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gaywineauntsstuff · 3 days ago

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Listen I love the ‘dicks being ostracized from his family and self destructs’ trope in fics however

I would like an inverse just once (I could write it but I want this fic to be good so I can enjoy it and I am not the greatest writer) where everyone blows up at him and flat out lays into him and he just goes… okay… if that’s how you feel?

Takes himself off of the patrol routes and rosters. He’s off the emergency calls and his ‘call for city wide emergency’ has been down graded to ‘call for world wide emergency’ he’s no longer on comms with oracle

He stops offering assistance to the other kids teams, doesn’t send info for investigation and doesn’t go within 100feet of Gotham.

Takes himself off the den-mother, baby sitter, trainer for all the younger teams lost that involve any and all bats

In the beginning he vacates his apartment and temporarily moves in with Donna in New York and things are good because of course they are. They’re Dick and Donna a world doesn’t exist where they aren’t okay.

And then his presence in New York leads to a lot of the og core five titans interacting and they realize that they miss each other like hell and start to work together more and more. Until news sites are like ‘teen titans grown up??’ ‘Original titans spotted doing hurricane aid in Florida!’

Because Dick loves his family but he knows when to bow out. And he chose the family he made in the new teen titans.

And then one day one of the bats track him down in nyc and breaks into what is now Dick and Donna’s apartment and are ready to argue that they need him back and need him there for a huge Gotham wide event.

And Dick says ‘sure okay let me get my stuff and we leave in half and hour’ as soon as the first sentence is out

No convincing or begging or asking for money (cough Jason cough)

Dick is patched into their comms and he’s working efficiently except he’s not… acting like himself.

He’s collaborating with whoever they tell him too, no problem, he’s discussing ideal plans and co-ops and teams and how to best get it under control.

But he’s talking to them the way he talks when he’s offering aid to teams he’s not a part of.

Like the hero version of an acquaintance and no one can call him out on it because he’s doing good work. Work that’s on par with his work before this whole fiasco. He explicitly isn’t letting their personal issues affect his work.

He’s speaking but not talking

And Bruce remembers this… he’s probably the only one who does because last time he was the only one included. The last time Dick acted like this is when he first visited Jason and him after he had been fired.

Whenever Bruce was in the room and Dick was forced to speak with him, the conversation never strayed past business casual especially around Jason.

Batman and Nightwing got into screaming matches

Bruce and Dick were strangers

And now they’re back to this, 7 kids later, a million ends of the world stopped, they’ve bled together, cried together and clung to each other in pure relief after they managed to clutch victory.

And Nightwing was treating Batman Inc like a new team stepping onto the scene.

Once they’ve secured everything and managed to keep Bruce from self destructing and making it worse. Dick just leaves and tells oracle that he’ll send over his debrief in 3-5 business days and it was nice working with them.

And then he’s gone

No cave, no manor, no Alfred, no med-bay because Dick doesn’t stay places he’s not welcome.

And after they all talk about that and how weird it was and Bruce reveals Dick did this before when he was Nightwing after Bruce fired, where Dick Grayson didn’t know Bruce Wayne.

And one of the kids asks when he broke and stopped the act and Bruce just says ‘the day he found out Jason died’

And the Batkids kinda freak bc what do you mean?? What is he only going to come back when someone dies? Thats not? There has to be another way?? And Bruce is like yeah no idea sorry (bc he’s helpful like that)

So then Steph the next day resolves to go visit him, Tim isn’t the only professional stalker. And she finds Dick and Donna’s apartment and well it’s daylight and she’s in civvies she’s if she climbs in through the window she might get reported to the NYPD and she doesn’t wanna get arrested or shot to door it is!

And so she goes and knocks and Dick opens the door and just lights up

Something something this is such a nice surprise something something it’s so good to see you.

Dick had taught Donna how to make some of his mother recipes when they were kids. So now whenever they’re together for a long time they cook together.

So Dick who is usually living in a cluttered apartment with no clean dishes and an exclusively grab and go food is now trying to force feed her some of his cooking.

Because he picked up the habit again since he’s the better cook between him and Donna.

And it’s delicious and he wants to catch up and hear everything that’s going on in her life, is she working with new people, dating anyone? How is her relationship with her mother etc etc.

It’s a nice day and she stays late and never confronts him on anything until she sees how long ago the sun set and she needs to get moving.

He hands her paper with his number and makes her promise not to give it to the others or she will lose access to it, he offers to help her on a conditional basis as nightwing but only her, she can call him about the rest if it’s an end of the world or they’re near death and need immediate aid.

And that’s like the fic because the key to winning nightwings assistance is like breathing (optional) but if you’re Dicks family you have to care or else. He’ll love you and help you, when you need it but he won’t tie his life up with yours, he’ll spend his time with people who value his opinion and the person behind the mask.

Anyway cue all the Batkids trying to do what Steph did and fail because they’re neurotic shits who think bonding involves doing casework together or a steak out.

(The next person to crack it is Damian, completely unintentionally he has a fight with Bruce and can’t ask him how the fuck he’s supposed to solve this equation in the new stupid way they’re teaching him no he can’t use the old method they’re supposed to show their work so he pulls up to Dick and Donna’s in a ratty ass hoodie like plz wtf do you mean you work top down explain Grayson- and dicks like awww no problem kid)

#dick grayson #batfam #AU #nightwing #batman #comics #bruce wayne #jason todd #tim drake #batfamily #damian wayne #the titans are family your honor #Dick Grayson and Donna Troy #they’re the besties #corporate wants to you point out the difference between these two photos #and it’s Donna Troy and Dick Grayson #it’s the same photo #titans

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endereies · 2 days ago

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SNOWBALL FIGHT - MS

No Nut November - Day 21

NNN Masterlist...

-➤ You and Matt mess about in the snow

You often found asylum in the heat of your own home during the bitter months, wrapped up in numerous blankets. Today was slightly different. The cold seasons usually give you frosty winds that just ice over the dew drops in the grass but overnight, it fell in unique white dust forms.

Soft yet crunchy snow had fallen onto the ground which gave the concrete an extra crisp layer atop it. It was so peaceful.

You dragged your boyfriend out of bed, bundling up in any fabric you could find. Even then, your breath became visible in the air, fading into invisibility. You let out a sigh, captivated and taken aback by the pretty scene in front of you. That was until Matt dragged you by your wrist into the snow.

Immediately, he was grabbing balls of snow, rolling them around to increase the size of them. “Am I doing this myself, or what?” Quickly you got his idea in your mind and started on your own mount of snow. By the time you had rummaged all the snow that was in your area, the feeling in your feet had dissipated, yet you were too distracted by Matt to notice.

His tongue stuck out in concentration as he sculpted the next layer of what was a forming snowman. He was working at it intently, using his gloved hands to morph the snow into perfect spheres. Carefully, he places each ball on top of each other, diligently working on creating its perfect form. Occasionally, he checks in on your progress while he continues. He glanced over at you as you worked on your own ball of snow, and he immediately chuckled seeing the completely focused look on your face. Your eyes were narrowed in concentration as you continued to form your smooth ball, and he had to laugh at the way you were standing out in the freezing cold without a care in the world.

After a few moments, you finally met his gaze and chuckled as you lifted your creation. “Want any help with that, love?”

“Nope…I got it!” You paused your speech as you reached onto your tiptoes to gently nudge your ball onto the others that Matt had made. He rolled his eyes a bit and shook his head as he watched you struggling to reach up to put your snowy creation on the top of the snowman. A small smile crept across his face as he watched you, seeing how you seemed completely determined to do this without his help.

That was until you dropped it.

Matt’s eyes widened as the ball of snow toppled over its desired position and landed on his head, immediately coating his hair in a layer of white. He stood there for a moment, completely frozen before a look of mock horror covered his face. He lifted his hands and began wiping the excess snow from his head, turning in your direction and eyeing you with a playful glare.

