thumb strokes your cheek, as she sits up fully next to you in the bed, eyes still peering into yours.

“It’s okay, it’s just me,” she murmurs gently, and something clicks inside of you.

It was Azzi. You could tell her anything, and it would never even come close to dimming any of the love she felt for you.

In that moment, all the anxiety you felt about coming clean seemed silly, like it had been built up in your head to great heights, and here it was now, crashing down all around you.

“I’ve been really depressed,” you mumble, your cheeks feeling warm from her touch and the prickling of shame. “For a long time, actually. And I really fucking miss you. I hate feeling like a needy girlfriend, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this.”

The confession pours out of you, and as the air stills between you, your heart races as you watch Azzi’s face contort into a look of hurt and confusion.

“Oh, baby,” she breathes, scooping you up and setting you into her lap, legs draped over hers as she interlaces your fingers with hers.

“I’ve been missing you, too. And I didn’t want you to feel like you had to sacrifice your career for mine,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss onto your temple.

Your shoulders sag in relief, and you connect your lips in a kiss. There were numerous unspoken words shared as your lips entwined in a sheer display of passion.

As you break apart, you gaze back into those dark brown eyes, pupils now blown wide. “Guess this means we’ll have a lot more time to be doing this,” you giggle, wagging your eyebrows at Azzi.

She shakes her head fondly. “Just want my sweet, happy girl back,” she whispers in your ear.

Little did she know, you already were.

I really hope everyone enjoyed this. I have been toying around with a lil Pazzi fic, so let me know if you'd be interested :)

xoxo katy

Taglist:

@fullladypanda-blog, @omg-imtumbling, @tenaciousglitternerd, @oldcrdigan, @paigebuxkets, @the-other-half , @patscorner , @dietcokesmom , @tndaqltoifwy

Want to be added to my taglist? Comment or send me a message!

#azzi fudd x reader #azzi x reader #azzi fudd x you #azzi fudd #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #fluff #angst with a happy ending #this is me trying

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hanihazeljade · 2 days

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Tim Drake as a Rogue "Ursula"

Ursula is known as the sea witch who grants wishes to mers who is desperate enough to ask her to grant their wishes. Ursula is often portray as a mean and bitter octopus who hold grudge to her dearest brother.

And who is more fit to become the Ursula of Gotham City than the Mad Bat himself, Tim Drake.

(CW: Cursing, Disney Plot)

Tim doesn't want to come back as a vigilante. He rather be a dropped out high school that found a 9-5 job as he was subbing for Bruce as he recuperate on his travels in time.

He finished his job. He is not Robin anymore and he will never go back at being Robin, so that he could be tossed out once he was no longer needed.

He doesn't even want to be associated with the bats and it's colleagues but he can never ignore the pleads of the people of Gotham. Especially, the one who is "desperates", that people who have nobody that believes in them.

So, therefore, he weave a new persona. The one who everyone avoids until they used up all of their choices. The one that is supposed to be left alone, or else you are risking yourself to the cruel contracts.

He became Ursula of Gotham. With his already pale skin, he can easily stain his skin with a sheen shade of blue and he acquired a white human hair wig that he tied in an elaborate ponytail. And of course, you cannot forgot the blood red lips. And knowing some ancient curses is handy and one of the advantages he had for having archaeologists.

Tim is having fun being Ursula. Seeing the vulnerable souls come to him and he gave them adequate contracts while those who tried to manipulate him, let's just say that they got what is equivalent of turning into a sea foam.

Ursula, the wicked witch— what the others dubbed him, has a permanent residence in the Tricorner Island. Many will tell him that he is being an idiot as it was the island that also residence the Gotham City Police Department, but you know what they said, the most dangerous place is where the safety exactly is .

As months pass by, he was establishing himself as the largest shareholder of Wayne Enterprise and putting the fear of him among the WE board. It was a hard feat as some old fossils tried to question his credibility but he quickly shut those down. He understand them as he was just nothing but a dropout highschool student and was employed through nepotism. But with his knowledge on how to fuck with Lex Luthor payed off as he can very much see the fear on those old cunts every time he bring up their bullshit plans for the Wayne Enterprise.

And also in the works of establishing the wicked witch of Tricorner Island, but even with the GCPD in his tail, he was doing nothing illegal, except for some murders here and there — not like the bats will care, he is a rogue not a vigilante, he was now one of the established not to fucked with together with Black Mask, Maroni and Falcone.

Of course he is not going unnoticed by the big bad bat himself. He was doing his own deals when suddenly his door got blown up by the Batman the Second and Robin with swords. He was in the middle of keeping the poor lady on signing her contract.

"I am sorry, young Aisha. It seems like the big old bat has something to say to me, come back tomorrow." Tim, or rather Ursula, said as his piercing blue eyes gazed to the pair. He can see the Batman shivered a little bit in his glare.

As the young lady, was now out of the premises, he looks at the pair with degrading look like how Ursula looks at everyone else.

"Well, pray tell, big bat and brat, how could this poor thing could help you." he rolled his eyes.

"What is your deal?"

Ursula gasped, "I am just trying to help some poor unfortunate souls. I am doing a great charity, I believe."

"Cut the flowery words, Ursula. We don't believe in every single words you've said."

"Well, have I done anything wrong? I am just helping."

"Helping but most of your clients disappear, like a sea foam."

