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charliemwrites · 9 days ago

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Hiiiii! So I’m not super thrilled with this but I’ve been having a time of it at work so I worked on this when I could 🙃

Not sure if there will be a second part yet tbh we’ll see!

Edit: almost forgot to add that the gorgeous divider below is by @gildui they have some absolutely beautiful cod themed dividers.

Carrion

Reader comes back Wrong

Content: implied/referenced torture, injury, suicide reference/implicated “pact” (by background character), lack of wound care

The breakup was bad.

Not in the top 3 of Simon’s worst nightmare-inducing memories - but likely top 5. He certainly wakes up chest aching and eyes burning often enough for it to be a solid contender. He’s haunted by tears that dripped like acid and the cracks in your voice deafening him.

On bad days, he thinks he can still see you shuffling down the halls, eyes sunken and red-rimmed, dark circles and chapped lips. Anger giving way to resignation giving way to pain and sadness. The rest of the team tight-lipped and wincing, no sides taken, shoulders and ears offered equally in commiseration.

Your misery wanted no company, though.

You didn’t tell Simon that you were leaving. Gaz let slip over a subdued but obligatory game of cards, you’d be gone for a long time - loaned out to Laswell.

Simon didn’t go to see you off. Didn’t ask why you were leaving or accuse you of being too immature to be on a team with him. He didn’t wish you good luck, stay safe with the rest of the team on the tarmac at 0-dark when you took off.

He should have.

Price says you’ll be gone for six months. Just six. It’s better this way, he reminds them when Johnny balks. His eyes are on Simon, though, when he adds that you need to get your head on straight, and you weren’t able to do it with them.

So. Six months.

Simon stops expecting you on his left. Stops smelling your shampoo lingering on bits of clothes he pretended not to notice you steal. He still dreams about you begging him not to push you away.

183 days come and go.

On day 184, Laswell sends word - your temporary team likes you quite a bit. They want you to stay on for one more month… one more mission… one more…

Six months turns to ten.

312 days since you left; since you were home.

The team hasn’t stopped leaving a space for you at their tables, right between Gaz and Price. You miss your own birthday. Laswell says she’ll pass along well wishes.

The situation changes. A target resurfaces. All hands on deck, including yours.

374 days. Twelve months and some change.

They don’t spend the holidays with you, but there’s a stack of presents waiting in Price’s office. Your mugs have collected dust in the back of the rec room cabinet.

Laswell says you’re still deployed on one last mission, return TBD. Soon, though.

487 days. Still TBD. Soon. Really. Just some loose ends to tie up.

561 days. There was some trouble during exfil but you’re alright. Just a bit of recovery.

You’re coming home.

590 days. You’ll land at 0700 tomorrow.

It’s been 591 days since Simon last saw you. Since any of them last saw you.

Laswell has come to deliver you personally, a kind of apology for keeping you away so long. She’s the first off the transport and you’re right behind her.

Your hair is shorter. Much, much shorter. There’s a new patch on your jacket - memento from your temporary team, Simon figures.

Apart from that, you look… almost exactly how you did when you left. Dark circles under your eyes, mouth drawn and tight. There’s invisible weight compressing your shoulders, urging them in and down. But you’re there again. Just the way he remembers.

(Why are you the way he remembers?)

“Long time, no see,” Gaz calls, reaching for you.

There’s half a beat, you blink. Hesitate.

Then you grin and reach back.

“Missed my pretty face, did you?” you reply.

Johnny laughs and brings you in for a hug. You twitch hug him back, patting his shoulder as you pull away.

“Good to have you back, Sergeant,” Price says, shaking your hand.

You turn to Simon, nod in greeting, expression pleasant. “Ghost.”

So that’s how it’ll be? Alright.

“Sergeant.”

That night, you go out for drinks with the team and Laswell. Simon goes along to show there are no hard feelings.

(Not that you seem to need reassurance. It’s not even that you’re not looking at him. You are. Whenever he speaks, the rare times he does, or if he shifts in his seat. Your gaze doesn’t linger or jerk away, you treat him like you do Johnny and Gaz and Price.)

When Johnny mixes up your usual for Price’s, you don’t even seem to notice. But Simon does.

“When did you start drinking whiskey?” he wonders.

You used to swear you’d never like it, claiming it tasted like boot polish and the “Boys Club” wasn’t worth the indigestion it gave you.

“Someone from my other team,” you say by way of explanation.

You don’t ask for another whiskey. Laswell gets the rest of your drinks for that night.

Simon turns into the rec room two days later and finds you already there. There’s only the light above the sink on, and you’re staring at the steady drip, drip, drip from the faucet. A cup of black coffee cools in your hand. You’re already wearing gloves.

“Sugar’s in the left now,” he calls.

Your head twitches, something pops in your neck.

“Oh, thanks,” you chirp, turning for the cabinet. “Sleep okay, LT?”

“‘Bout as well as I ever do,” he replies gruffly, sidling up next to you for the kettle.

You hum. There’s a yellow packet in your hand. (Didn’t you used to like the blue one?)

“I get that,” you sympathize.

He snorts. Since when?

“Do you?”

When he glances down, you’re not looking at him. Instead, you’re trying (and failing) to get the sink to stop dripping.

“You know that’s been broken for ages,” he says.

At least as long as the 141 has been around. You tried to fix it once when you first joined up, too, with no luck.

“Right,” you say. A little too quickly, a little too agreeably. “Well, anyway, enjoy your tea, Lieutenant.”

You leave the packet of sugar behind. Unopened.

You’re back and it’s like it used to be - not just before you left, but before the breakup. Before there was ever anything to break up.

Your time away seems to have given you whatever space from Simon you were hoping for, because you act like there was never anything at all.

He’s half expecting, dreading, that you’ll pull him aside at some point. Ask for a word after dinner, or swing by his room before bed. Talk about the break up now that cooler heads prevail and 19 months have sanded down the rough feelings. Seek closure, maybe.

But you don’t. The weeks pass until a month has gone and you never exchange more than easy pleasantries with Simon. You give him space, give him privacy. Things you never used to give him much of before, for better or worse.

You fool around with Gaz and Johnny, trade quips with Price, and follow Simon’s orders. Train recruits. Write reports.

You’re back, better than ever.

So why does it feel like Simon’s still waiting for you to return?

You’re always dressed now, head to toe. Day or night, rain or shine. From the neck down you’re in full sleeves, long pants, boots and gloves.

It doesn’t occur to anyone until you’re sweating through your compression shirt in the gym. Wipe your shiny forehead for the dozenth time before Johnny says, “why not just take it off?”

“It’s not that bad,” you laugh, waving him off.

When you lie down to bench press, Simon notes the bottom of your shirt tucked tight into your waistband. He exchanges a glance with Johnny - he’s seen it too.

You used to dress in shorts and sports bras during exercise, a towel over your shoulder. In the common room, you’d mill in tank-tops and boxers. Even used to trot down the hall swaddled in a towel or robe, mumbling that you forgot a razor or some other toiletry before showering.

“What, did ye get an embarrassing tattoo or somethin’?” Johnny asks finally.

You blink at him, expression bemused. “A tattoo? Why do you think I have a tattoo?”

“Yer covered up like a nun on Sunday. It cannae be comfortable.”

You snort. “Just because you’re allergic to clothes, MacTavish…”

“Allergic?! Wha’s tha’ s’posed t’mean?!”

Gaz barks a laugh. You grin and continue your workout.

Simon tries not to be disturbed by the name “MacTavish” coming off your tongue for the first time since you met.

It’s your first mission since you’ve been back. You have new gear, a new handgun. Something’s been carved into the side of the barrel in Cyrillic, Simon can’t read it. A new callsign.

(“What kind of a name is Carry-on?” Johnny teases, but he doesn’t quite hide the unease in his eyes.

You snort and lace your boots tighter. The edge of you sleeve inches up, revealing the curve of a glossy scar that wasn’t there before.

“You’re one to talk Mister Maybelline.”)

Someone painted an upside down cross on the temple of your helmet with their finger. You thumb it before stuffing it over your head.

“You ready for this?” Gaz asks, knocking his knee into yours. The two of you have been paired together for this mission. (Was it Simon’s imagination, or did you look annoyed that you would have a partner?)

“Always,” you reply.

Simon doesn’t hear what happens, but Gaz looks shellshocked when you haul him into the helicopter during exfil. You shake him a bit once everything is secure and the bird’s in the air.