Both your hands covered your mouth. All you could do was stand there in shock as your boyfriend rattled the snow out of his hair, turning to you.

“Shit, I’m sorry I didn’t mean t-“he laughs at your immediate reaction, shaking his head to get the rest of the snow from his hair. A mischievous grin forms on his face as he takes a step towards you, his eyes locked on yours

"Oh no no no, you're gonna pay for that, baby..." He laughs at your immediate reaction, shaking his head to get the rest of the snow from his hair.

Matt ignored the wet feeling of melted snow down his back and reached for a handful of it from the ground. He formed it into a crude ball, tossing it up and down to test the firmness. The playful look in his eyes said all you needed to know before throwing it at you.

A small smirk tugged at his lips when he saw it hit your chest, remnants sticking to your shirt. Immediately, he reaches down and grabs more handfuls of snow, enough to make a few snowballs. In retaliation, you did the same. Grabbing whatever you could and pelting it at him, the force making him jump.

It was no longer about the snow, it was about you.

His footsteps crunched in the snow as he sprinted after you, a playful gleam in his eyes and a smirk still dancing on his lips. He was determined to catch up with you, and he wasn't going to stop until he had you in his grasp. There was a playful intensity in his movements as he made his way towards you, quickly moving to tackle you into the snow.

“Matt wait!” You attempt to run in the snow, the unusual difference making you stumble as you start to move.

He laughed as you tried to call out to him. He was too focused on trying to reach you to pay any attention to your words. Matt continued his pursuit, closing the gap between you with each stride he took. His eyes were locked on the sight of you running, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and determination as he chased after you. Finally, he made his move. lunging at you and with a smooth agile motion, he wrapped his arms around your torso, tackling you to the thick snow. Giggles escaped between the two of you.

“Gotcha!” Matt’s gaze fell on your face, the way you laughed, the redness of your cheeks. He couldn’t help but admire you.

The sound of your laughter fell into a silence, the pair of you laying there together. The stillness only broken by the cool breeze stirring through your hair. he lifted one hand, gently brushing away some of the snow that remained on your face. He then moved his hand to trace a soft line from your temple to your jaw, his touch delicate and reverent. He looked up at you, a soft smile still on his lips as he spoke.

“Stay still, you’ve got a little something…just,” He paused, using this opportunity to plant his lips on yours. He held his position for a few more moments, his eyes fluttering closed as he savoured the kiss. After a moment he pulled away, still looking at you delicately. “There.”

“You’re ridiculous…”

“Mhm, love you too.”

@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckerrss @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris @colorthecosmos444 @anabethinking @zay-sturns @anyaa2s @emilyfaith2003 @jassturn @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @sturniolosiphone @ribread03 @slutf4rmatt @spaghetti835928383 @flouvela

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arceus-insanity · 1 day ago

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Endeavor Deserves No Sympathy!

I don't understand how anyone can think Endeavor was ever a good dad. It also always comes off as incredibly victim blamie, especially towards Touya, and often Shoto too.

He literally only got married and had kids to use them. He never gave a shit about their well being, never even thought about it until he had the one thing he cared about and was still miserable. I've already gone over the math proving he gave up on achieving his dream himself at 21 at the absolute latest. (https://www.tumblr.com/arceus-insanity/763259515356512256/i-liked-endeavors-character-when-he-was?source=share)

And basic math will once again be used to prove just how little this waste of flesh actually tries.

This time the focus is on how quickly he abandoned Touya and immediately went to emotional abuse via neglect & literally replacing him, and once again risking that more children be born with self-destructive quirks.

For context we only see Endeavor doing anything with his kids that's not him literally walking through and ignoring them in two circumstances. Once when Fuyumi's a newborn and Touya is attempting to crawl (not walk) over to her. And training. Those are the only times he tries to spend with any of them, even after he starts his 'atonement'

Now comparing Touya in the scene of them training and himself as a toddler and all the child imagery this series loves to use instead of actually saving imperfect victims, Touya is at least 3 (probably closer to 4) when he's taken to the doctor and they are informed of his condition

Natsuo is 4 and a half years younger than him.

We know for a fact Natsuo (& Shoto) was conceived after they got the news, not willingly either. Pregnancy takes 40 weeks average, so Touya would still be 3 when Natsuo was conceived. So once again it took this 'man' less than a year to give up and have another child he hoped to use as a tool, and was explicitly making to hurt his existing son. And as I have said plenty of times before, risking that the new kids could be born with the same disorder, I hate how convenient it is that Shoto gets near zero negative quirk side effects.

Want to know what we never see, Endeavor doing something else with Touya and Touya demanding training, it's always him walking past/ away from Touya. Considering all of the shit they've pulled to soften Endeavor's abuse both in the manga and even more so in the anime, they wouldn't skip something like this. It's not hard to tell that Touya's 'obsession with training' is really about spending time with his dad, you know like a human child that literally needs love, proven by numerous studies and research in the real world.

He throws all parenting responsibilities onto Rei, adds more children to that load, and when Touya suffers for it (like everyone else) he does nothing, doesn't even hire a nanny

Another are you kidding me take I've seen is that somehow Touya's quirk issues are worse than Midoriya's and Yuga's. Touya managed to train his quirk to produce blue fire at 13 with zero equipment and less than no help, and only lost control of it, because of the mental abuse Endeavor had inflicted on him leading him to a mental breakdown. And/ or the theory I've only seen once of AFO using his ability to force quirk activation (seen with a passed out chapter 90 during his first confrontation with All Might)

Midoriya was breaking his bones all the way into the Shie Hassaikai arc and was only able to fight because Eri and was breaking support equipment in the following arc as well. Yuga had a support belt all the way back in the entrance exam and was still struggling with that.

Speaking of Yuga let's compare parental effort here, because as much as it backfired Yuga's parents tried a whole lot more. For starters they nearly bankrupted themselves to get him a quirk, so he could feel equal. All For One is a mythic man prior to his arrest, and those who knew of him were shown to be serious long-term villain groups, so they had gone to quite a bit of effort to find that he existed to begin with. They also got him support gear (the navel belt thing) as a kid to help him with said quirk, he literally had it in the entrance exam. Endeavor never looked into that, Endeavor is not only rich too but he's a top hero he would have direct access to support equipment companies that would jump at the opportunity and it never even occurred to him.

Endeavor's name is an irony as endeavour means to try hard to do or achieve something. He never tries hard he gives up incredibly quickly the second there's any road block, but instead of moving on he makes everyone suffer for it. He's a toxic pageant mom who'd rather force their child into a toxic world and a role they don't want than work on himself

And what finally makes him change? Getting exactly what he wanted and still being miserable, and he still expects through his actions his family to cater to him.

Not his son getting a major disability due to his actions, no, he decided to double down, mentally abusing and neglecting the son he supposedly loves, raping his wife who didn't want more kids or participate in this abuse, and again risking that Natsuo & later Shoto might have that same issue. Not when his wife breaks down and permanently scars his precious masterpiece, who proceeds to rightfully blame him, and he just thinks of it as a tantrum despite it lasting a fucking decade. Not when his eldest literally dies as the result of his selfishness. Not literally during any part of this entire process!

Dabi is 23 when Endeavor finally starts to 'try' to be better, that means that for at least 24 years he has only been caring about his fucking precious number one spot in a popularity contest that he couldn't even bother to try to be likeable for, this wasn't one bad decision, this was him constantly choosing to be so insanely selfish that he found ways that shouldn't even be possible for over two decades. And it was all him.