Ursula chuckled, "Now, you are coining a little bit too much to Disney. I am nothing but a human, not even a meta."

"Then how— Robin!" Batman was supposed to further the interrogation but the Robin beside him suddenly shank Ursula, clearly his patience run out.

Ursula grabbed the nearest thing and coincidentally, it was a broom. But still, a wooden broom has nothing compare to the steel swords of the brat. So Ursula, did as any regular people would do and grabbed the kid's hood and spray him with pepper spray that he grabbed somewhere.

He released the kid after knowing that brat inhale too much as he start to coughed so bad. He sighed heavily, "This is why Gotham has so much desperate souls, the knight that was supposed to be protecting us was accompanied by a violent demon. The previous one was more tolerable than any of you." he said and aimed the pepper spray towards Batman, "Leave."

"We are not done, Ursula." Batman said as he carried the coughing Robin out of his residence.

Ursula smirked, "It seems like Batman doesn't recognise who Ursula is."

#tim drake #fanfic #chaotic tim drake #unhinged tim drake #timothy jackson drake #dcu #damian wayne #dick grayson #tim drake as rogue

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ripdragonbeans · 1 day

Text

Bonded To Dragons

Chapter 1: Meeting Your Bonded

Warnings: None

Finally, after years of wondering, at the age of twenty-two, you were going to meet your Bonded. Finding out you were a Central was a surprise to you and your family. Finding out who you were Bonded to was even moreso. You shook out your hands, trying to keep them dry from the clamminess that now coated them. It was nerve wracking, meeting your Bonded. Their lives were tied to yours. It’s instinct for them to do anything to protect you. You could only hope that they felt the same way and it wasn’t only just instinct fueling them. Sometimes, finding a genuine connection within a Bonded Circle could be hard. You refused for yours to be a forced one. You wanted yours to be genuine, full of trust and respect for each other.

As you approached the door that led to your Bonded, you took one last deep breath before opening it.

You entered a cold room to find your three Bonded waiting for you. Aemond, Aegon, and Jace. All three of them were slouched in a chair doing one thing or another to pass the time. One of them was tall and lanky with long silver blond hair and an eye patch. His eye snapped to yours the moment you walked in. His stare was so intimidating that you had to look away. You focused on one of the other guys. There was another with shoulder length silver blind hair. One leg was crossed over the other and he lounged on his phone scrolling through what looked like a dating app. The thought of one of you Bonded on a date with someone irked you but you let it slide for now. The only one without silver blind hair sat a little straighter. When his eyes locked onto yours, you felt yourself relax. You could do this.

“Hi, I'm -”

“We know who you are, Byka Zaldrīzes,” said the long haired one. He didn't look up from his phone or even get up from his chair.

“Why did you call me little dragon?” You asked him.

“I'm impressed you know High Valyrian. And to answer your question,” he hummed. “Because you're ours.”

You crossed your arms and lifted your chin up high. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

“And that's where you're wrong, Byka Zaldrīzes. You're our Central. It's our job to take care of you.” His violet eye bore into yours.

So this is what it would be like to be a Central with these three. Constantly coddled by one man while the other two just do their own thing. Of course this is how the Targaryen Bond Circle would be. Hoping things would get better, you muttered words of annoyance under your breath as you walked to the other side of the room.

The one with curly dark brown hair got up and brushed his hands on his jeans before walking up to you. His eyes were a beautiful brown and had small flecks of gold in them. He flashed you a smile as he approached you.

“My name’s Jacaerys but you can call me Jace.” He put a fist over his heart and bowed slightly. “I promise to protect you with my life. I am honored to be your Bonded.” He took your hand in his and brushed his lips against your knuckles.

Your breath caught in your throat at the vow. No one has ever been this loyal to you yet here someone was, pledging their life to yours.

“Th- Thank you, Jace. That is very sweet of you. And I promise to protect your life with my own as well,” you said quickly without thinking.

Someone growled behind you. “There will be no promise of the sort.”

Annoyance started to tickle your nose.

“And why is that?” You turned to face the voice. It was the long haired one again. The one with an eye patch.

“Once again, it is us, the Bonded, who protect the Central. It is not the other way around.” He stared at you fiercely as though he was asking you to challenge him.

“I'm going to assume you are Aemond,” you said. “The one who knows everything. I am sorry to say, however, you don't know me or what I'm capable of.”

“You'd be surprised to know what I know, Byka Zaldrīzes.” Aemond got up and circled you with his hands behind his back. He observed you as one would observe an insect or a science experiment.. “Do you know why I call you little dragon?”

“You said you call me that because, according to you, I’m yours.”

“You are. And you are just that, a dragon. Just like me and my brother here, the one who hasn't even looked up,” Aemond paused to smack the last one in the chair. “You're a dragon shifter.”

You scoffed. “How can you be so sure? We just met.”

“Every Targaryen bonded group has been a group of dragon shifters. We're revered throughout the community. We're wanted, desired. You are one of the lucky ones.” He cast a sideways glance at Jace. “And him, too.”

“Of course I'm a dragon shifter,” said Jace. He puffed up his chest. “My mother is a Targaryen. She's a dragon shifter so I am as well. I didn't need to be put into a Targaryen Bond Circle to know that.”

“Some of us aren't that fortunate to already have the knowledge,” you muttered.

Jace’s eyes went wide. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… I'm sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I forget that your power isn't something you're automatically told once it's known sometimes. My family was always big on telling us so we could work on honing our skills.”