“Garrick,” you shout, “c’mon, where did he get you?”

It takes him a second but he blinks, offers his arm for your inspection. You move with a speed even Simon is impressed by, tearing into the nearby med kit almost viciously. Gaz is patched up in record time and you sit back with blood on your hands, barely even seem to notice as you wipe them carelessly on your pants.

(You used to be more squeamish, weren’t you? You used to be the last one they asked for medical care because seeing your teammates in pain made you nauseous.)

“What about you?” Gaz asks after a small eternity.

You yawn. “What about me?”

“You got nicked too, didn’t you?”

Simon takes a second look at you and now that Gaz mentions it, you’re soaked in blood. Wet patches on your vest, your pants, dripping down your boots. It takes him a moment to notice the tear in your thigh, shredded flesh visible when you rock with the wind turbulence.

“Did I?” you wonder, glancing down like you only just noticed it.

Johnny curses, reaches for you - but you wave him off.

“It’s just a scratch,” you reply. “Barely even feel it, no worries.”

Then why is it still bleeding?

When the team lands, you hop off the heli without so much as a wince. Droplets of blood lead all the way back to your room.

(When Simon asks Nikolai about the hand-etching on your gun, he says the word means “promise.”)

In the after-action report, your callsign isn’t “Carry-On.” It’s Carrion.

Laswell takes you off the mission two months later, a joint assignment with KorTac. They send three operators to work with TF141 - Stiletto, Konig, and Nikto.

On the transport to infil, Simon notices the Russian inspecting his handgun in a seat separated from the rest of the squad. He recognizes the Cyrillic carved into the barrel this time: Promise.

It’s an eerie, creeping suspicion. An anxious fog rolling in.

It’s not one single thing that trips an alarm in Simon’s head, but a steady collation of oddities over months. A single arhythmic beat, a note off key. Just once or twice, but over and over until he can’t notice anything else.

You act just like yourself except for all the minute ways you don’t.

You smile big and wide, sunshine bright, when they make a good joke. Your laugh is still the same, bubbling up in your throat, head thrown back. You smell the same when you pass Simon in the hall, shampoo and soap that’s haunted him for a year and a half.

It’s insidiously subtle; he can’t pinpoint what it is for the longest time. Your mannerisms are almost too practiced, the cadence of your voice too measured. A missing turn of phrase you often used, replaced by something unfamiliar.

Simon dismisses it as guilt-laden paranoia. The two of you ended on bad terms with a year and half worth of space between. He’s hardly one to gauge what’s normal for you anymore.

And besides, the few times someone else has noticed at those tiny yet all-too-obvious inconsistencies, you shrug it off as something you picked up while away.

But he catches Johnny’s brows furrow one afternoon as you light up a cig (after swearing for years that you’d never pick up the habit) and Simon knows he’s beginning to see it too.

“You ever notice,” Gaz begins slowly. You’re the only one missing from the rec room this evening, retired with a drawn-out yawn. “That Carrion always mentions being away, but never talks about it?”

Simon stills. Johnny’s eyes fly to Price, who’s grimly tapping at his crossword puzzle.

“The file’s redacted,” he says. He’s seen it too then, tried to investigate for himself.

“That’s normal for a mission like that,” Simon reasons carefully.

“I don’t mean the mission,” Price says. “I mean Carrion’s file.”

“This is a good movie,” you mumble from the armchair you’ve stolen from Price. “What’s it called?”

Simon exchanges glances with the rest of the team. No one points out that this is (used to be?) your favorite.

Price looks into the team you were loaned out to. All were KIA or remain MIA. All but one. His file has been scrubbed too, the only documents readable are discharge orders and a PMC contract, both associated with the callsign “Nikto.”

They’re running out of time.

Less than 36 hours on the clock with only one lead, and it’s a zealot with a suicide pact. Price and Laswell both took a crack at him with nothing to show for it. Even Ghost has gotten hardly anything and he’s running out of nails. With time, he might get something useful, but they don’t have much of that left.

In the anteroom looking into interrogation, you’ve been observing through the one-way glass with your hands in your pockets, head tilted, expression serene.

Price and Laswell are discussing strategy, contingencies. Gaz and Johnny are throwing in their two cents, but Simon… Simon is watching you.

Like medical, torture used to be your Achilles. You were trained like the rest of the team, but there was never any need for you to step into the room yourself. Hell, you were a last resort even for observation or emergency resuscitation. No one blamed you for having a weak stomach for information extraction.

But today, you glance over your shoulder and make eye contact with Laswell.

“I’ll handle it,” you say with an air of finality.

The room goes silent. Price opens his mouth, but it’s Laswell that speaks, voice hard with resignation.

“Do it.”

You don’t blink. “Yes, ma’am.”

You walk out the door without a backwards glance, shoulders loose but each step steady and purposeful.

“What the hell is going on, Kate?” Price demands.

Kate sighs, looks away as you enter the interrogation room.

“Let’s do this outside. It won’t take long to get that intel.”

The only thing she’s able to share is that you and your team were captured. For a long time. And then you’re already stepping out of the interrogation room, wiping your bloodied hands off on an old rag.

There’s an unusual glint in your eye, an unnatural stillness in your expression.

“Got what we need,” you announce cheerfully.

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #angst #reader came back Wrong #simon riley

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dilf-c0nn0isseur · 3 months ago

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Guilty As Sin - Logan Howlett x fem!reader

WARNING! MDNI! includes: age gap(legal!), oral(fem!receiving), p in v penetration & ejaculation, just a lot of smut tbh

word count: 5,094

a/n: i imagined x-men 2000s logan while writing this, ik the timelines kinda fucked but i love writing him like that so.

You had heard of Logan, or what he was better known as, ‘Wolverine.’ Anything you knew of him though was what you had heard during your time at the mansion where you attended Xavier’s school for the gifted. Your studies were short, as you had only attended the year you were set to graduate. Your mutant genes had manifested themselves slightly later than others. Now, a few years graduated, you had found a permanent residence at the mansion as a member of the X-Men.

You had not once met this man that everyone spoke of, but word amongst the mansion’s occupants suggested that he had gone off on his own for the last couple years. From what you’d gathered, he seemed to do just fine by himself.

After his rather drawn-out absence, Logan finally found himself back at the mansion. He was not troubled by the lack of company over his time away, but some part rooted deep down in him missed the sense of community this place provided. This was something he kept to himself. Vulnerability was not his style. His return was completely unannounced, but word quickly spread. Your curiosity to see Wolverine in the flesh was what brought you downstairs from your room, now leaning against a door frame to catch a glimpse of him without drawing attention towards yourself.

Your eyes focused on him as he pulled back from a welcome embrace with a member of the team, greeting his colleagues that he couldn’t have helped but missed while away. He sported an old, faded brown leather jacket that he unzipped to reveal a black t-shirt. You let your gaze wander to where his shirt was tucked into a pair of dark-wash bootcut jeans, a matching leather belt looped through the holes.

Then you realized how tall he was in comparison to those that stood around him. He practically towered over the crowd that formed around him. Just his presence took up space. He brought up a large hand to his dark hair and ran his fingers through it.

God, his fingers are long.

From that moment forward, you were irrevocably captivated by him.

No doubt he was much older than you. It was obvious in his appearance, the way he carried himself, his cadence. This fact did nothing but fuel your fixation. And so, you began on your attempts at his attention.

That afternoon, a few hours after his arrival, Logan had settled back in. He was content with returning back to his room, a space that was uniquely his. He got to work at unpacking the duffel bag that he had brought with him. There was not much to put away since he packed light. Everything he needed could often be easily found wherever he found himself escaping to. His travels had left him exhausted though, and he craved a glass of whiskey.

Logan made his way down to the kitchen, where unbeknownst to him, you had been waiting, expecting this to be the place that you two would be likely to cross paths for the first time. When his large frame appeared in the entrance to the kitchen, your eyes fluttered up, this time taking in his appearance much closer. Your stake-out at the table, however boring, was worth it.

He didn’t notice you right away. He moved swiftly to the bar, set on getting his drink. You watched as the tall, burly man located the whiskey and poured the amber liquid into a small glass. The proportion of his hands around the drink really put it into perspective just how large he was. How much larger than you he was.

You had to get his attention before he retreated back to his room. Sure, you may have spared the dignity to sit and wait for him to coincidentally walk into the kitchen, but following him? Too much.

“Hey.”