#bnha #bnha critical #mha #mha critical #bnha meta #my hero academia #mha meta #anti endeavor #boku no hero academia #anti enji todoroki #rei todoroki deserves better #dabi deserves better #shoto todoroki deserves better #fuyumi todoroki decerves better #natsuo todoroki deserves better

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ghostlyreader09 · 2 days ago

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Crimson Thread Series: Part One

aged up damian wayne x yn

hi im just on a writing spree, let me know what you think of this one.

ps we have cool powers in this one!!!

Gotham at night was a living thing—dark, suffocating, and full of secrets. The city’s pulse thrummed in the silence between the stars, the only sounds the hiss of traffic and the hum of streetlights that never quite seemed bright enough. From the highest rooftops to the deepest alleyways, it was a place that demanded vigilance.

Tonight, however, something felt different. Not danger. Not a threat. But something else. A whisper in the wind.

And then, he saw her.

A figure, graceful as a shadow, moving through the streets with an elegance that was both unsettling and mesmerizing. She was fluid—unnaturally so—and though her cloak billowed around her like the wings of some dark bird, she made no sound. Her steps were silent, as if the very air conspired to keep her hidden. She was the kind of person who didn’t belong to Gotham, but who had nevertheless found herself tangled in its web.

Her name came to him, like an echo carried on the wind: Sanguis. The rumors were fleeting, half-spoken whispers that spoke of her power to heal. Of the strange abilities she wielded over blood and body. But no one knew her—no one had ever seen her face for more than a moment. She was a phantom in the night, an enigma wrapped in mystery.

And yet, he was drawn to her.

Damian leapt from the rooftop, his movements fluid and practiced, landing in the alley below with the grace of a predator. She didn’t notice him at first—how could she? She was too focused on the injured figure she was kneeling beside, her hands moving with precision over his wounds.

“Who are you?” he demanded, stepping into the dim light of the alleyway, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.

She did not flinch, did not even glance up. Instead, her hands hovered over the man, a soft glow emanating from them. “Someone who helps,” she replied, her tone distant, indifferent to the force of his presence.

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not from here,” he said, as if that alone was enough to condemn her.

She looked up then, her face half-lit by the faint glow of her power. Her eyes, dark and unreadable, met his. “No,” she replied softly, almost as if to herself. “I’m not.”

There was something in her gaze—something that unsettled him more than he cared to admit. There was no fear in her eyes, no hesitation. Only a calm certainty, like she was exactly where she belonged, no matter how strange or foreign it may seem.

“I don’t trust you,” Damian said, taking a step closer, his posture rigid, ready for a confrontation.

She stood, slowly, her movements precise, yet languid, like she had all the time in the world. “Trust isn’t necessary,” she murmured, her voice almost musical in its softness. “It’s just a word.”

He studied her carefully, something inside him pulling at the edges of his resolve. “I’ll make sure the people in this city know exactly what you’re capable of,” he said, his voice cold, harder now.

She raised a brow at him, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk curling at the edges of her lips. “They already do,” she said. “I don’t need their trust. Just their healing.”

Damian’s jaw clenched, frustration rising like a tide within him. He stepped forward again, his fists clenched at his sides. “You heal them,” he muttered, his voice taut. “But what do you get in return? What is the price?”

She looked at him then, her gaze softening for the briefest moment, though her words remained calm. “The price?” She repeated, her voice distant, almost wistful. “You wouldn’t understand.”

He was about to retort when the faintest flicker of movement caught his eye. The man she had been tending to stirred, his body slowly coming back to life, the blood that had pooled around him now starting to fade. The healing was swift—too swift.

Damian’s eyes locked onto hers, his expression darkening. “You’re not just healing them, are you?” he asked, his voice low, almost a growl.

But she didn’t answer. Instead, she turned away from him, her back straightening. The man was now breathing steadily, his wounds sealed. She didn’t wait for thanks. She simply began to walk away, her dark cloak flowing behind her like smoke.

“Stay out of my way,” Damian said, his voice taut with restraint. “This city doesn’t need people like you.”

She stopped, just for a moment, her silhouette framed by the dim light of the streetlamps. Her words, when they came, were soft, as if whispered just for him. “Then why are you still here?”

The encounters became frequent. Every time he tracked her down, every time he found her—healing in the shadows, mending broken bodies and wounded souls—Damian found himself facing the same cold, quiet resolve. She never told him anything more, never gave him the answers he sought. She remained an enigma, untouchable and distant, and for that, Damian hated her.

But it was a slow-burning hatred. The kind that ate away at you, that built itself into something more, until it twisted and turned inside him, until it became… something else.

What bothered him more than her abilities, her cold aloofness, was the way she made him question his own certainty. She wasn’t like the criminals he faced, the petty thieves or power-hungry thugs. She was something more complicated, something darker. Her powers were unnatural, yes, but her reasons—her purpose—remained hidden.

Damian’s suspicions gnawed at him, consuming him. She wasn’t human. She was something else—something beyond the simple moralities he had been raised on. He had to know.

And so, he watched her, followed her, keeping to the shadows. He tracked her movements through Gotham, always staying just far enough behind to remain unseen, always watching, always waiting for a crack in the armor she so expertly wore.

But one night, when the city was thick with mist and the stars barely made their presence known, something changed.

Damian found himself cornered. Outnumbered by a gang of mercenaries, he fought tooth and nail, pushing himself to the edge of exhaustion. The blows rained down on him, his body bruised and battered. But it wasn’t until the pain of a deep cut across his abdomen caused his vision to swim, until the edges of his consciousness began to slip, that he realized how alone he truly was.

Then, in the distance, he saw her.

Sanguis.

She appeared like a shadow, moving through the mist with the same silent grace he had come to know too well. But this time, there was no coldness in her gaze. There was something else in it now. Something almost… reluctant.

She knelt beside him before he could even protest, her hands glowing softly as she placed them over his wound. Damian flinched as the heat of her power met his skin, but it wasn’t the heat that shocked him—it was the raw, unyielding energy that surged through her fingertips. The pain in his side lessened, but it wasn’t without consequence. His blood sang in his ears as his body seemed to reject her touch, a strange and dizzying exchange of energy.

“You’re mad,” Damian rasped, barely able to speak, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

Her gaze softened for a fleeting moment, but her voice remained firm. “I’m saving you.”

He gritted his teeth, his body trembling from the strain of the healing, but he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. “You’re insane. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Sanguis didn’t reply immediately. Her eyes were focused, unwavering, as she finished the healing process. The air around them hummed with something palpable—something heavy.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” she said quietly, her voice distant, yet grounded. “And I’m doing it for you. For Gotham.”

The weeks that followed were a silent war, waged in the quiet spaces between their encounters. Damian began to understand the price she paid for her healing—a price that was invisible to everyone but her. She was breaking herself, piece by piece, and yet she continued.

And as much as he hated to admit it, Damian could no longer look at her with the same cold contempt. There was something unspoken between them now—a shared understanding that neither could voice, but that neither could ignore.

She never gave him the answers he sought, never revealed her true nature or why she did what she did. But in the silence between them, in the fleeting moments when their eyes met across a battlefield or beneath the streetlights of Gotham’s endless night, Damian began to realize that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t the enemy.

Maybe, for once, they were fighting for the same thing.

——————

The Batcave was still, as it always was. A hollow echo reverberated through the cavernous expanse, filled only by the low hum of monitors and the rhythmic tapping of fingers on keyboards. The glow of digital screens lit the faces of Gotham’s protectors, but the silence between them was thick, palpable—a tension that hung like a storm on the horizon. They had gathered here, in this dark sanctuary, trying to piece together the fragments of a puzzle that eluded them.

Damian stood apart, watching from the shadows, his presence more felt than seen. His arms were crossed tightly, his jaw clenched, every muscle in his body coiled with the same restless energy that had kept him on edge for weeks. He could feel their eyes on him, even if they said nothing. Alfred was the only one who didn’t seem to care for his silence, but even the older man’s usually comforting presence couldn’t soothe the knot that had settled in Damian’s chest.