“I wish my parents were like that,” you said wistfully. “Up until Aemond said anything, I never even thought about possibly being a dragon shifter. But being your Central, it would make sense.”

You thought of your family, what your father might be thinking now, how proud he would be to learn his daughter is a dragon shifter. Tears gathered in the corner of your eyes at the thought of him, the only one in your family still alive due to the war. For him you’d see this through.

“Are we done here?” complained the other silver headed one.

“You haven’t even introduced yourself and yet you want to leave?” Aemond asked his brother.

“Yeah, I got a hot date in a few hours!” he insisted.

Anger ran through your veins. “Hot date? You have a Central Bond. Me.”

None of your Bonded would touch another so intimately except for you. You didn’t want to act rash or stupid, but it was part of being a Bonded. It was part of that primal part of you. No one touched your Bonded. The mere thought of Aegon being with someone else made your blood boil.

“Ah, yes, how could I forget?” Aegon finally looked up at you. He gave you one glance over before turning back to his phone. “You’re cute but I’m not giving up my social life for you.”

Aemond smacked his brother on the side of his head. “You are one of her Bonded and you will respect her.”

“I’ll respect her but I’m not gonna lose out on any hotties because of our Bond.”

“So,” you piped up, “you wouldn’t mind if I slept with any other guy?”

Jace and Aemond immediately turned to you, eyes ablaze.

“You will do no such thing,” growled Aemond.

Aegon shrugged but you could see the uneasiness in his eyes.

You took a step towards him. “Don’t lie to me, Aegon. You know the thought of me being with another guy drives you up a wall. If you’re gonna fuck with anyone, it’s gonna be me.”

Hot tension suddenly filled the room. Aemond gripped the chair closest to him as Jace took three long strides to get to you. He pulled you into his side and ran his nose up the length of your neck.

“I won’t push you,” Jace whispered in your ear, “but know that I am more than ready for us to complete our Bond.”

A shiver went up your spine at his words.

Jace backed away and Aemond was quick to take his place. He pulled you in tight with a hand around your waist. He cupped your face with his free hand and placed a whisper of a kiss over your lips. “I will always be yours. Now and forever. Say the word and we’ll complete our Bond.”

All you could do was nod at his words. You wanted to pull him closer, hell, you wanted to complete the bond right then and there. Instead, you brushed your lips against his, like he did to you, then took a step back.

“So it’s settled then. We’re the Targaryen Bond Circle.”

A few hours later, the four of you sat at a cafe. It was purely to get to know each other and to strengthen the Bonds between you all. No powers, no shifting, just four people out for the day together.

“I’d like to spend the next few days getting to know you guys better,” you told them. “Maybe I could spend one day with one of you over the next three days? Like tomorrow I’ll spend all day with Jace?”

“That works for me,” said Jace. He covered your hand with his and gave you a small smile.

Out of the three of your Bonded, Jace has been the sweetest. He was careful not to push any boundaries but you also assured him there were very few. The primal need of the Bond wanted you to be as physically close to all three of them as possible and Jace was more than happy to take that up. He always had a hand on or around you.

Being with your Bonded has brought a sense of calm to you that you’ve never felt before. You felt almost complete. You knew as soon as all three of the Bonds were completed, everything would fall into place and feel perfectly. But until then this was more than enough to make you happy.

#fics by bean #aemond x reader #jace x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd au #bonded to dragons

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plussizeappreciationfics · 2 days

Text

One shot: Falling in love

Requested ? : yes by @queenoftheworldisdead

Request: Can you do Pedro pascal and plus reader? Maybe he falls for a costume designer on the set of one of his films?

Warning(s): nope

A/N: I changed it to the makeup artist if you don't mind! @queenoftheworldisdead

Image(s) found on Google/Pintersest

"He should be here any minute", Sarah, your assistant spoke as she watched you let out a long yawn before continuing to put the brushes, blushes, small bowl of fake blood and hair clips onto the table.

"He better, or else he won't need my makeup at all, I could beat his face with my bare hands" you joked while putting up your fists and pretending to punch an imaginary person. Your assistant chuckled and made a mental note to ask Pedro's assistant if they could make a tiktok video with that concept.

Before she could voice her thoughts, the door to the trailer opened and a loud "Buenas dias!" erupted through the small room, Pedro entering the trailer and quickly closing the door behind him and greeting the two of you with hugs and kisses on the cheeks.

At your turn, you couldn't help but inhale the fresh scent of his body wash and perfume. That man always smelled like he was blessed by the Gods themselves. The Chilean actor grinned at you before whispering another "Good morning, beautiful" to you, making sure that Sarah wouldn't hear his special greeting for you.

"Good morning, you're five minutes late. My time is money, Pascal" you playfully scolded while patting his back, making him give you a quick kiss on the cheeks. "I am sorry, I will be on time tomorrow", he promised and finally released you from the tight hug, not that you wanted it but it was time to get to work.

"Okay, today you're shooting a lot of fight scenes, so your face is gonna look pretty beaten and bloody", you informed to which Pedro sighed and nodded his head, knowing that today would be a physical exhausting day. Nonetheless, he loved his job and loved that he got to spend the following hour in peace and with you.

"Okay, I'll see if Denzel is ready, if he is then I'll start his makeup too" Sarah informed you. You hummed in response while focusing your eyes on the makeup you had set up, ready to be used. She nodded her head at your vocal response and quickly left the trailer, knowing that you and Pedro needed all the concentration in the world.