Your voiced appeared suddenly from behind him and caused him to slam his glass against the counter. He whipped around to see you, sitting at the table, arms folded across the wood in front of you.

“Shit, kid, can’t just sneak up on me like that,” he cursed. His fingers flew to the bridge of his nose and pinched it.

His use of the word ‘kid’ to address you should have annoyed you, but had the opposite effect. It reinforced that tempting age gap between the two of you.

“Sorry,” you apologized with a sheepish grin. “Logan, right?”

You had to play it off cool, casual, as if you didn’t know exactly who he was.

“That’s me.” He took a swig of his whiskey, the familiar burn against his throat soothing him from the surprise you just gave him. “Haven’t seen you around before,” he said after swallowing. “You are..?”

You introduced yourself. “I started here after you left. Heard a lot about you, though.”

“Oh, yeah?” Logan tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow. “Good things, I hope.”

You could tell he was more relaxed now, analyzing the way he leaned back against the counter, one hand propped behind him, the other holding his glass. “For sure. Heard all about your mutation. Pretty scary,” you said with a gesture to his hands. “But cool.”

As much as you were checking him out, Logan also examined you subtly, without you noticing. You looked young. Hell, a lot younger than him. But he could tell by the way you radiated comfort where you were that you were at least a couple years graduated. Most of the kids enrolled in classes were hesitant, not yet confident in their place at the mansion.

“Do they hurt?”

Your question brought him out of his thoughts. He nodded with his lips pressed to his glass again, setting it down as he finished it off. “Definitely took some getting used to.”

You were surprised at how casual he was. You didn’t really have an idea of how he was in person, but this wasn’t exactly what you expected.

He caught you staring, noticing the slight look of confusion etched on your face. “Kid?,” he prompted. There it was, that nickname again.

“Shit, sorry. You’re just different than how I pictured you.”

A look of amusement appeared on Logan’s face. “Pictured me, huh?”

His words almost sounded suggestive. Was that how he meant to come across? Whatever the intention, you continued.

“Kinda got the idea you were mean and scary,” you said in a teasing manner. “But you’re actually not too bad.”

“Mean and scary,” he repeated your words with a chuckle. “I guess there’s a time and place for that.”

His reciprocated banter made your confidence grow. He watched you carefully as you stood up from the table, closing the distance between the two of you and settling beside him against the counter. You reached for his hand that was placed against the cool countertop behind him, brushing your fingers against his knuckles. The difference between the sizes of your hands made your stomach turn. “Can you show me?,” your question insinuating his sheathed claws.

Logan was aware of the game you were playing now. His heightened sense of smell picked up the soft, aroused heat that now radiated off of you. The smell wafted up his nose and his grip on the countertop tightened below your hand that now rested on his. Your touch on his hand, your advancement, it turned him on in a way that made him feel almost perverted. You were so young, your experience had to be almost nothing compared to his. He had years- no, centuries on you. This was wrong. It was his job to stop it before it escalated. If someone were to walk in on the two of you right now, he could only imagine what they would think.

Coming into his senses, Logan shifted away from you, reestablishing distance between your bodies. His hand slid out from under yours.

“Another time,” he said, focusing his attention on turning to the sink and rinsing out his whiskey glass.

His change in demeanor puzzled you. You stared at his back, his muscles flexing underneath the white tank he was wearing as he placed the clean glass back into the cupboard above him. You wondered why his tone changed so suddenly. You pushed. “C’mon, just-“

“It’s getting late,” he interrupted you, now moving towards the hall to exit before this could go further. Before he let this go further. There was a tinge of annoyance lacing his words. “I’m heading to bed, and you should too.”

His exit was abrupt, leaving you standing alone in the kitchen, replaying the interaction. You tried to understand his switch. If Logan was hesitant to make a move on you because of the gap between your ages, you were determined to convince him otherwise, show him that you yearned for a man like him. Someone who could really take care of you.

◆:*:◇:*:◆:*:◇:*:◆

The next day passed with no sign of Logan around the mansion. You had even repeated your camp out in the kitchen for a little while, but left only further disappointed when he never showed. At some point, you retreated to your room and took a nap out of pure boredom. This ‘nap’ turned into a 4 hour slumber that you awoke from feeling disoriented and groggy, surprised to see that the clock on your nightstand read 11:47 P.M. You forced yourself out of bed and into a change of comfier clothes than what you had fallen asleep in, and headed downstairs to the lounge for a change of scenery.

Expecting it to be empty because of the late hour, you were more than pleasantly surprised to see Logan sitting in one of the leather recliners, his arm draped lazily over the side with a half-smoked cigar dangling between his fingers. You paused in the doorway for a second as his attention was drawn to you.

“What’re you doing up?”

His question almost seemed accusatory. He narrowed his eyes at your shirt, some band he had never heard of. The collar was stretched and hung off one shoulder, revealing your prominent collarbone and bare neck. His eyes dragged slowly down your torso to your exposed legs. The shorts you were wearing were covered by the excessive length of the t-shirt. Were you even wearing shorts? Underwear? Wonder what color underwear. Logan’s mind clouded with questions that forced his gaze to the fireplace crackling in front of him, distracting himself with a long drag of his cigar.

You noticed the way he examined you. His prolonged stare, the way his eyes fell down, and then away in realization of his obvious staring.

“Just woke up from a nap,” you admitted.

His body tensed as you finally made your way in and sat on one of the couches next to him. “What are you doing up?”

He blew out one last trail of smoke and then put his cigar out on the ashtray that sat on the table in-between the couches you sat on. “Was just leaving.”

Logan’s rushed attempt at escape made you furrow your brow. You couldn’t let him slip away like he did the other night.

“What’s with you?,” you confronted him. His face wrinkled, a look that portrayed his shock that you would question him like that. “Whad’ya mean ‘what’s with you’?,” he shot back. You rolled your eyes as you gestured to him, standing up and trying to make a break for the door.

“You acted just fine yesterday, and now you’re being all stand-offish and weird.”

God, the nerve of this kid, he thought to himself. Logan was always astonished with the younger generation not having a problem speaking their mind. Instead of letting him answer, you pushed it yet again. “Can’t help but think I make you nervous.”

“Nervous? The fuck do you mean nervous?,” he spat, offended. His chest heaved underneath his snug black shirt. You stood up as a way to try and level with him. This was a silly move, because he still towered over your much smaller figure.

“I think,” you started, words insinuating, “that you don’t know what do with a girl, so much younger than you, hitting on you.”

Your blatant admittance of the situation made his eyes widen, momentarily stunned. He quickly regained his conscious and scoffed, still dancing around the accusation you just threw at him. “First off, you don’t make me nervous,” Logan said, staring down at you with his eyes slightly squinted in annoyance. “And second, kid, I know what I’m doing.”

His words were sharp, biting. His attempt to diminish you with youthful nicknames was mute. You took it as a challenge, and the insult went straight to your core, causing a wet pool to form between your legs.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” you snipped.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut and exhaled. “You’re too young.”

There it was. You had finally gotten him to voice his concern, the reason he had given you the cold shoulder.

“I’m an adult, Logan,” you said with a step forward, that gap between you getting smaller. His breath hitched in his throat at your new advancement. “You can argue with me all you want, but the bulge in you pants is very condescending.” Your eyes flicked down to his crotch and then back up to his, a playful ‘gotcha’ smirk now on your lips.

He was now fully aware of the growing hard-on against his thigh and choked on the breath he had just inhaled. You swear you could hear him mutter a ‘fuck’ under his breath. He wanted to give in, he wanted to throw you on the couch and take you right there, but he was still held back by some guilty conscious in his mind, convinced he was too old for a girl like you. “I’m too old for you, kid.” A final attempt at calling your bluff, seeing if you would suddenly realize your desire to get with him was just a silly fantasy. You could sense his guard coming down.

“Am I gonna have to make a move on you first?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed in on yours and his lips pursed together. Your question was not answered with words, but with a tempting look, like he was daring you to act on your words.

With one more step, you closed the gap between your bodies, a hand running up one of his muscular arms. You leaned up slightly on your tip-toes, your height difference still separating you from his lips. He didn’t move, expecting you to back out at any second, needing more reassurance that this is what you wanted.

Your hand found his shoulder, using it as leverage to lift yourself to meet his lips. They brushed softly and Logan struggled to maintain his self control. You felt a shaky breath escape his mouth and tickle yours. When he didn’t pull away, you pressed your lips firmly to his. This was the confirmation he needed and he gave in.