“What do we know about her?” Bruce’s voice was low, measured, as it always was. The leader. The patriarch. But there was something different in his tone now. Concern. A subtle shift, barely perceptible, but unmistakable to those who had grown accustomed to reading his every mood.

“She’s elusive,” Tim Drake spoke up, his fingers gliding effortlessly across the keyboard, his eyes flicking between lines of code. “But that’s nothing new. Whoever she is, she knows how to stay hidden. She’s got a network of data wipes around her, almost like she’s actively erasing traces of herself.”

“Not just a criminal,” Damian muttered, his voice edged with frustration. He could hear the soft clicks of the Batcomputer as Tim continued his work. “She’s a ghost. A shadow that slips through the cracks.”

“I’ve encountered her,” Bruce said, his eyes dark with a hint of the same frustration Damian felt. “She has a strange ability to heal, yes. But we’ve only seen what she does from a distance. Her powers—there’s something more to them. I need to know what.”

“Her name is Sanguis,” Damian interjected, his voice tight as he took a step into the circle of light. “And she’s more than just a healer. I’ve seen it in her eyes—the way she takes from people. The way she absorbs their wounds. I don’t think she’s just fixing them. She’s using them.”

The room fell silent. The weight of his words hung in the air like a fog, thickening the already suffocating atmosphere of the Batcave.

“Wait,” Jason Todd, the ever-impulsive second son of the Bat, spoke up from across the room, his arms folded, leaning against the wall in that way he always did. “You’re telling me she takes on their pain? She absorbs it? That sounds like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.”

Damian’s eyes flickered to Jason, a brief flash of something darker crossing his features. “It’s not a bomb. It’s… more controlled. Calculated. But the fact remains that she’s hiding something.”

“Could be the price of her ability,” Tim suggested, his voice soft as his fingers danced over the keys, searching for answers that didn’t seem to exist. “Not a lot of data, but there’s been mention of people she’s healed—victims of accidents or injuries. The reports are conflicting. Some say they just walked away, fully healed. But others… there are no records. No follow-up. No sign of them ever being seen again.”

“Or they’ve been taken,” Damian murmured, his thoughts racing. He could feel the puzzle pieces clicking together in his mind, but none of them fit. The weight of the mystery was pressing down on him, heavy and suffocating.

“And she never stays around long enough to talk,” Bruce said with a deep sigh. “She disappears before anyone can ask questions.”

There was a brief pause, a pregnant silence that seemed to stretch on forever. In the quiet, Damian felt a flicker of something—a memory, perhaps. Something that had been gnawing at him for weeks. He saw her face in his mind—her dark, unreadable eyes. The fleeting moment when her touch had pulled the pain from his body, the agonizing sensation of his wounds closing and her own taking their place.

She had healed him. He had felt the exchange—couldn’t deny it now. But what had it cost her?

“What if she’s not… evil?” he asked, his voice quieter than before, as if testing the words in the air. The shift in tone was subtle, but unmistakable. He had never voiced such a thought aloud. It was dangerous to even entertain it.

Bruce’s gaze flickered to him, sharp and calculating, as though the words themselves were a betrayal of everything they stood for. But instead of reprimanding him, he merely tilted his head, considering. “You’re suggesting she’s… what? A vigilante?”

“I don’t know,” Damian admitted, his voice low. “But she’s doing something more than what we’ve seen. She’s healing—yes. But there’s something about her… something beneath it. She’s not like us. But that doesn’t make her a villain.”

Tim, still absorbed in his search, sighed heavily. “I wish it were that simple. She’s not giving us much to go on. Whatever she’s doing, she’s keeping her identity locked down tight. Almost like she’s afraid of being discovered.”

“Afraid of being found,” Damian corrected, his gaze distant, as if seeing something none of the others could. “Not just discovered. She’s hiding something more than just a name.”

Alfred, who had remained silent through the exchange, stepped forward, his gaze steady, his expression unreadable. “Master Damian is correct in his assumption. But I believe there’s more to Miss Sanguis than mere fear or secrecy.”

“Then what is it, Alfred?” Jason asked, raising an eyebrow. “What’s her game?”

Alfred’s gaze flickered to the darkened corners of the cave, as if he were searching for something that wasn’t there. “Perhaps it’s not a game at all. Perhaps she is… something else. Something different.” He paused, his voice softening. “We are all bound by the cost of our choices. Some of us carry our burdens in ways that are visible to the world. And some, like her, bear them in silence.”

Damian’s thoughts stirred, the weight of those words settling in his chest like a stone. Was she truly carrying something heavier than any of them could understand? Was she paying a price for her healing that none of them could even fathom?

The room fell quiet again, each of them caught in their own contemplation. There were no answers yet. No clear path forward.

Finally, Bruce broke the silence. “We need more information. Keep an eye on her. Track her movements, Tim. And Damian,” he turned his gaze to his son, the unspoken weight of expectation between them, “I want you to stay focused. We don’t know if she’s a friend or foe. But we’ll find out.”

Damian nodded, but something in his chest tightened. His father’s orders had always been clear-cut, but this was different. This wasn’t just a mission. Not anymore. Something inside him, something fragile, something unspoken, had begun to change.

The next night, as the moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over Gotham, Damian found himself watching from the rooftops once again. His gaze swept over the streets, the alleys, the quiet places where shadows lived.

And there she was—Sanguis.

She moved through the streets like a wraith, her cloak trailing behind her, her every step graceful and unhurried. She didn’t see him, not yet, but he was watching—watching her as she healed, as she touched the broken bodies of those who had been torn apart by Gotham’s cruelty.

Her power was a strange and wondrous thing, and he could feel it even from a distance—the way she moved, the way she shifted the very essence of life within the bodies she touched. She wasn’t just a healer. No, that was too simple.

She was a keeper of souls, a silent guardian who traded her own strength to save others.

Damian’s fingers clenched at his sides. This city didn’t need another shadow in the night. But maybe, just maybe, it needed someone who could walk between the light and the darkness. And for the first time, he wondered if he was the one who had misunderstood her.

okay so what do we think???? i like it! i can upload the next bit after i lock in for physics😢

#batman #dc x y/n #dcu #dc #robin #x yn #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #duke thomas #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #locked in fr

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thesassypadawan · 8 hours ago

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Make Them Blue (Will x WifeReader)

Summary: It’s No Nut November and your hubby decided to join a ‘friendly’ office pool with his fellow suits. Everything was going well until the heating/cooling at work breaks. Drenched in sweat, his only thought is coming home and taking that long yearned for shower. Which you are more than happy to give him with your tongue.

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because all the lovely smut. Sweat kink, one smexy dilf, yummy cinnamony/earthy taste, and…Will’s skilled fat dick.

Notes: Happy No Nut November all you, lovelies! 🤍💙

- You know you’re being obvious, not discreet at all. Unable to stop staring since he came home from work this evening. Watching intently at the way his powder blue shirt clings to his perspiring body; rides up to reveal the dewy crease of his hips; how the stains under his arms look so…scrumptious.

- “Come here…” Will’s skin glistens, appears to shimmer in the soft flickering glow of candlelight. “I only want a little…” Eyes focus, tracking a drop of sweat roll from behind his ear; down his throat, his chest. “Please…” Splatters onto your cheek; trickles into your eagerly waiting, open mouth. “Daddy…”

- Drunk off his essence, off his aroma. Breathy moan escapes you when the familiar salty flavor coats your tongue yet again. That cinnamony, earthy, distinct masculine scent fills your lungs once more. A truly intoxicating cocktail, you’ve come to learn and love…crave and need.