Once Sarah had closed the door behind her, Pedro sat down in his designated chair and removed his glasses, placing them on the table and letting out a tired sigh before focusing his gaze on you. You were standing next to him, leaning over to open the SFX makeup jar while thinking about how long and deep the first fake scar would need to look like.

"I'm really Sorry, mi amor. I overslept" Pedro's gentle voice pulled you out of your rhythm, to which you chuckled and faced him while silently admiring his beautiful face. His eyes stared deeply into your and he had this genuine look of regret on his face, his brown eyes begging you for forgiveness.

"You have nothing to worry about Pedro, I was half joking" you chuckled and patted him on his shoulder, not realizing that goosebumps had made their way across his skin at your touch, his stomach churned in delight nervousness while his heart fluttered in his chest. That man was long gone for you.

"When are we going to address this" Pedro responded, his question making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion and surprise, your heart skipping a beat as you felt like you had been caught doing something you weren't supposed to do.

"Address what?" you asked and let out a nervous chuckle, the actor's piercing and loving gaze keeping you on your toes. The tension shifted in the trailer and a part of you knew that you needed to start doing your job or else the director would get annoyed at the delay.

"How we both are hopelessly in love with one another. How I can feel your increased heartbeat whenever I hug you, how you're the first and last thing on my mind. How I know that you're not gonna allow yourself to voice your deepest thoughts about your feelings towards me because you know that falling in love with an actor is not the most convenient thing on this planet".

Pedro gave you a wide smile, his eyes sparkling while you sat there awestruck. He had read you like an open book and you felt somehow exposed but at the same time relieved because he had indeed voiced your deepest thoughts.

A shaky sigh left your lips as you broke the intense eye contact for a few seconds, needing to gather your thoughts.

"Pedro..." you sighed and looked back at him again, seeing how he leaned forwards and gently placed his hands on your thick waist, pulling you closed to him so that now you were standing in front of him.

He gently wrapped his strong arms around your waist and placed his chin on your big stomach, smiling up at you and looking so damn adorable and handsome that it made your heart skip a beat while a delicate shiver ran its way down your spine.

"I know what you're thinking. I am asking you for one date, an afternoon or evening where it's just the two of us and nobody else. No work, no coworkers just us. If you decide to not pursue your feelings and keep things professional, I will do the same", Pedro's suggestion sounded heavenly.

"Okay, one date. And then a few days time to gather my thoughts and then I'll let you know my decision" you repeated with a quick head nod, loosing the inner battle of not touching the actor and gently letting your soft hand brush through his still damp curls. The motion made the actor let out a soft sigh, already loving your touch and yearning for only more.

"Thank you. I will set everything up, all I need from you is to show up".

"Don't tell me that, I will show up in sweats and a baggy shirt" you chuckled and shook your head.

Pedro surprised you by quickly standing up, still holding you in close while a wide grin took over his face.

"I don't give a fuck how you'll dress up, I'm already blessed to know that I'll spend a few hours with you", his romantic confession made you bite back a shit-eating grin as you felt your knees weaken.

"We gotta get back to work now, or both of our asses will be served on a silver platter" you spoke and let out a sigh, wishing that this moment would never stop. You had finally gotten the confession you had been secretly been hoping and wishing for. A deep sense of peace and glee settled in your soul as you couldn't wait for the special date.

"Then let's get back to work, but not before this-" Pedro surprised you by leaning forward and stealing a soft, gentle kiss from your lips. The delicateness of his motion making your head spin while your lips tingled with glee. You gasped at the sensations and pushed the actor back in his seat, making him let out a chuckle while you shook your head and finally got to work on his face.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x plus size reader #pedro pascal x you #plus size reader #pedro x reader

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hellcheeriest · 1 day

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i bet hes never had a backstreet guy

Twitch Streamer!Eddie x Single Father!Steve

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Steve and Dustin arrive at the convention, Steve finds Eddie more attractive in person, Eddie finds Steve attractive in general, Robin and Chrissy begin to figure some things out.

Content warnings: Slight age gap (Steve is 31, Eddie is 26) Steve feels as though he's too old to be acting like he is (I know 31 isn't old! Steve just grew up too fast as a teen dad, so he feels like his mind is beyond his years.) light angst, smoking, swearing, flirting

A/N: hey team.... lol. so sorry for the wait! now i wrote this between the hours of 2-4am (as i am uploading it is 4:10) so i apologize for any mistakes! Thank you for reading!

W/C:4.6k

STEVE HARRINGTON

“Dustin! Slow down!” Steve called out. His son had already made it halfway across the parking lot, practically sprinting to the doors.

“Come on Dad!” Dustin turned around and let his dad catch up. He grabbed the elder's hand, pulling him along.

“Okay, Okay!” Steve kept a tight hold on Dustin's hand. He’d done his research on convention etiquette and came across an article about adults losing their children and he told himself he’d be completely sure of where Dustin was at all times. The backpack he donned was filled with multiple water bottles, and his wallet had both cash and his debit and credit cards in case of any financial emergency.

They’d gotten there much earlier than they needed to, but with Steve’s anxiety and Dustin’s exhilaration, neither of them minded having to wait around until they opened the doors for the panel. Dustin talked Steve’s ear off, rambling about anything and everything related to the convention.