His hands left their previous spot, frozen by his sides, and twisted around your back. He gripped your waist with his hands, pulling you tight against him. God, it felt so wrong, a woman as young as you wanting a man so far in age. His grip tightened and his tongue forced it’s way through your parted lips, running over your teeth and against your own tongue. When he felt a hand caress the bulge in his pants, he groaned into your mouth, the sound muffled by the fiery kiss. This felt so taboo. And maybe, that’s what he liked so much about it.

Logan’s mouth left yours but quickly found your jaw, kissing it and licking a stripe all the way up to the spot just below your ear. He planted another sloppy kiss here before whispering, “my room?”

His invitation fueled the fire in your groin and you nodded desperately. “Yes, yes please,” you managed to gasp.

The tall, burly man swooped you up in his arms with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist. He hoisted you up against him and you could feel his hard-on throbbing against your aching cunt. The contact made you grind your hips into him as he carried you to his room with urgent speed. You kissed his neck, his beard tickling your skin. The smell of whiskey and cigar smoke clouded your senses, paired with an underlying musk that was unique to only Logan.

One of Logan’s hands, still holding onto you, grabbed the door handle to his room and twisted it, kicking it all the way open with his boot. Once he spun the two of you inside, he rushed to kick it closed again. His room smelled even more like him.

He found your lips again in desperation as he leaned down and placed you gently on his bed. He remained on the floor in front of you, kneeling slightly to trail kisses down your neck. One of his hands slid up your bare leg, creeping up your thigh until he was met with the hem of your way-too-short shorts.

“Wore these to get my attention, Bub?,” he muttered against your neck in-between wet kisses. He zoned in on one spot and sucked the soft skin between his teeth, a maroon bruise forming under his lips. You inhaled a sharp breath. “Walking around here in practically nothing, that’s how bad you wanted this?” His voice was carnal, a seductive growl.

“God, yes, so bad.” Your words were incoherent, your inability to form a complete sentence showing how much of a mess Logan had you already.

His curious hand continued it’s trek over your shorts, fingers curling under the waist band and tugging slightly. He waited for you to object, and when there was none, he pulled them down to where they pooled around your ankles. You hurriedly kicked them off to the floor next to him. Logan pulled back from your neck and took in the sight between your legs, the pair of lacy red panties that were damp with your arousal. You felt your face heat up as he drank you in. “Goddamn.”

He drew in a long breath through his nose to inhale your heated scent. He fell to his knees between your legs and began planting kisses against your thighs, inching up towards your center. “Logan, please,” you whimpered above him, entranced by the image of him between your legs.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours as he placed a kiss against the fabric of your underwear. “You want this?”

“I want this so bad.”

Logan’s intense gaze never left yours as he pulled your panties to the side and let out a hot breath against your soaking wet core. “Holy shit doll,” he exclaimed at your arousal. Your bottom lip quivered with anticipation.

When his lips made contact with your swollen clit, you threw your head back and moaned his name. Hearing his name on your lips sent waves of pleasure through his own body. Swiftly, he pulled your panties down and threw them to join your shorts on the floor. He reconnected with your clit quickly and sucked on it gently. You hissed through clenched teeth and your hand flew to the back of his head, gripping his hair in your fingers for support.

Logan’s hands found their way to your thighs and grabbed them, forcing them to stay apart for him despite your body’s instinct to close them due to the overwhelming feeling of pleasure between them. He licked a long, wet stripe up your folds back to your clit and lapped at it hungrily. Each flick of his tongue made your insides boil with arousal. His fingers dug into the soft, pillowy skin of your thighs and you were sure they were to leave bruises, a reminder of who was between them.

“Y’taste so good, sweetheart,” Logan mumbled against your pussy. The vibration of his words against you made goosebumps raise all over your body.

“Wanted you so bad,” you rambled, “knew you could take care of me.”

“Is that right?”

His teasing remark made you clench around nothing.

One of his calloused fingers traced intricate circles on the inside of your thigh, trailing down sensually before gliding back up. You felt his finger continue to dance softly around your upper thigh before you recognized the pattern. He was spelling out letters on your skin.

‘M-I-N-E’

That act of claiming you, the writing it against your thigh, it made your stomach flip. “Oh my god,” you whispered.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, his fingers that were just marking claim on your thigh found their way to your dripping pussy. One finger circled slowly around your entrance, the natural lubricant you had produced letting it slip inside. You gasped and arched your back towards the ceiling. “Fuck, Logan!”

His lips still working at your clit, he began pumping his finger in and out of you. “Feel good?,” he asked in a hushed, gravelly voice. You answered an immediate yes, wanting more. He sensed your craving and slipped a second finger in, earning a content sigh from you.

Logan’s long fingers curled inside of you and brushed against the soft, spongy spot that made you cry out his name, along with other incoherent profanities. When he felt you began to clench around him, your hips bucking up off of his bed, he pulled his fingers out slowly. The emptiness from where he once occupied made you ache. You sat up, disappointed. “Logan-“

“I wanna feel you cum around my cock,” he interrupted. You watched in awe as he stood up, biceps flexing as he unhooked the belt around his waist. He slipped it through the loops of his jeans and let it fall to the floor. Your jaw dropped when he grabbed at the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. His body was even better than you could ever possibly imagine. The definition of each of his abdominal muscles, toned and glistening. Your eyes followed the trail of dark hair that lead down under his jeans. Logan caught your shocked look.

“Wait, kid, have you never-“

“Fuck, Logan, I’m not a virgin!” You almost laughed in surprise at his accusation.

“Y’sure?,” he cocked an eyebrow at you. “Cause you look lost.”

Your lips tilted in a downward smile, cheeks growing red. “I’m not a virgin. Just never been with anyone like you.”

His gaze softened and he shot you a small smile. “Ah,” he proclaimed. It was like he was self-aware of how perfect he was, you thought. “You wanna do this?”

You couldn’t believe he was asking again. “Trust me Logan,” you said slowly as you leaned forward, hands finding the button of his jeans. “I really wanna do this.”

His head fell back with a groan as you began pulling the zipper of his pants down, revealing the top of his boxers. You pulled them down to his thighs as he stepped out of his boots with a sharp stomp on the heel of each one. Once they were off, he let his jeans fall to his ankles and kicked them off to the side with the rest of your clothes. You tried not to show your astonishment at the size of his bulge, now even more prominent, tight against his thin boxers.

‘How is that ever gonna fit inside of me?’

Logan smirked slightly at the look on your face and pulled down the last article of clothing that was separating him and nudity.

You bit your lip as his cock sprung free, taking in the sight of it. It was fully erect, a single vein running along the underside where it met his soft pink tip that was leaking with pre-cum. Realizing that he was now fully nude, you pulled your shirt off slowly and let it fall off the bed. His eyes immediately dropped to your tits and his cock throbbed with need. His gaze swept up and down your whole body. “Fucking beautiful, sweetheart.”

His praise made you realize again how empty you felt without him inside of you. “I want you inside of me, Logan.”

He took his hard cock in his hand and pumped it softly, more pre-cum beading at the tip. “Lay down for me.”

You did exactly as he said and scooted up to the top of his bed, laying down with your head resting against his pillows. You could smell him even stronger here, the spot he sleeps every night. His scent flooded your senses and your eyes fluttered shut for a second, basking in it. You barely even noticed he was crawling atop of you until his hands were planted on either side of your head and his lips were back on your neck. Being caged underneath his much larger figure like this made you melt, a rag doll lying beneath him.

Logan nipped softly under your jaw, his sharp canines sending shock through your body. “Ready, Bub?,” he drawled against your skin. You nodded against the top of his head, your chest rising and falling with his.

He propped himself up above you with one muscular arm, the other moving to grip his cock and fix it against your entrance. You were practically leaking just at that. Your legs spread apart even further subconsciously, giving him more access. Both of your eyes were fixated on his cock as he began pushing inside of you, painfully slow. You gasped as you felt your walls stretch to accommodate him. A low groan fell from his lips as he continued pushing himself in, until he was halfway disappeared within your cunt. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered in his scratchy voice.

Your hand snaked around the back of his neck, fingers brushing the hair at the nape of his neck. “I want all of you Logan, please,” you begged. He brought his hand that was wrapped around his cock back up to it’s spot beside your head. “I wanna give it all to you.”

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled as you felt him pushing all the way inside of you, just what you had asked for. He bottomed out inside of you just as you felt the tip of his cock press against the spot that his fingers had just been curling into. “Oh my god, you’re so fucking big.”