- Opening wider, pressing your lips to his jugular. Sloppily dragging across his pulse point; swirling, tracing the curve of his adam’s apple. Collecting, enjoying each savory bead. All the while greedily sucking, leaving pretty pink blotches in your wake. Accepting each of his…

- Steadily he thrusts, deep into your inviting warmth. “Only a little, baby girl?” Grunting, groaning; low, raspy voice rumbling through your tastebuds…the rest of your pleasure-weakened body. “Seems like a bit…extra than that.”

- “M-Mew,” you squeak happily, meekly. Continuing to lap blissfully at his flushed flesh; gathering another small mouthful, letting it pool on the tip of your tongue. “Sorry, didn’t me-mean to go so far…make y-you lose.” Before hungrily swallowing it all, licking your lips. Cooing in satisfaction…gaze locked with his. “Y-you just taste too go-good, can’t hel-help myself.”

- “Don’t…was only a matter of time…until I cracked.” Using his strength…his weight, Will pins you against the bed. Driving you further into the soaked sheets; heat enveloping you, washing over. Desperate moan escapes you, low growl from him. The force behind those hips increasing, growing erratic; wild, almost feral. Heavy, full balls slapping wetly against your bottom. “Can’t keep me out of this perfect pussy…for long.”

- Crashing together, capturing your lips in a messy kiss. Your legs weakly try to wrap tighter around, hike higher on his damp waist. Fingers fumble, scramble for perches on his clammy back. Only to slip, slide in a futile attempt to bring him even closer; to smother and drown yourself in his smell. Pathetic whine bubbling up from you throat.

- Breaking apart, looming and hovering above. “What's wrong…wifey?” He pants, sputters; warm, labored puffs of air fan your face. “Still want…more?” While he prods, bruises your poor cervix. Fat droplets raining onto your chin, neck…between your cleavage.

- Leaning forward, his tongue trails across the swell of your breast. “Course you do…” Ascending, sweeping up each bead along the path. “Always want more of…” Mixing it with his saliva, creating a tantalizing blend. “Your hubby’s taste…”

- That he forces into your gaping maw, down your parched throat. While drenching your trembling, shuddering walls with your third favorite delicacy.

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @jediavengers, @decaffeinatedunicorn, @theoriginalsinner28, @xoxo-hayden-fangurl-xoxo, @fredswrite, @anisangeldust, @catachlysmicjedi, @anakinstwinklebunny, @xhunnybeeex

@littlelamy, @khoatic-with-no-energy, @raiwpenl, @malinadbbdh, @strokingforyou26, @xspacexwitchx, @em-21, @hearts4sammonroe, @shouldbetakencareof2, @loxbbg, @supersoldatbarnesstuff, @thesilentreaderrrrr, @theoriginalsinner28, @dumb-slut-things, @indigoblues1207, @ald6518, @julxstrawberry, @wh0sl0ttie, @tojis-missing-arm, @xoxo-hayden-fangurl-xoxo, @theladykassia, @doblasftcisco, @morguexmvp, @f4iryjinsworld, @nyxiesstuff, @heymamasblog, @justsomeimbicel, @prettywhenicry-777, @femme-is-typing, @maddis0n4, @ttdrake, @melmurkun, @brattyyybbg, @zara13ts, @bigaoibhe2024, @neocitywhore, @ter-luer, @ladyanaschmidt, @sarahflores07, @death934, @dovepevensie, @adorebambie, @pookiswookis, @icecoldhearts, @elliemariscal, @allievalll, @moonlxght-tyler, @1-racha, @tosterwwannie, @inejghafawifesblog, @carlgrimeswifeofficial, @hellemo666, @pitas-star, @sapphirefrog-blog, @carlgrimeseyepatch, @melonmochi, @coldcupcakedinosaur, @juli007, @skyguy8108, @frogtowne, @jennasco, @nothinspecial1000, @burnthispls666, @dovepevensie, @xxxxxxctu, @abobiwan-kenobi, @kpopperotp12

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tinfoil-jones · 1 day ago

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Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 15

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

First - Prev - Next

“Hey F, could I get some of that dip? Someone threw all of my cans of Snus away when he confiscated my stuff.”

“Sure thang, handsome. Oh- you sure you need that much Stan? You’ve cold-turkey’d nicotine for weeks now.”

“I’ll be fine, stretch. It’s not like I haven’t done worse for less.”

(...)

“Fiddleford, is there a particular reason Stanley is under the table in the recovery position?”

“He tried too much chew all at once, he’s got the nic-sick.”

“Stanley, I told you that you needed to quit that nasty habit! This is precisely why I threw your tobacco products away when you came here.”

“Y’know this headache was bad enough without you yelling at me.”

“I cannot believe you enabled him.”

“Stanford, he's a grown man, he’s allowed to use nicotine if he wants to.”

“He can still hear you. And you know what? I don’t think you ever need to bitch at me about it ever again, Doc. I’m not touching the stuff again for a long time…”

“It’s for your own good.”

“PhD, next time you think about saying that I want you to remember I’m not above hitting a guy with glasses.”

(...)

“Stan, how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven going on twenty-eight.”

“Do you remember when your birthday is?”

“Not the date, no. I know it’s late spring or early summer.”

“And I know your memories are hazy, but did you ever… celebrate it?”

“I think the last time I did was before I was on the streets. After that? There wasn’t a point, I was alone. Why do ya need to know, F?”

“I’m just checking is all.”

(...)

“Stanford, how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“When is your birthday?”

“June 15th.”

“And if I remember correctly from BMU, you never celebrate it?”

“Last time I did I was seventeen.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“I told you back then Fiddleford, I did not see a point, I was-...”

“Used to sharing it?”

“Why?”

“I’m just checking is all.”

(...)

“So each of these is supposed to be your, what, doctors cert?”

“Doctoral degree, and yes.”

“So you have a dozen of them?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. Twelve whole PhDs? That’s pretty cool.”

“...You really think so?”

“Yeah, most people don’t even got one - but you got one for each finger huh?”

“That’s not why I-. Well, yes, I suppose I do.”

“Stanford! Stan! I’m back, come over to the kitchen!”

“Do ya know what he left for?”

“He did not say.”

“Why’d he turn out the ligh-.”

“Surprise!”

*Stan and Ford stop at the entryway to the kitchen. Fiddleford is standing next to the table, which has a sheet cake and twenty-eight lit candles*

“...”

“Fiddleford, what is this?”

“I know you said you don’t see a point to your birthday, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“Oh, it’s your birthday?”

“...Stanley. It’s not just my birthday.”

“Are you okay Stan? You’re looking spooked. I apologize if I put you on the spot-”

“N-No. I’m fine. It’s uhh- I don’t even know when my birthday is.”

“It’s today. We’re twins.”

“...”

“You still don’t believe-.”

“Wouldn’t, you know, the other guy, be upset?”

“There is no ‘other guy’, it’s literally you.”

“I’m- I don’t… I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Stanley, I understand you’ve stubbornly held onto the belief that I’m insane and trying to replace something I’ve lost-”

“The cake’s getting covered in wax here, fellers.”

“But I haven’t celebrated my birthday in a long time, because I’m used to sharing it. I am not trying to force you to, but I’m requesting you let me share it with you; I want to share it with you.”

“...Fuck it, I said I’d play along with your delusions until you got over it. Okay, PhD, I accept your offer. But I’m taking all of the corner pieces of the cake.”

“I can accept those terms.”

“Okay you two, I don’t think we got enough time to sing the happy birthday song before the candles melt themselves outta their wicks. So just blow ‘em out and make your wishes.”

(...)

“Hello, Dr. Stanford Pines speaking.”

“Stanford?”

“Hey Ma.”

“Happy birthday hon.”

“Thanks Ma.”