Steve fiddled with the tag on the lanyard he and Dustin were given upon entry, and he finally realised the reality of the scenario. Soon, he’d be in a room with not only a hundred other people, but the man he’d been pining for in secret for the past who knows how long. He was brought out of his thoughts by Dustin tugging on his sleeve.

The two filed into the large room along with a bunch of other people, and Steve’s grip on Dustin’s arm was probably tighter than it should’ve been as they found their way to an open pair of seats. The group that Steve had paid an exorbitant amount of money to see would be taking the stage soon, and Steve could feel his son practically vibrating next to him.

“You sure you’re gonna make it through this without exploding?” Steve asked and Dustin nodded.

“I have to!” Dustin exclaimed and Steve laughed, putting a hand on his son's head, twisting his fingers into his curls. Dustin wore a bright yellow sweater Steve recognized as his own, and the smile he wore was brighter than Steve had seen in a while. More people would pour into the room, and the multiple conversations would be overwhelming if Steve wasn’t focused on the way the lights dimmed and a woman walked on stage.

“Good afternoon, everyone!” She called into the microphone. The voices around quieted, and Steve tensed in his seat. “My name is Tory, and I will be hosting the event we’ve all come out here for. So, what do you say we get our guests up here and get this thing started?” The audience cheered and the streamers came on stage one by one before walking to their respective seats. A guy with dirty blond curls led the way up the stage, introduced as ‘Gareth,’ and the rest followed in. There was Austin, Chrissy (who Steve recognized from the singular stream he’d watched), Robin and Jeff. They all seemed to notice at the same time as the audience that Eddie wasn’t trailing behind them. After a moment, the applause faded and Gareth sighed into the microphone in front of him.

“This asshole.” The audience laughed, and only a moment later did Eddie shuffle on stage. Clapping and cheering surrounded Steve, but he could hardly hear it as his eyes focussed on Eddie’s form.

It was different to seeing him through a TV screen, and he wasn’t sure how Eddie could get any more attractive. His hair was loose, reaching down past his collarbones. It was curly, and wild, and free. He wore a pair of black skinny jeans, torn at the knees and thighs, chains hanging from two of his belt loops. His shirt was looser, the white fabric clashing with the black of the tattoo’s that spread down both of his arms, and had graphic text of a band name Steve could vaguely recall. He could feel Dustin’s grip on his arm as he too watched in awe, although for a completely different reason. Eddie finally reached his chair, taking a theatrical bow before sitting down.

“I love you, Eddie!” Someone called from farther back in the room. Eddie’s eyebrows raised and he smiled.

“Woah,” He spoke into his microphone, pulling a piece of his hair over his mouth. “Love you too.” Part of the audience cheered and Eddie leaned away from his microphone.

“Stop flirting with the audience, man.” Gareth scolded half-heartedly and Eddie returned his words with a raised middle finger, sparking genuine laughter from Gareth.

“So!” Tory spoke, cutting off the pair's bickering. Let's start off with a few games, yeah?”

About half an hour and a couple of games later, they’d finally reached the question portion of the panel. Tory explained that they would start off with submitted questions and then move to having a few audience members ask their own. Pulling out a clipboard, presumably the clipboard that held the predetermined questions, Tory smiled.

“Alright! First question is from ‘Hellfire’, with an ‘i’ on Twitter. It reads, ‘Robin when did you first realise you were a lesbian?’” Robin smiled and thought for a quick moment before answering.

“Well, I think I've always known, you know? Like, I never had actual crushes on boys in school and I remember asking myself why I couldn't like girls like the boys liked girls. But then after I got older and learned the queer people existed, and what each label meant, is when I really was able to realise who I am.” Robin rambled, and Steve couldn’t help but smile. The audience gave her claps and snaps and cheers of encouragement.

“Beautifully said, Robin! Our next question is for Austin-” The voice of the host faded away as Steve zeroed in on Eddie once again. He was resting his chin on his pale hand, chunky rings and bands covered his fingers and chipped black nail polish was painted messily on his nails. Even from where they sat, Steve could see the way the corner of Eddie’s eyes crinkled when he smiled, smile lines and dimples on his cheeks accompanying the grin that blessed Eddie's face. The purple and yellow lighting gave his hair and skin a glow that Steve found terribly alluring. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, getting lost in the bright baritone of Eddie’s voice as it mixed in with the others, studying the man before him as if he’d be tested afterwards. He only came back to reality when Eddie’s chuckle crackled through the microphone, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually tune into the words being said.

Soon, the pre-submitted questions had dwindled and after the last few had been asked they moved to having audience members voice their own queries. The audience questions were less organised, many asking about mundane attributes such as favourite meals or shows while others were completely obscure and had the panel struggling to answer.

“Well, we have time for just one more question from the audience.” And before Steve knew it, his son’s hand was shooting up. “Alright, you in the yellow, back there!” A smile spread across Dustin’s face as he stood and made his way to the microphone placed in the aisle between seats.

“So,” Dustin began nervously. Steve watched as he fiddled with his fingers, a nervous tick he’d developed. “Uh, my question is for Eddie?”

“Shoot, little man.” Eddie smiled, warm and welcoming, and Steve tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Ah, um. So, you talk about how school was for you quite often and I wanted to know how exactly you overcame all the uh, the name calling and everything?" Dustin was stuttering through a few words and Steve wanted nothing more than to go over and rub his boy's back. He could do that when Dustin returned. Eddie's face softened and he started to fiddle with the rings that Steve wondered always riddled his fingers.