His cock twitched at your words and he pulled out slowly before sheathing himself back inside you, warming you up to his thrusts. “So tight,” he grunted. You bucked your hips up into him, desperate for more. You knew how much he had to offer. As if reading your mind, Logan began building up to a steady pace, his thrusts making you rock against the bed frame. He watched as your breasts bounced softly with each thrust. His hands gripped the pillow next to your head and an animalistic sound built up in his throat- a growl.

“This what you wanted?,” he asked as his pace quickened. “Someone older who could fuck you right?”

His words went straight to your core where he was pounding into you. “Yes, fuck,” you gasped with a particularly deep thrust, “exactly what I wanted.” Your other hand flew to his back and you dug your nails in, leaving dark red marks that quickly healed over due to his regenerative cells. A guttural moan left him and he lifted one of your legs over his hip, pounding even deeper into your cunt. A sudden pressure on your clit made you realize his thumb was rubbing circles around it, increasing the pleasure. You were practically seeing stars at this point.

The pressure in your stomach built up and you could feel that familiar knot begin to tighten, threatening to release at any moment. Logan felt you clench around his cock and sensed your nearing orgasm. “Finish for me baby, wanna feel you cum around my cock,” he coaxed. His pleading words made you squirm beneath him, now not even sure what words were leaving your mouth.

With a deep, calculated thrust, you came undone around him. Your back arched up, tits pressing up against his firm chest. He continued his thrusts, praising you and brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Good girl, such a good fucking girl,” he said gingerly. “Look so pretty cumming around my cock.”

Your tightened grip around his cock as you came made him lose control of his steady pace, thrusts becoming quicker and more urgent. As you rode out your orgasm, he began to chase his. “Fuck, stay just like that,” he commanded while he worked towards his climax. Your body buzzed with overstimulation, but you took each thrust, eager to please. You thrust your hips up against his and he cursed, your compliancy sending him over the edge. “Where do you want-,”

“Inside. Cum inside of me.”

Logan moaned, the sound bordering on a whine as he spilled himself inside of you, each last thrust forcing his cum deeper inside of your pussy. You pulled his body down against yours, craving the closeness as he finished. With one final thrust, his cum dripping outside of you and down onto the bed, he let out a long groan and let his head collapse against your chest.

“That was the best anybody has ever fucked me.”

Your sudden, slurred words made Logan chuckle. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He placed a soft kiss in-between your breasts before pushing himself off the bed, going to grab a towel from his bathroom. He came back and parted your legs gently, cleaning you up with such care that made you wanna stay here, in his bed with him, forever. “Trust me, it can get better.” His eyes met yours from between your legs, still cleaning the mess the two of you had made. Your stomach fluttered. The insinuation that this was just the first time between you and him. That there would be more.

“I guess we’ll just have to see.”

Logan smiled at you before getting up once more to throw the towel into the bathroom and grab a shirt from his dresser. He crawled back into the bed next to you and lifted your arms up, sliding his shirt over your body. “Thanks,” you said softly, the fluttering feeling returning in your stomach.

“Course, Bub.” He pulled you into his arms as he laid down, nestling his head into the back of your neck.

#logan howlett #wolverine #x men #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlett x you #Logan howlett smut #smut imagine #x men wolverine #wolverine smut

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reidmania · 4 months ago

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inbetween | spencer reid

good riddance x spencer reid one shot series master list

summary ; after months over talking over email, you and spencer finally meet in person.

warnings ; reader & spencer fall in love over emails, meeting in person, insecure reader, insecure spencer, worries about not being enough, pretty much just pure fluff tbh.

an ; in between yall. this song. this is the first oneshot in the good riddance x spencer reid one shot series!! while i waiting for the poll to finish!!

part one, part two, part three

‘I just can't come between 'em, they got their own thing I wish he'd stop pretendin', he won't let his phone ring. For more than a couple seconds, oh, I think maybe two. two hearts just fallin' in and out of love for somethin' new. ‘i wish that you could see 'em, their faces lighten up their past is cold and empty, they know it's been enough of waitin' on somebody, someone who doesn't care but he knows her name, she knows he'll always be there’

The email rang up at exactly 5:30, exactly when you expected it to. You were sitting at your desk at work, knees pulled to ur chest as you spun on the desk chair. Your coworkers paid no mind to your antics, after working in the safe office for years, with each other. They were used to it by now.

You chewed at your lip as you refreshed your email when the clock changed to exactly 5:30, a wide smile dawned your face when you read the email, you heart ached with longing as your eyes traced over the words on the screen, your stomach tightening and your heart clenching.

Sent from [email protected] at 5:30pm

Hi.

I don’t know when this will send because I’m writing it while on the jet, probably as we get lower and more towards landing, I’ll spare you the scientific details. We only got back from a case this morning, early. Which is why it has taken me so long to reply. Im sorry.

We got a case in Maryland, which I remember you telling me, is where you live. I know I should probably just ask for your phone number but I kind of enjoy the emailing thing. It’s a lot less nerve racking because I can try to pass it off as professional, even though a lot of the time our conversations aren’t.

I actually don’t think we have ever had a professional conversation. Which is a good thing. I really enjoy our conversations no matter what we are talking about. I really enjoy talking to you.

I hope this isn’t too forward but I wanted to know if theres any chance I could see you while I’m in Maryland for this case. I don’t know when it would be or how long I’d be able to see you for, but I do really want to see you. If thats okay with you.

I guess I should give you my number, so you know I’m not some creepy old man. That would be ironic since I work at the FBI and my job is to stop people like that… I don’t know.

Heres my number, 023387677

Love, Spencer.

Your stomach tightened at the idea of seeing him in person. You never admitted it, but you knew he wasn’t an old man, you knew exactly who he was. You made the decision to google his name 6 months ago, when the two of you first started emailing back and forth after he accidentally sent a work email to the wrong person and you replied. It started as just telling him he had sent it to the wrong person, then he thanked you and apologised and made a joke and then the conversation just flowed.

You had been having conversations with Spencer Reid for six months and you felt like you knew more about him than you did yourself. He told you about his day, and about things he had been through, He opened up to you about his addiction and his mom and you opened up to him about your own trauma and issues.

Spencer Reid was your best friend and you had never met him. You had never even heard his voice. You only had seen his face on google when you searched up ‘Spencer reid FBI’ and a photo came up, he looked younger than you assumed in it, seeing the photo was from a few years ago. You felt slightly bad since you knew he could google you and probably come up empty handed — you had the upper hand.

You look at the clock as it inches closer to six o-clock when you finish work. A boring office job, you often complained to Spencer about. It was ironic since his job literally traumatised him, and yet you complained about the boring desk job, although he never ever compared, he would listen and comfort you after a bad day no matter what, just like you did for him.

You don’t reply to the email he sent as you typed the number he sent into your phone, saving the contact under ‘spence’ The nickname that had developed only weeks into the two of you talking. You send him a text, letting him know it was you, saying hi.

“Phone.” You hear your boss, warning you about using your phone at work, you lift your head an apologetic smile on your face as you close your phone, placing it face down on your desk as you close your email and return to your work after muttering out a sheepish, ‘Sorry!’

Spencer is sitting in a conference room of the police station in Maryland. He didn’t know it but he was only two blocks away from the office you worked. He never usually cared to check his phone while working — nothing could be as important as the case.

Until you, until now.

He found himself hanging out to feel the buzz in his pocket, he found himself checking his phone just in case maybe he missed the message. Just in case you did message.

He also checked his email a lot.

“Whats up with boy wonder?” Derek asked as he spun a chair to sit on it backwards, resting his arms on the back of the chair as he looked around at the other team members. Spencer focus on anything other than the case.

“He gave mystery girl his number” Emily said, patting Spencers shoulder softly to get his attention as she walked past him, placing a coffee down in front of him. Spencer noticed how it was his normal order — despite the fact lately he had been getting your order, after he found out what it was. It made him feel a little bit closer to you.

“Oo, Okay lover boy.” Derek hummed approvingly, raising his eyebrow slightly as he looked down at the boy. Spencer sighed as he let back in his chair, tossing his phone on the table as he checked to get no message. “Nothing yet?” Emily asked, knowing Spencer had been stressing since he sent the email on the jet, nearly two hours ago.

He didn’t know it hadn’t even delivered until a few minutes ago.