“Please tell me you celebrated your birthday this year. I know your last one couldn’t have been easy after-”

“I was busy with research last year. This year, yes I celebrated, I have… Company, this time.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. Listen hon, I know it hasn’t been easy without Stanley since… the accident.”

“I’ve had more than enough time to think about it. I am not going to lie to you and say I’m not upset at all, but it’s been long enough that I have other things to concern myself with.”

“I just want you to know if things get too hard, don’t be afraid to talk to your old Ma again.”

“...I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I love you, Stanford.”

“I love you too, Ma.”

To be continued…

#for your own good #early amnesia au #mystery trio #he did it guys he said the title #Stan calling Ford anything but his name #gravity falls #cross posted on ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction #stanley pines #stan pines #stanford pines #ford pines #fiddleford hadron mcgucket #fiddleford mcgucket #fiddlestan #caryn romanoff pines #caryn pines

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fxstpace · 5 hours ago

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how you get the girl (teaser)

summary: when you lose a bet against your brother and he forces you to go on a blind date, the last thing you expect is to find your ex-boyfriend at your doorstep, with a bouquet in his hand and a confession on his lips.

pairing: yoon jeonghan x fem!reader genres: romance, angst, smut, exes to lovers!au, brother’s best friend!au (ft. brother!joshua hong) teaser word count: 0.6k

↳ warnings: profanity (full warnings tba)

“Hi,” he says. “Thanks for the shower.”

“No problem.” You swallow the hitch in your voice, gripping the chopsticks in your hand tightly. “I hope the water was warm.”

“It was.” Jeonghan hesitates for a moment, eyes flickering all across your kitchen before finally meeting your gaze. “Do you need any help?”

“Oh, uh, no. I’m just making ramen. Couldn’t find anything else, sorry.”

You hate the way your throat dries and your mouth clams up. You rest your hip on the counter, keeping your body angled sideways so you can keep one eye on the stove without appearing rude. All these weeks, and Jeonghan still manages to render you speechless. It’s almost ridiculous.

He jerks, a movement bordering a shrug and a grimace. It’s rare to see Jeonghan so awkward, rarer still to see him floundering for words. If there’s one thing Jeonghan is, it’s a smooth talker. He can charm his way into anything, putting that honey-rich timbre and smooth baritone of his voice to good use.

“I hope you don’t mind, but,” he finally says, “I put my jacket to dry by the washing machine. The rest of my stuff is in the hamper.”

“Oh. Okay.” You nod. Of course he remembers the exact layout of your apartment—he had been there when you went house-hunting, after all—but it still serves as a sharp reminder to what you used to have and everything you couldn’t salvage. You give the ramen a small stir.

“We didn’t get much of a chance to talk.” Jeonghan sounds casual, but you know better than anyone it’s just feigned. “Because of the rain, and all.”

“...Right.” You turn off the stove and carefully tip the ramen into two bowls.

“How have you been?”

You force out a chuckle. “That’s redundant, Jeonghan.”

“Just being polite.” He is still calm, and it irritates you.

“Why did you want to meet me?”

Jeonghan lets his head drop, his long bangs falling onto his forehead. He’s let his hair grow out; it almost brushes against his shoulders. He still has the same lean, lithe figure he’s always had, though. It’s slightly disconcerting—familiar yet foreign at the same time.

He moves to lean on the counter opposite you, crossing his arms over his chest. “I can’t meet up with an old friend?”

“We both know your only friend is Joshua.”

“Ouch.” The laugh he barks out is dry. “I have lots of new friends now.”

Your fingers curl into your palm, nails digging into your skin. A tense silence fills the space between you both. Mechanically, you hand him a bowl of ramen and a pair of chopsticks. He takes them wordlessly, nodding his thanks.

You pick up your own bowl and walk towards your small dining table. You don’t gesture for Jeonghan to follow—you know he will, anyway, just like how he walked into your life with no warning. Your first bite of ramen nearly burns your tongue. You bite back a yelp.

“Careful, it’s hot,” Jeonghan warns, a hint of a smile on his lips. You glare at him and it vanishes immediately. “Sorry. But I’m serious—how have you been? We haven’t spoken in a while.”

“I wonder why that is.”

“Still the same, I see,” he says, chewing around a mouthful. “I’ve been good too, thanks for asking.”

“You’re an asshole, Jeonghan.” Your grip on the chopsticks falters. They clatter onto the table, but neither of you pay any mind to it.

Jeonghan rubs some broth off the corner of his mouth, finally averting his gaze to his bowl of ramen instead of looking at you. You sigh, fighting the urge to crawl back into your room and pretend this isn’t happening.

↳ a/n: thanks for reading! please send an ask/reply if you would like to be added to the tag list :)

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brotherwtf · 3 hours ago

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Freaky proooompt: bucky talking a big talk about bottom for the first time and as soon as Gale gets a single finger in him he’s done for. Absolutely gone. Whimpering, whining, drooling, melting into the mattress as Gale takes him apart and he makes it so easy in spite of all his talk, big dog that’s all bark and no bite and just wants to be loved. Buck fucking him hard, face down ass up is life changing

oh man anon mouthy Bucky is all I've ever needed I fear, he would talk SUCH a big fucking game and then he's immediately rendered speechless, a moan choking his words as soon as Gale starts to touch him

he agreed to bottom because Gale casually challenged him one time because John jokingly teased him about being so sore after they had sex, to which Gale responded "let me know how YOU feel after all of the positions you put me in" and Johns just like aight bet I'll do you one better, I bet you come before I do and Gales just smirks and rolls his eyes "sure John" and they agree to let John bottom

and of course Gale is stupid gentle with him, can't imagine being rough or holding John down or anything, and Johns being peak John by being the brattiest son of a bitch alive, but oh can you imagine John getting shoved off of his high horse when Gale runs a hand up his spine to hold his neck down, uses his other hand to massage John's ass cheeks in preparation, and oh God poor John is already moaning and keening into the sheets from Gale's feather light touches

he still tries to hold onto his brattiness, tells Gale he's just tickling him, he's not really that worked up until Gale gently circles his hole with his finger and Johns hips are bucking forward, pathetic noises spilling into the hand clapped over his mouth

and when Gale finally fucks his cock into John? oh my God John would be so embarrassed if he wasn't so fucking cock drunk, blabbering and drooling into the sheets as Gale starts to move, the hand in his hair pushing him down into the bed to muffle his sounds even more, pathetic, drooling sounds that would give any porn star a run for their money and Johns making them right now, just because he's bottoming for Gale

Gale starts off gentle, teasing almost, which only makes John even more insane because it's not enough, he wants more, literally begs and cries for Gale to give it to him more, he NEEDS Gales cock, and Gale smirks, holds his neck down and fucks into him brutally, thighs slapping on John's as he holds John down with his hand, using his other hand to force John's hips back onto his cock and he's hitting somewhere so deep that John can almost feel it in his throat, feels like he's choking on it

he almost screams when he comes, the moan ripped from him as his hips shake, his thighs tremble as he collapses into the bed, all while Gale soothes him with a hand running up and down his back, telling him he did such a good job for him, kisses his hair and tells him he was so good, and John has never felt so pleased in his life

John does feel sore the next morning, but he would rather die than tell Gale he was right, but Gale notices quickly how John hobbles around their room and can't help but smile at his stupid partner

clegan being stupid!! my favorite genre I fear

#clegan #mota #buck x bucky #john egan #gale cleven #asks

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sevs-corner · 8 hours ago

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LOSING MY MIND RNNN- you just encapsulated one of the plots that was stringing in my head after typing this out

I AM DESTROYEEEDDDDD (tysm for bridging onto this btw i love it sm<33)

I really really like the last paragraph and lines too, about how the (reader) is always finding subconscious ways to fix the severed tie and the boys get frustrated at how (reader) is hurting more because of it.