"Yeah. So for anyone who doesn't watch me that often, I do streams where I talk about my unfortunate middle school and high school years to kind of-- shed light on what it's like for kids who were and are like me," Eddie started. "Uh I was called names," He moved a hand in Dustin's direction. "Messed with physically, all that. As for your question, I think I just started to realise that I'm not what any of those assholes say I am. That they can't push me around anymore.

Obviously, things might work differently for other people but that's what worked for me personally. Plus I was held back a couple of years so my bullies were out of my school life and I was able to be who I am." A few people from the crowd clapped, egging on the rest. Dustin beamed at Eddie's response.

"Thank you," Was the last thing Dustin said before he stepped away from the microphone and back to his seat beside his father.

"How was that?" Steve asked his son who was practically vibrating in his chair.

“That was so cool!” Dustin whispered and Steve smiled. Little did he know how cool it was going to get.

“Who knew you were such a poet, Eddie?” Tory asked and Eddie laughed and shook his head.

“Well, I am a songwriter so I'm technically halfway there.” He shrugged as if it were no big deal.

“That sounds about right.” Tory spoke over the few cheers that broke out. “Well, folks. That’s the end of our time here. Give it up for our wonderful guests!” Applause roared throughout the room as the panel stood and waved to the audience as they left. Steve felt like he could breathe again. He held Dustin close as they made their way outside, just as he had on the way in, and once the warm sun fell on their skin Steve took the backpack off his shoulders and pulled out a few granola bars and bottles of water. Steve spoke again after a few minutes.

“I have a surprise for you.” He stated as he zipped the backpack up, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Really?” Dustin asked from his seat on the concrete curb. “What is it?”

“Can’t tell you. But, we have to be there in the next fifteen minutes so we should make our way over there.” Steve pointed to his watch as Dustin stood up. The boy was obviously starting to grow tired, though the afternoon sun shining in the sky should mean he should still be energised. He tired easily, Steve found, and between the fact Steve knew Dustin didn't get much sleep the night prior and the amount of excitement that filled the boy, Steve was surprised he hadn't crashed yet.

“Lead the way, father dearest.” Dustin said, mustering up as much enthusiasm as he could. That was okay, he’d be truly enthusiastic soon.

EDDIE MUNSON

Eddie thanked any god that was out there for the short break he and his friends were given after the panel. It was so much fun being able to talk to his fans, though he found it unfortunate that it was by way of him being on a stage. A specific boy who asked a question stuck out to him. Surprisingly over the others who shouted compliments or "I love you's" at him. Yep. Just a young boy in a large yellow sweatshirt, probably in his middle school or early high school years asking how he overcame the bullying. Eddie swore it almost done broke his heart.

He took a swig of his bottled water and ate a few pieces of the slightly stale pizza that sat in the small room he and his friends were provided. Eddie popped the tape out of his walkman to flip it around. He closed the lid, and pressed down the play button, letting the sound of his mixtape fill his ear through the single earbud he had in.

Wayne had poked fun at him when he bought it. ‘You tryna be old-school or somethin’?’ He’d said as he rubbed his knuckles into his nephew's scalp. Eddie missed his uncle, and couldn't wait to go see the man someday soon.

"I'm so excited to go meet everyone!" Chrissy gushed. She sat on the loveseat, Robin next to her.

Haha, get it?

"I'm just happy I get to be with you, Chris. I don't know how I would handle everyone by myself." Robin smiled sheepishly. God, Eddie was gonna barf if Robin kept this up. How could two people be so clueless?

Literally, just ask her out already you idiot.

"I'm gonna make my way over to where I gotta be. Good luck, girls." Eddie clipped his walkman onto his jeans waistline and shot finger guns at the two.

"Good luck, Eddie!" Chrissy jumped up to hug him and over her shoulder, Eddie winked at Robin. Robin returned a shy look as Chrissy pulled away.

"Bye, Eddie," Robin mumbled and Eddie huffed humorously before leaving and shutting the door behind him. He took a deep breath, and finally started to make his way to the next phase of completing this con.

It had been about half an hour of meeting fans, taking photos, and receiving small trinkets from crafty fans that he graciously took and thanked their makers. He wasn’t sure of the last time he’d felt so appreciated.

"I love you!" A fan said as they waved each other off.

"I love you too," Eddie would return those words multiple times, and each time he meant it. The photographer called for the next people in line. The next thing he knew, a familiar flash of yellow entered his vision and he recognized the owner of a mop of brown, curly locks. Eddie grinned. Then he noticed the figure following the young man. He was tall, and broad, and also had a mop of brown hair on the top of his head. His hair was not curly like the boy he was with.

Wow, okay.

"Hey, little man!" Eddie brought back the nickname from earlier as the boy tucked himself into Eddie's side, the other man standing just behind his son and in turn behind Eddie.

"Hi!" Yellow shirt was ecstatic and Eddie hugged the boy back. Eddie took a quick look over his shoulder at the slightly taller man, blinking him a greeting and receiving a nod in return. Eddie was sure he’d never seen someone so handsome.