“Shes probably just busy” Spencer muttered as he checked his watch for the time. 5:33pm, you’d be at work.

Derek shared a look with Emily, both with teasing smiles on their faces. They had watched Spencer obsess over the girl for the past 6 months, even after he tried to hide it for the first few. He did a horrid job, they all noticed him smiling at his computer and typing away more often than ever, they noticed his focus slight adverted. It took a bit but they eventually got it out of him when you didn’t email him back for a week and he was going insane with worry that maybe you were ghosting him, or that you were hurt.

He confided in his team, you emailed him a few days later saying your wifi went down and none of your emails were going through. He was instantly relieved.

His phone buzzed on the table, 5:35pm. His hand instantly reached out for his phone. His eyes widened and his lip twitched upwards as he read the message that lit his screen.

“And lover boy is in” Derek whispered to Emily, loud enough that Spencer could hear that only ended up in Spencer sending him a glare, before typing out a reply and sending it, asking to call you tonight when he got finished.

“Alright, We got a lead” Hotch said entering the room.

You leant against the back of your head board, your hair wet and dripping down the back of your neck as you waited nervously for call to ring through your phone. You were almost terrified of what the conversation might hold. You were glad you were calling before you agreed or disagreed to meeting him, you could feel out whether or not it might be awkward or not.

You almost jumped out of your skin as your phone started ringing, anxiety pooled in your stomach as your skin flushed hot, causing the drops of water on the back of your neck feel as if it was burning the skin. You reached out for your phone that rested on your bed side table, answering the call.

“Hi.” You muttered out a breath of air. You couldn’t even help but smile as the realisation dawned on you. You were talking to Spencer. Finally, actually talking to him.

You heard a harsh breath on the other side of the phone before some shuffling. “Hold on” He mumbled out, you stomach fluttered at his voice as your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you bit back a smile.

“Okay.” You said, you heard some more shuffling before the sound of a door closing, then a creek. And then a breath.

“Hi” He settled on, you sat up a bit, crossing your legs as his word came out almost breathy and nervous. It made your chest thump against your ribcage so much it ached. “Sorry— I should’ve waited till I was in my hotel room to call, I was excited— Sorry” He said.

You could hear the nerves in his voice and all it did was make your cheeks beat a rosy hue. “It’s okay. I was nervous” You admit softly, you try to hide the slight embarrassment in your voice but it fails you as your words come out small.

You hear him chuckle. You think the sound genuinely makes your mind fall empty of any coherent thoughts. “You don’t have to be nervous” He spoke so softly as if his words were an exhale he had been holding in.

“But I am” You muttered.

“Me too.” He said honestly. You found comfort in the fact he cared enough about this interaction to be nervous about it. You went to run your hand through your hair but paused with you felt the coldness — it was still very wet from your shower.

“Good” You sighed out, voice almost a whisper. You didn’t know why you were speaking so quietly, there was no one else in your house. There was no reason to be as quiet as you were.

“Is good that I’m nervous?” Spencer asked, you could hear the teasing in his voice. It made your head spin and the words get caught as you shook your head, before remembering he couldn’t see you.

“Yes- No- no. No.” You muttered out, “Its uh- Its not good that your nervous— I- Its just good that you care” You scrambled out, stuttering over your words as you grew flustered. It made you want to turn into your pillow and scream.

You heard him laugh, making your face screw up. “Shut up.” You muttered out as it didn’t take a genius to figure out he was laughing at you scrambling over your words, your free hand came up to cover your face as your cheeks felt on fire.

“No- Im sorry. Im sorry. Of course I care, you know I care” He said softly as he collected his laughter, his voice dripping honesty for a moment as he spoke genuinely in a way that made your knees feel weak — Thank god you weren’t standing. You were silent for a moment as a smile dawned on your face.

“Tell me about your day.” He requested gently. You heard some more shuffling you could only assume he was getting comfortable in bed. You pictured it and it made your stomach burn with longing. Wishing it wasn’t just an image in your head.

And you did, you told him about your day and he told you about yours; the conversation flowed simply and sweetly from then on. He teased you whenever you stuttered over your words, you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke.

You and him spoke until your voice was quiet and drowsy with sleep, until your eyes were fluttering shut and you went unresponsive for a moment before he asked if you were asleep and you would wake up to the sound of his voice, muttering out a no, to which he would chuckle, and tell you to go to sleep.

When you fell asleep, he waited ten minutes to make sure you were really asleep before hanging up. His heart full as he fell asleep smiling.

Sorry I fell asleep. If i didn’t throw you off completely and you still want to see me, im free any day after 6, when i finish work.

Spencer smiled at the message. The acceptance. You were accepting meeting him, seeing him. He couldn’t fathom the idea of anything you doing ever throwing him off. You had wiggled your way into his chest months ago, and you stayed consuming every part of him everyday since. He didn’t see that changing any day soon, or ever.

He sent you an address to a bar Derek suggested the team going to after work. He didn’t know if maybe it was too forward, or might be awkward with his team there, but at least if it didn’t go well there was people around.

He closed his phone as he waited for your reply, his mind replaying the conversation he had with you last night, how sweet you sounded, how your laugh made his heart clench, how whenever you said his name or spoke a little louder he felt light headed, unable to focus on anything but you.

There was anxiety in his stomach when he realised the two of you never quite talked about what it all meant. What the months of conversation back and forth was. He realised he didn’t know what you wanted. What you expected.

Maybe you just saw him as a friend, maybe to you the conversation is nothing more than friendly. Honestly, if that was the case Spencer didn’t think he would be able to deny you of that. He would do anything to keep you in his life, even if it caused a slight ache in his chest. He had told you things he couldn’t imagine telling anyone else, he trusted you in a way he didn’t know possible, and it may be stupid, maybe naive, but Spencer didn’t care.

The way he felt for you took over any ounce of doubt in his mind, it overtook the insecurity welling in his mind, that maybe you wouldn’t like him, not the way he liked you.

He had never felt so much for a person. He had never felt so much point blank. He could hardly fathom you feeling for him near the amount he felt for you.

Your hands traveled over your jeans softly as your palms grew sweaty as you stepped inside the bar. Thanking the guy you held it open for you as he walked out. You were instantly overwhelmed by the amount of people, the music playing and the people chatting. You probably should have gotten changed first instead of coming straight after work but you were too nervous and didn’t want to give yourself time to dwindle in your insecurities then chicken out.

You manoeuvred your way through the people, quiet apologies leaving your lips as you looked around for Spencer, or anyone who looks like they might be an FBI agent.

What does an FBI agent look like? you thought, as you let out a sigh, finally getting out of the crowd of people as you got to the back of the bar, a lot more free of space. A few people around, standing at tables. You skimmed over for a moment as you tried to catch any glimpse of the boy that you could.

You heard your name, making you spin on your heels. You saw a dark haired girl smiling at you. Well that isn’t spencer.

“Yes?” You said, smiling at her as you tried to hide the anxiety building in your veins. Your hand coming to push hair off your face softly as you try to focus on the girl in front of you. She grins widely, “Spencer is over there, you looked like you were looking for someone…” She said, my smile instantly widened as you looked over to where she nudged her head.

your breath got caught in your throat as your eyes settled on him, the photo didn’t do him justice in any way. His hair was messy and slightly grown out, he was engrossed in a conversation with who you could only assume was Derek Morgan, who Spencer had told you about. His tie was crooked in his suit as he lifted his arm to sip the drink in his hand.

you tear my eyes away as you look at the lady who is smiling at you. “Happy with that?” She asks. It takes you a moment to recognise her as Emily, whom Spencer had also told you about. You can hardly put it into words how your chest feels like its gonna explode as your heart thumps.

“He is gorgeous.” You breathe out, shaking your head as words fail you, your eyes trail back to him for a moment to see him laughing, you see his head turn towards the door, as if he is waiting for you to walk through them.

Emily smiles, patting your shoulder softly, “Cmon Mystery girl” She said, you pay little attention to the nickname as she encourages you to walk towards the table with her. Your legs feel like Jelly with every step that you take, your stomach twisting in the familiar feeling of anxiety.

When she pauses at the table your breath hitches. “Oi Reid” She mutters, both he and Derek turns their head towards her, “Look who I found” She says softly, hand brushing over your shoulder.

Spencers eyes skip over to yours and you watch an emotion pull his features. An emotion you can’t quite place and it makes your stomach ache at the uncertainty, insecurity creeping up the back of your neck.