They DO want to help, but at the same time don’t want to force the bond either— they want to naturally and slowly build it with you but can’t find the courage to break or say to your face that the current one you’ve been building with another person just isn’t working.

At first, they’ll try to subtly make it known to you that you could be a part of their relationship. Starting off with a friendly banter, eating meals together— just so you could get to know them and you get to be comfortable with them.

They try so hard to keep you away from said friend, coming up with excuses of- “oh I need your help with training,” or “can you check the reports I made?” They are coming up with excuses and excuses, scenarios after scenarios, just so you could avoid getting tied up with someone who didn’t deserve you in their life.

You’re so patient, trying to make your “current” relationship work— but its not.

You open up about this to the friend, and it just all goes wrong.

So wrong that the guys needed to intervene, treat you at the infirmary, and comfort how even more broken you were.

Admitting that you will never find that bond you had in previous life because you were so broken.

Unfixable and unloveable.

And it wasn’t even your fault! You were forced into this position, born with this unfortunate fate with no one to guide you.

So, they think- enough is enough.

If there was a moment they needed the balls to be there for their last soulmate, it had to be now.

From then on, I’d like to think the healing journey starts there.

Instead of you being patient with others, they are with you— handling all of your frustrations and depression with care, pulling you out of the pit you throw yourself in every time.

The guys are trying their best, but it gets too much for them as well and it is just too hard to heal a bond that can’t be fixed.

Though, when they see you crying for the umpteenth time in Simon’s arms, looking for the warmth of a bond when you connect with them emotionally— they realize that giving up is not an option.

This whole thing is just a constant back and forth but with its own baby steps to getting better.

Knowing that you have better navigators by your side now— maybe that tethered rope would be able to weave again.

Another one of my wild dreams coming to me, I swear the voices are having too much fun when I’m unconscious, where its the usual Soulmate-Reincarnation trope but the Tf 141 guys always get to meet each other but…you.

Every. Single. Time.

In each new life, they’d always happen to meet, but nearing the end of theirs— a longing always seem to linger in their hearts. Pieces of their memory always missing with a piece of their soul not being fulfilled.

At first, they don’t notice it— it was already rare enough to have 4 soulmates all tied together. So, to think of another partner being somewhere out there? Yeah, that was outrageous.

They were already thankful enough that they had each other, how could they still feel so greedy and longing?

We’re they not enough for each other?

What was lacking? What were they lacking?

When then they hear murmurs of soulmates being together, they all said they’ll feel something snap into place.

They think its the soulmate bond being locked into place, their soul finally complete and fates intertwined.

Yet… they only got to the first couple of steps to that. Seeing that zing in each other’s eyes that recognizes each other as soulmates, the bonding ritual, the return of past life memories…

Every time they get to that point, they’d remember that something was just… missing.

So they try, in each life to the next, to find some way to fix that last piece into place— test out all their theories.

What if there was something wrong that they did? Were they truly partners? What if one wasn’t their mate with the other?

It wasn’t until Price offered the idea that there may be… a fifth person… involved that their tactics changed.

But they never got lucky.

How come it was so easy to find each other but not…you?

They were just about to give up in this timeline, their lives being ran rugged in the military made their hearts weak and souls crushed already— why would they make the extra effort when they already had the partners they wanted right besides them?

But they regret saying that, bringing it up and believing in it when that familiar zing rings across their brains and underneath their skins as they see you— fresh eyed recruit sent right to their team.

It was like their prayers have finally been answered, all the sacrifices their past selves made now coming to fruition—

But you see no zing- you’ve never had one.

That must be another reason why you always happen to miss them- whether it be through an early death, a bad relationship, an unfortunate event, living across the country from them.

But no, you were always right near them. You just couldn’t find them like they did with each other.

It just didn’t click until now for you and they are distraught for you.

They are so happy, souls now complete and their memories as well— but you had nothing.

That feeling of wholeness and unconditional love— you couldn’t feel it.

So they swear, that from then on, they’d always find you next— no matter how many times they’d repeat it, all the struggles and pain, it was incomparable to you who felt nothing from a forced severed soul bond.

My sleepi and awake mind are cooking but im not in the kitchen- send help what the

Masterlist here! Prev dream idea i was talkin about here- its becoming a saga oml

#sevs-yaps #CRYING ABOUT HOW THIS IS UNFOLDING SO QUICKLY UWAHHHHHH

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confused-and-dickless · 1 year ago

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HUNGRY. I WANT FOOD. WHAT DO I WANT. I M TIRED. I NEED TO BE HELD.

#I HATE BEING ON PREDNISONE I HATE BEING AWAY FROM MY BOYFRIEND FOR SO LONG I HATE SLEEPING ALONE #I LOVE MUSIC BUT I DONT WANT TO FEEL STROBGLY RIGHT NOW BUT I DONT WANT THE SILENCE BUT I DONT WANT EMPTY NOISE BUT I CANT CRY #I AM BOTH EUPHORIC FROM HOW MUCH J LOVE MY BF AND EXTREMELY UPSET THAT IM SEPARATED FROM HIM WHILE MY PARENTS ARE TOGETHER BUT STRUGGLING #AND I KNOW HOW TO HELP THEM. THEY JUST NEED TO BE FORCED BACK ONTO THE SAME PAGE. I THINK I KNOW HOW TO HELP. BUT I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO #I WANT TO HELP. BUT I AM SCARED I'LL MAKE IT IRREVOCABLY WORSE SOMEHOW.#AND I WANT MAC N CHEESE GODDAMNIT #WHERE IS MY BOYFRIEND I NEED TO BE HELD.#ALSO I REALLY WABT TO EMBROIDER RIGHT NOW BUT IM SCARED THAT IF MY HANDS ARE SHAKY RIGHT NOW I MIGHT ACTUALLY IMPLODE #maybe ill watch one of my shows and try to embroider something simple bc this ween patch is kicking my ass #(im making it way more complicated than it needs to be bc of how simple the original design is)#((i should have made this a painted project. or made it smaller. but ill learn something from it!!))#idk im gonna go look for a snack and see if i feel better after i eat something #i probably won't bc this dumbass medicine makes it impossible for me to feel full #itll get my weight up which is always good for me but i just hate food. i dont mind that i gain visible weight i just hate eating

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eloquentlytired · 2 months ago

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Logan with a breeding kink fic? 😉

18+ mdni

— raw.

pairing: logan howlett x fem reader

word count: less than 900

tags: unprotected sex — breeding — logan is feral — just filthy smut — risky sex — dom/sub undertones

author’s note: hi anon I hope this was a good read for you. logan having a breeding kink is so incredibly canon honestly

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“lo.” you moan as you lie facedown on the bed, legs straight, hips slightly raised. logan enters you from behind and the way he stretches you in this position has you whimpering. one of his large hands puts weight on your head and forces you to bury it against the bedsheets as you sob beneath him. his other hand stays on your middle to kind of support himself as he fucks you, driving his veiny cock into your deepest parts. the bed creaks beneath your moving bodies but you don't seem to care. logan grunts as he feels your pussy clenching around his cock, coating it too with your arousal. “still taking your pills like a good girl?” the shake of your head makes his hips slow down and gradually stop. you tilt your head at an awkward angle to stare at him and he stares back. “w—we ran out.” you whisper, voice still laced with arousal and need. logan weighs his options as his eyes drift downwards where his cock is completed soaked by your wetness and even his pubic hair drip with the doings of your pussy. his bare cock twitches inside you and you moan. “not safe,lo. let's just—”

there's not much you can do in this position when logan starts thrusting again. you take what he gives you and your eyes roll back when the fat head of his cock kisses your sweet spot, making your entire body shake all over. tears of pleasure slide down your cheeks and he leans down to kiss a tender spot on your shoulder before biting down. he grounds his hips in circles and you almost scream. “there— there,lo.” you beg him and he repeats the motion again and again. when your pussy tightens around him as you cum, logan growls into your shoulder and you can sense him growing more feral over you. your hands grip onto the bedsheets for dear life as you drool and cry against the mattress. logan drives his cock faster inside you and a few more thrusts later he fills you up, leaning the weight of his lower body on yours that his cock nudges impossible places within you. it makes you squirm and logan offers you a reassuring kiss as he pants against your shoulder, trying to process the raw feel of your walls around his bare girth.