Handsome. He couldn't believe he was using that word, but matched completely with what he was seeing. Broad shoulders, swoopy hair, and shiny eyes. Freckles, straight white teeth and a warmth that radiated off of his body. Eddie wanted to lean into it, always feeling so cold. This guy totally would’ve bullied him in school. But, here he was, not a malicious gilt in his eye.

Maybe Eddie wasn’t as over high school as he thought.

"Three, two, one." The photographer counted down before the flash struck, capturing the image. The youngest started to move and Eddie grabbed onto his shoulders.

"Hey," He started and the boy's confused eyes met Eddies. "Just wanted to remind you of how awesome you are." Eddie's smile was as soft as his eyes were and the latter's eyes widened. The photographer shouted out, trying to keep the momentum, and Eddie wished the boy farewell, giving one last look to the other man. The latter looked back at him, his expression was unreadable, but devastatingly attractive. The two left and Eddie continued on with the now shorter line of people left.

CHRISSY CUNNINGHAM

Chrissy sighed as she lay down on the loveseat in the group's room. Taking photos and meeting fans personally was super fun, but also very tiring. Robin was going to return soon. She had just left to grab a couple more bottles of water since she and Rob had finished theirs and the only one in the room was Eddie’s and frankly, she did not want to ingest whatever that man's mouth touches. (It was mostly cigarettes, that's all she knew.)

Her mind wandered back to Robin. Chrissy rested her head on the small pillow that sat in the corner of the cushions, almost wishing it was Robin's chest she were resting on instead.

Wait, what? She couldn't think of her best friend like this, could she?

She couldn’t help but realise she thought this way a lot. What would Robin think? Yeah, she was a lesbian, but that doesn't mean she's interested in just any girl who comes along. Plus, she's Robin's best friend. Keyword, friend. There's no way Robin likes her in any other way than platonically. What would Robin think? Would she hate Chrissy? Her thoughts were cut short when the taller girl burst through the door, Eddie and the rest of the guys following.

"Guys you will never believe this. That one kid that asked that really deep question to me, came to my booth and I think he was there with his dad or something. Anyway the dad, or whatever, was like, super fucking hot--" Eddie's voice trailed off. Chrissy wanted to pay attention to Eddie's rambling, she did, but she had too much to think about right now.

"Hey," Robin's voice cut into Chrissy's thoughts from her spot on the floor next to the loveseat. As much as she loved to hear Robin speak, it was currently the last thing she wanted to hear "You okay?"

"Yeah, 'm just tired 's all," Chrissy mumbled. Robin looked skeptical before nodding and sending Chrissy a sympathetic look.

Chrissy ended up going back to the hotel early while everyone else stayed back a bit longer before they left for a restaurant for a celebratory dinner. Robin offered to stay with her, but Chrissy waved her off and told her to have fun with the guys. Robin promised to bring her back some leftovers and let her know she hopes Chrissy feels better. Chrissy smiled weakly before Robin would leave and Chrissy would change into a tank top and shorts and slip into the sheets of the bed she would have to share with the girl she was currently struggling over tonight.

She felt herself tear up.

Why did this have to be so hard? Why did this have to happen now and not in like, high school? She couldn't be having a sexuality crisis right now, not while they were supposed to be having fun at the convention for the next couple of days. Chrissy was scared of rejection, she admitted to herself. Not having feelings bigger than their current friendship, but the idea that she tells Robin these feelings and Robin rejects her and never speaks to her again and--

The tears slid down her cheeks and Chrissy wiped them away.

It was no use though when the last tears would be replaced quickly.

STEVE HARRINGTON

Music quietly played through the speakers of Steve's car. He had placed an order for pickup at his and Dustin's favourite restaurant and they were on their way to go get it. Steve was starving and Dustin was on his way to falling asleep in the passenger seat. After another couple more minutes, they finally arrived at the place and Steve softly nudged Dustin's shoulder.

"I'll be right back, 'kay? Just grabbing the food." He said quietly. Dustin nodded and Steve took that as acknowledgment. He got out of the car and went inside, waiting for a staff member. Someone quickly arrived. Steve told them his business and his name and in return, he earned a big warm paper bag that would be filled with the dinner. Steve thanked the person who helped him and he walked out of the door and made his way back to his car.

Until he saw a cloud of smoke from where the end of the small parking lot and the wall of the building met. There stood a man who he recognized all too well.

This was stupid. Steve was stupid.

Still, Steve walked over to the other who still wasn't made known of his presence.

"Hey," Steve greeted as he got closer. The long-haired man turned his head, blowing out another cloud of smoke. He tilted his head curiously before he spoke.

"Hi," Eddie said before he dropped his cigarette and stepped on it. "You're the guy that came in with the kid in the yellow, right?" Steve nodded, ignoring how his heart stuttered at the fact he was recognized.

"Yeah, he's my son. I wanted to thank you for what you said to him," Steve began, fiddling with the handle of the paper bag. "He's been having some issues at school. Says watching your videos and stuff makes him feel better." Eddie smiled and rocked back and forth on his feet.

"Nah," He put his cheek to his shoulder and his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. "Sucks that shits happening to him. Looks like times haven't changed, huh?" Steve sighed and pursed his lips in a silent apology. "What's your name, pretty boy?" Eddie asked. Steve laughed and shook his head lightly as blood rushed to his face. God, he hadn’t felt like this in ages.

"Steve," He answered. Eddie stepped forward, leaving limited space between the two. Steve blinked, his legs feeling as though they were full of lead.