“Hi” You breathe out as you look at him. Theres a moment of silence before he is pushing away from the table and walking around to you. His arms around you the moment you are in reach and it makes your muscles tense slightly before relaxing completely in his hold as you wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him back.

Emily and Derek watch in amusement for a moment, smiling when they see the look on Spencer’s face. The one you couldn’t place the one they knew all too well.

He was in love.

He was in love before seeing you, he knew that but watching you stand there grinning at him made him all the more sure about it. His hand rested on your waist as he pulled back from the hug to look at your face.

“Hi” He whispered back.

You chewed at your lip at you bit back the wide smile that tried to force its way into your features. His hand traveled up to your face before he could stop it hand cupping your face gently.

You eased, leaning into his touch the warmth of his hand feeling gentle against the soft skin of your cheek. “Y-You- I- Hi.” He stuttered this time.

You grinned, “Cat got your tongue?” You ask, teasing him like he would every-time you stuttered over the phone. He just grins in response.

“No. You’re beautiful” He said, eyes dancing over your face, he looked at you like he was trying to memories every little detail. Your stomach tightens and your knees felt weak as the compliment left his mouth. You had been told that before, but it felt different coming from him. He said it with honesty and sincerity.

“So are you” You said back before hugging him tightly again. He didn’t complain at all, instead his arms fell tightly around your waist as he held you against him, as if he was scared that if he let go you would disappear.

The night went on, you stayed by spencer’s side, his hand on yours or around your shoulder gently as if he couldn’t get enough of the feeling of you being next to him. You never complained — you took it all as a compliment and leant into his touch.

“Are you cold?” Spencer asked as you and him walked outside of the bar, hand in hand. he noticed the way you shivered as the cold hair hit the skin of your bare arms. You turn your head to look up at him, the look in his eye enough to make your chest clench around the fat of your heart.

“A little” You admit. It was nothing you couldn’t handle, but spencer was instantly pulling off his suit jacket for you, slugging it gently over your shoulders as the two of you walked down the street. You paused in your steps as you looked up at him.

“Thank you.” You say.

“Its okay- I don’t want you to be cold” He said softly. You couldn’t help but smile at his kindness, but you shook your head. “For that too— But I meant, for asking to see me. Thank you for thinking of me when you heard about where the case was — for talking to me everyday. Thank you for being my best friend Spence” You said softly as you lean against your car as you and him stop in front of it.

His lip twitches upwards into a smile as his hand drops yours instead resting softly on your lips. “I always think of you.” He admits, eyes on yours.

Your breath gets caught in the back of your throat. “Spencer.” You say softly.

He looks at you, really looks at you. He is seeing you. He is seeing every little thing you have told him over the last six months, every little detail about you there was to know, and all he could think about was he wanted more, he wanted to know you more.

“Yeah?” He says, his voice a whisper.

You feel anxiety pool in your stomach as the question lingers on the tip of your tongue. There was a pull towards him you couldn’t ignore, the same pull you felt when you received his email, six months, 2 weeks and 3 days ago. You’d count the hours but you figured that was more his style.

“You can say no, I want you to know that” You said, you wanted to make it perfectly clear that his response to this was completely up to him and you didn’t want to feel pressured. “Can I kiss you?” You ask.

His lips are on yours before you can even finish the question. One hand of his travelling to the small of your back to bring you in closer while the other tangles in your hair, cradling the back of your neck. Your hands instantly cup his face as you press your lips against him. Your lips together saying more than words ever could.

This, right here, him, right now.

It was everything and more.

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deadsetobsessions · 3 months ago

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Snart Jr.

Lovely prompt by @stealingyourbones in her long prompts list, in which Danny Phantom meets the Rogues of Central City! This will have multiple parts, I just haven't written them yet.

Disclaimer: I know very little about Captain Cold and Mirror Master despite having watched some of the Flash. The general vibe I get from Flash is that Flash just really cares about his rogues as evidenced by how he talks to them and doesn't immediately one-shot them like I'm pretty sure he could do. And that Captain Cold is a snarky asshole that just wants to steal things and follow his plans as planned? Tbh, the whole mini-arc/episode with him just felt like Snart was trying to coordinate the world's riskiest group project. He was so done by the end lmao

"Huh. That's new."

Danny hovered an inch off of the ground, having just been spat out by swirling green portal. He was going to have to get back to the Zone later to hot potato Skulker through a couple of portals in revenge. He had a math exam he had to study for, dammit.

Danny sighed. Might as well see what's happening. The portals rarely lead somewhere boring, and Danny was bored. He floated further in, form going intangible and invisible as he passed through thick but insulated marble walls. See, Jazz? He could totally plan ahead. He's also learning that he could probably rob a bank easily, but Danny would never.

"Never been spat out in a bank before," he hummed, eyes flickering on the numerous forms of cowering people in the lobby. The goons scattered about don't see him, but it would take another ghost to even detect his presence so it was to be expected. He moved further in with little hindrance and soon touched down onto polished floor behind two incredibly suspicious individuals.

"What-cha do-ing?"

The two figures, currently and obviously robbing a bank, whirled around in surprise. Their respective weapons whirred to a start before they stopped, baffled by the meta teen standing there with his white hair waving about and innocent look pasted all over his face.

Leonard Snart knew instinctively that the kid was so full of shit. He'd bet his entire plan on the fact that the kid knew exactly what kind of shit he was stirring. Still, Snart was guilty of a lot of things but direct child-endangerment wasn't ever one of them.

"How'd you get in here, kid?" Mirror Master raised his laser pistol, ready to distract and divert the kid with threats of violence- which Snart glared at him for- or with his hall of mirrors that he'd run to.

Danny shrugged. "I walked. If you guys didn't want me here, you should have guarded the place better."

"They were supposed to," Snart drawled. He cased the kid. Teen. The kid had a weird halo effect, that seemed to draw the eyes to the stylized letter on his hazmat suit. The kid was young. Meta. Non-hostile. "You trying to stop us?"

Danny shook his head. "Nah. Came from the Ghost Zone so 's really non'a my business. I was just being nosy."

Snart gave a curt nod and nudged Mirror Master back into cracking the security measures.

Mirror Master scoffed. "What the hell is a ghost zone?"

"I mean, it's pretty self explanatory, right? It's a zone where ghosts live. Hence, you know, Ghost Zone." Danny did a little jazz hands (oh, yeah, he was definitely gonna get Jazz to make that joke sooner or later) for emphasis.

Snart paused for the slightest bit before continuing with his task. Did ghosts exist?

"...Did the Flash send you here, kid?"

"I'm not a kid," Danny scowled, walking right up to them. He got enough of that from his own Rogues, thank you. "And what's a Flash?"

"The Flash, kid." Mirror Master corrected, shoving monitors and PC's and expensive looking office chairs into... a mirror dimension? Danny shrugged and rolled with it.

"Who's that? Your boss?"

"Local superhero, not our boss. You're not from here," Snart quickly deduced as a small smile wormed onto his face from successfully cracking the security without setting off an alarm. They'd have ten minutes before the system cycles the access codes again and flags the fraudulent ones. That should be enough time.

"Superhero? Are they fast? Actually, where is here?" Danny glanced around at the now bare security office like the Flash would show up.

The guy in green and yellow took everything not nailed down to the ground. Danny respected that, even if he kind of wanted to stop the robbery. But he's not really supposed to interfere. That would be uber rude, since it looked like the guy in the fur jacket seemed like he had planned everything precisely.

"You're in Central City, kid. Did you take a wrong turn trying to get to Keystone or something?" Green-yellow guy snorted.

"Gonna be real honest with you, I've got no idea where that is. What state are we in?" Danny followed as the pair rushed to the safe doors. He could offer to phase them through but no matter how flexible Danny's morals have become over the years, he was going to draw a line at actively helping a person commit crime.

"Kansas. Do you teleport? Are you a teleporting meta?" Snart asked, eyes intense as he both glared at Danny and pressed an ear to the safe door.

"Nah, I wish I could teleport. Getting to school would be so much faster. Kansas? Huh, I've never been."

"How lost are you, kid?" Mirror Master incredulously paused from robbing the packages that were delivered to the bank.

Danny shrugged. "Oh, I'm Danny. Who are you guys?"

"Captain Cold. That's Mirror Master."

Danny shifted as the safe clicks open. "So, uh, are you guys the villains here?"

Captain Cold shot him a weird look. "We're actively robbing a bank, kid. That should be obvious."