"Well, Steve." Eddie pulled something out of his pocket before reaching his arm through the space of Steve's arm and torso, slipping whatever was in his hand into the back pocket of Steve's jeans. He let his hand stay there a second, eyes not reaching Steve's, but rather trailing over each feature on his face. After what felt like forever, Eddie removed his hand. He patted Steve's hip. "An… Offer. If you want it." Eddie stared up at Steve through his eyelashes. Their height difference wasn't much, but it was enough for Eddie to have to turn his eyes upwards.

Eddie took a step back. Steve sighed.

"I have to return to my friends. They're probably wondering where I am." He took one last look, up and down, at Steve. "Hope that serves you well," Eddie smirked before he turned around and walked back towards the entrance of the restaurant.

Steve froze for a second before he reached into the pocket, still warm from Eddie's hand. He pulled out what the other had put in. It was a wad of paper. Confused, Steve unrolled it. There he found digits scribbled. Eddie had given him his number.

ROBIN BUCKLEY

"Night, Ed! Night Austin!" Robin called from down the hallway, receiving a couple of grumbled replies. She giggled to herself before she continued her way to her room. She got to the door, pulled out her key and let herself inside. There she found minimal lighting and a mound under the covers of the bed, some strawberry blonde hair peeking out from the top.

Robin shut the door as she sympathetically sighed. She put the pasta she'd saved for Chrissy, her favourite, on the vanity and quietly made her way over to Chrissy's side of the bed. Robin put a gentle hand on Chrissy's exposed shoulder.

"Chris? You awake?" She mumbled quietly. No response. Chrissy's cheeks were stained with tears and Robin bit her cheek. Why had Chrissy been crying? She wasn't feeling too good, Robin knew, but what had made her cry? She pushed Chrissy's hair behind her ear and stayed there for a moment before returning to the door where she took off her shoes and coat, accidentally knocking Chrissy's coat off of the hanger. It was a quiet sound, but still, Chrissy awoke.

"Robin?" She yawned as she sat up and turned to where the other was standing.

"Y-yeah. Sorry for waking you," Robin's apology was soft as she picked up the smaller coat. She paused for a moment after hanging it back up. "Chris? Were you... Crying?" Robin moved back towards the bed. She was never the best at this type of stuff. She never knew how to help people feel better, oftentimes she felt useless in these situations. But, her best friend was hurting, and she needed to try.

"No! Uh..." Chrissy pulled her knees to her chest before huffing defeatedly. "Yeah,"

"How come?" Robin sat down and shuffled closer to Chrissy, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her into a side hug. "You okay?" Chrissy sniffled and shook her head. "What's wrong?"

"Can't tell you." Chrissy put her forehead to her knees. "You'll hate me." Robin ran her hand along the shorter girl's back.

"I won't hate you, Chris. I could never hate you. I'm your best friend, you can tell me anything." Robin was even more concerned. Throughout the years Robin had known her, she’d never seen Chrissy this way, so full of self depreciation. The only time that had come close was just after her ex-boyfriend, Jason, broke up with her. But even then, she seemed more relieved than upset. Whatever was bugging her had to be serious. Chrissy was silent for a moment, the only sound in the room being the friction of Robin's hand on Chrissy's tank top.

"I think I like girls," Chrissy said. Robin's jaw almost dropped before she went to console her friend.

"Well, Chris, you know I'm a lesbian. Why would you think I’d-"

"I think I like you." Chrissy whimpered.

Oh.

"Chrissy... You're serious? You're not playing with me, right? Because this has happened before where a girl tells me they like me as a joke, or they think they like girls and want to use me as, like, the test to find out if they really do, and then turn around and--"

"I'm serious Rob, I just..." Chrissy let tears roll down her face once again and Robin unconsciously let herself wipe them away. "This is all so new to me and you're my best friend and I don't know how to feel." Robin frowned. She remembered her sexuality crisis in grade eight and how hard it was for her. She felt for Chrissy at this moment. Carefully she turned Chrissy around and pulled her onto her lap, grabbing the hands that covered the latter's face and moving them away. Robin smiled gently as she spoke.

"Hey," She started with. "It'll be okay, Chrissy. Trust me. It's hard for a while, I know." Robin brought Chrissy's head to her shoulder. They were silent for a moment until. "I like you too," Robin whispered. Chrissy gasped and pulled back, staring at Robin with surprise.

"You-- You do?" She gasped, staring up at Robin with big eyes. Robin took Chrissy's face into her hands pulling her in to leave a kiss on her forehead. Chrissy was a light shade of pink and less upset than before.

"I do. I have for a long time." Robin laughs. Chrissy smiles and lays her head back on Robin's shoulder. They stay there for a few minutes before it seems like Chrissy's about to fall asleep. Robin carefully took Chrissy out of her lap and laid her on the bed. "We'll talk about this in the morning, 'kay?" She said softly. Chrissy nodded and Robin smiled fondly. "I'll be right back." She pulled the blankets back over Chrissy's half-conscious body and she left to the bathroom before pulling out her phone.

guess who might have a chance at getting a girlfriend

eddie help me

After a few minutes, Eddie didn't reply. He must be sleeping, Robin thought.

When actually, Eddie was up making a few text messages of his own.

tags:

@marklee-blackmore

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steddie au #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #buckingham #robin x chrissy #stranger things 4 #fanfiction #stranger things #fanfic #Spotify

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