"Also, you're acting real calm for a kid speaking to two of Fawcett's best super-villains." Mirror Master chimed in, laser-ing off locks on deposit boxes and shoving cash and stuff into his mirror dimension.

Danny padded in after them. "Eh, you haven't shot at me- not even on sight- yet, which is more than I can say for law enforcement, so you're pretty chill in my book."

Captain Cold snorted, pointedly taking his freeze gun and breaking off a large manual lock. "I believe it's my job to be the chill one. Plus, we don't kill. The Flash would be up our... business if we did. It's not worth the trouble."

"You can say ass. I've heard worse."

"Not from me, kid."

Danny hadn't had that kind of consideration from anyone in a long time. Even if it's a bit... mother-hennish, the halfa couldn't find it in him to be annoyed. "Ah, okay. Well, you also haven't kidnapped me or tried to stop me from following you, so..."

Mirror Master shoved a giant painting into his dimension. "You haven't tried to stop us; it'd be weird trying to stop you."

"Makes sense."

"Heh. You're alright, kid. Though... who's kidnapping you?"

"My fruit loop of a godfather. It's a thing," Danny avoided the searching gaze like a pro.

"Hold this." Captain Cold said suddenly, giving Danny a massive dufflebag.

"Wait, what?"

Captain Cold began stuffing the bag with cash and once the money in the vicinity (not that much) went in, he said "Go look around. Having another person in here is a risk so you might as well make up for it."

Danny's calling it. Captain Cold was full of shit. The guy's a big softie. Danny smiled sheepishly and agreed. Danny circled the place, pointing out expensive looking stuff- "for fun" and not because they were nice to him- when he felt the tell-tale zaps of an anomaly in Clockwork's domain.

"Move!" He shouted at the two villains, both of whom dove out of the way. Instinctively, Danny threw out his gloved hands and iced the floors, instincts bristling at the incoming danger. His jaw dropped as a blur encountered the ice and went ass over tea kettle onto the floor, unable to stop its own momentum.

"Oh shit!" Danny uttered, eyes wide as the blur slammed into the opposite- reinforced- wall with a pained shout. The stopped person was wearing red, with a lighting bolt motif all over their uniforms. That implied speed. Speed implied "The Flash." Danny knew a hero when he saw one and he just iced him. Shit.

"What-" The Flash groaned. Mirror Master and Captain Cold gaped.

"OhmyancientsI'msosorrygottagobye!" Danny shouted.

"Hey, wait, kid-!" Captain Cold shouted. Danny ignored him, going invisible in a panic and sank into the ground, mortified. After thirty seconds of self-hatred, he zoomed out and away. Danny held his head in his hands as he flew back to where Amity was...

Only to stare down at the empty plots of land where his city was supposed to be. Danny shoved a hand into his chest and pulled out his phone.

[No results for Amity Park. Did you mean "Amity Arkham"?]

"What."

Any research he did after that only turned up a Jasmine Fellona, a budding neurobiologist in her field, and other people that were adjacent to the people Danny knew. But nothing, nothing from Amity Park.

"Oh, yeah, we're definitely not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy."

---

As the Flash stood around to keep an eye on the hand-cuffed villains, he couldn't help but ask.

"So, uh, Snart. Did you... get a kid?"

"What." Snart asked, incredibly done with this shit.

"You know. Snart junior? With the ice and everything?" Flash gestured at the un-melting ice that covered the floor leading into the safe. "I mean, I'm not thrilled you're pulling your kid into a life of crime..."

"No."

"Wait, you had a kid and didn't tell me?" Mirror Master asked, mildly offended. "That was your kid? No wonder no one shot at him!"

"He's not my kid." Snart gave Flash the stink-eye. "And don't you have a couple of baby sidekicks running around?"

"C'mon dude, you're so obviously fond of him. It's okay, you don't have to hide it." Flash avoided the topic... in a flash.

"Can someone arrest me right now so these idiots can be removed from my vicinity?" Snart snarked to the approaching officer, jerking his head to point at the beaming Flash.

"You and me both, buddy," Officer West sighed.

---

One trip to the zone and a stressful conversation with Clockwork later, Danny was found in his keep, smacking his ghost head into the ghost wall of his ghost keep. Danny would unleash a Wail if it didn't have the nasty habit of bringing everything around him.

Apparently, he got "Amity'd," a process which meant Amity spat him out like an over chewed dog bone and refused to take him back.

"That doesn't even make sense! I left there a bunch of times! And came back!"

"The city has decided that it was your time to leave, Danny." Clockwork spared a wane smile for the curled up boy-king.

"I have people to protect there! My entire life! My haunt!" Danny yelled, breaths that he didn't technically need coming shorter and shorter. The neon green of the Zone whirled in and out of his vision in a dizzying shudder of anxiety and incoming panic.

"It wasn't your haunt, I'm afraid. The city nurtured you as a young spirit- thus shared her haunt- and has decided that it was time for you to... leave the nest, so to speak."

That stopped Danny's panic in its tracks. "Are you telling me she NightVale-d me? Some kind of involuntary coming-of-age bs?"

If he weren't on the edge of hysterical laughter, Danny would take a moment and proudly say to Mr. Lancer that he had paid attention in class.

"...Yes."

"Fuck." Danny dropped his head down in despair. His head made a loud thunk. The bag of cash he'd accidently made away with sat innocently at his feet. Further proof that it wasn't some nightmare he'd wake up from anytime soon.

---

Danny slumped over the desk, exhausted. Technus had lent him a ghostly hand and hacked into government data bases to re-establish his social security number and all the other dumb bits and bobs that he needed to establish his identity because Amity was an actual ghost town. Ghost to reality, ghost to real life. Ancients, Amity even had their own data network, which he couldn't access outside of Amity itself. This meant that Danny couldn't even call anyone. Ugh.

"I gotta find a place to live," he mumbled to himself. Danny, despite knowing that he needed to do things, did not move for another ten minutes.

Then, as his phone alarm went off, buzzing on the table. Like... Clockwork... Danny sat up straight and wiped all traces of wallowing self pity off his face. The people in the library- students- gave him solemn nods of solidarity. Danny nodded back and left the library.

He wandered around Fawcett City, somewhere Clockwork had recommended he stayed. With Clockwork, recommendations tended to be life-important (plot-important?) orders. Danny liked the place, really. It gave off the weird and settled "what-the-fuck,-Box-Ghost-did-you-have-to-destroy-the-mall?" vibes Amity constantly gave off after the ghosts started coming through. He thought he even saw a talking tiger! Awesome.

"Hey, are you new here?"

Danny looked down. His reflection stared back at him.

Did he have another kid? Did someone clone him again? Ancients curse you, Vlad!

"Uh- yeah."

"Oh. Do you need help getting around? I was born and raised here all my life, so I can totally do that!"

Oh thank the Ancients, this wasn't another Dani. Just a weirdly similar looking kid.

"You know I'm a stranger, right?"

"I don't think anyone helping Nanny Mae pick up her oranges would hurt kids," the kid said archly, but with a grin so like Dani, it made Danny miss his younger sister.

"Okay, you got me there. But still."

The kid sighed. "I know how to be safe, thanks. I'm Billy!"

"Danny. Nice to meet you."

"Okay, Danny, where you off to?"

"I'm actually trying to find a place that'll be cheap to rent." He's sixteen, but Danny could totally pass as eighteen. "I'm thinking about moving to Fawcett. It's nice here, with all the ambient magic and stuff."

This got him a wide-eyed look. "Do you use magic?"

"Something like that."

"Cool."

Danny took in the considering glint in Billy's eyes and decided that it was future!Danny's problem. Present!Danny was currently occupied with trying to stay off the streets. That giant bag of cash he'd accidently absconded with would be helpful and Danny felt kind of bad... but his growling stomach had chased that away quickly.

"This way!"

Danny shrugged his wavering morality off and followed the kid, shouldering his new and stolen duffle bag. If anything happened, he could just go ghost. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing that's happened in this city, Danny made sure to check.

"Have you been by the zoo?" Billy began to rattle off his favorite details about the Fawcett city zoo as he wove around the city.

Danny didn't think he'd actually have to go ghost.

"Not yet, actually. Is it true that there's a talking tiger there?"

"Yeah! Tawky Tawny! He's my friend!"

"Awesome."

#dcxdc #Danny Phantom #leonard snart #central city rogues #the flash #dcxdp #dpxdc #dp x dc prompt #stealingyourbonesprompt

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