“fuck.” you hear him curse minutes later and when you look back, your eyes widen. logan slips his softening cock out of your pussy and watches as his own come drips out and over your cunt. you exchange a silent and long stare and then logan is moving you again. you don't know what's happening or why but you're about to.

you've lost count and you've also lost any sanity left for the time being. you drag a hand over your belly as logan pumps his load inside you again, making your thighs shake from where they sit atop his own. you're laying on your back this time while he gets comfortable between your spread legs, breeding you until the late hours. “one last time. I swear,baby.” he lies through his teeth again and you allow it. logan slips his hands underneath your legs and shoves them back until your knees are nearly touching your chest. his cock is still hard and leaking — he'd really done it this time — and he wants to blame your bare cunt for wrapping around his cock so perfectly. you're tired and your pussy feels a little sore but you can't help but reach a wandering hand to your clit and rub it as logan fucks you mercilessly. his balls are heavy and drag against you with each shallow thrust. your entire body shakes and your other hand remains atop your stomach; you're full, so full, and your toes curl when you think about how much of logan’s seed you've stored in your womb.

“lo—” you're letting go again, your entire body spasming as your fingers shake against your swollen clit. logan’s eyes narrow when he watches you squirt beneath him and one of his hands is moving down to toy with your pussy, his fingers moving past yours and past your clit to tease the source of your squirt. it makes you cry and nearly scream. logan feels his balls tighten and before you know it he's already giving it to you again, spilling everything inside your pussy to make it full. to make his seed take place. “lo.” by the time you call for him he's already slipping a hand around your nape, clutching it, while his other hand joins your own on top of your stomach.

your lips meet and logan soothes you. “so pretty, so sweet. you took so much in ya, princess.” and his whispers make you tremble even more as you kiss him back slowly. his kisses are nothing like the way he fucks you; they're slow, patient and gentle. logan hums into your mouth as you wrap your arms around his neck. his fingers flex upon your stomach, even doing so much as squeeze it. he loves it. “how ‘bout we forget about those pills?” logan growls.

his cock doesn't stay soft for long and when his hand presses into your tummy possessively, you know exactly what awaits you.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #hugh jackman #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #marvel #x men #hugh jackman x reader

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teaboot · 2 months ago

Note

I've never had a cat before and I'm hoping to get one soon. Do you have any advice?

Treat a new cat as you would a new roommate. Give them space and time to settle, establish a pattern and a rhythm, and in time they may choose to become friends and spend time with you. Dont force a friendship.

Use simple words and repetition to establish communication. Words like breakfast, treat, snack, lunch, supper, dinner, food, and eat all basically mean, "I am feeding you; expect to be fed", but it's a lot for a little guy to remember. I just say "Dinner" when I mean "cat food is coming", and so my boy knows exactly what I mean when I say it. As a plus, using only one word for snack time means he has no idea what the other words mean, so I can talk about food in front of him without ruling him up.

Pay attention to body language. Cats all have different personalities, and you'll learn their likes, dislikes, and messages over time this way. Son boy here loves anything with plumbing but dislikes getting wet- his favourite blanket to chew and snuggle goes on his favourite chair, and he gives me a specific gesture when he wants me to kneel down so he can jump onto my shoulder.

Read into problematic behaviour. Cats pee in weird places when they're hurting, in distress, or have insufficient of unclean litter box space. Biting, attacking feet , and knocking things off tables often means they're understimulated and need you to play with them, or at least need some kind of enrichment or puzzle to tackle. Tail flicking can be frustration or irritation. Purring is usually good, but may also be self-soothing behaviour to alleviate pain, encourage healing, and relieve anxiety, like over-grooming.

Like children, "bad" behaviour isn't malicious- it usually means there's something you aren't seeing.

Learn how your cat expresses love. Loads of people think cats are uncaring, cruel, and indifferent, but the truth is, they're just not dogs. Spending time near you, showing an interest in tools you're using or projects you're working on, sitting the way you sit, laying on their back, rubbing on your legs, wiping their face on your shoes when you get home- these are signs that your cat is enamored with you. You're their family, they feel safe and protected around you, they're curious about things you enjoy and want everyone to know you're family.

Set reasonable expectations. Again, cats are not dogs.We bred dogs to desire our approval- cats walked into our lives themselves. They have no human-programmed need to fulfill a duty or perform a task to your standards.

Training cats to do tricks isn't as hard as people say, but the willingness or interest in doing the trick is more heavily reliant on personality and mood. Some cats will refuse all but the most basic requests- I'm lucky in that Ollie understands and is willing to do several, provided I don't abuse his trust and he's not crowded or overwhelmed or just bored of doing it over and over in a short period.

Ollie, for example, knows Up to stand on his back legs and hold my hand, Down to get to a surface I indicate, Out to emerge from a closed space, Come to find me where I am, Help? when I'm offering to let him use me as an elevator, Dinner when I understand he's hungry and am getting food, and when I put on his collar he knows to climb into his carrier 'cause we're going somewhere. And he'll do any of these about 90% of the time, either ignoring me or phoning it in when there's something interesting somewhere else, or if he's feeling anxious.

Lead by example. If you dread taking them to the vet, they'll see the anxiety in your body language and behaviour and likely learn to hate it, too. Again using my guy an example, I starred taking him on walks long before his first vet appointment, just to get used to his carrier and leash. Then his first checkup was relaxed and informal, with plenty of treats, and I let him explore the examination room with permission from the tech. Now he loves going, so I'm not stressed about taking him, so I don't stress him out in turn, and the vest doesn't have to deal with a stressed out cat slowing things down and fighting with them.

Make sure your sources are good ones, and also good ones for you. I will recommend Jackson Galaxy's YouTube channel for cat advice because a lot of what he does matches up with what I've learned and know to be true. I don't personally recommend Ceasar Milan because I personally find his methods distressing to recreate regardless of efficacy, so even if that advice was useful, *I'd* be miserable, and it'd just be trading one issue for another.

Have a person who can help. You never know when you might end up out of town overnight unexpectedly, or when your place may need serviced or fumigated, or if you may be called out of town. Before getting a cat, research reliable pet sitters, house sitters, pet daycares, whatever, just in case.

Consider pet insurance. No long spiel here, just think about it. Especially if you don't know your cats ancestry or potenyial health risks. An on top of that, fucking vaccinate them.

Dont let them free roam. At all.

I grew up on a farm with free-roaming barn cats. Do you know how many times child-me cried over having to bury them? Illness, disease, pregnancy, vehicles, other territorial cats, ticks, fleas, litter, poisoned prey, malicious humans, local wildlife, predatory birds, scrap metal, extreme heat, freezing temperatures, tainted water sources, poisonous or venomous critters, getting stuck in small or high places, tapeworms, loose nails, old equipment, falling branches...

I've seen some truly body-horror slasher-movie shit- just truly nauseating visual fuckery- and I'm telling you not to let your cat free-roam.

Leash training isn't hard. Supervised walks aren't hard. Even keeping your cat physically fit and entertained indoors isn't an impossible feat. Don't let your fucking cat fucking free-roam. Fuck

Also read up on foods and plants cats can't do, like every houseplant in existence is toxic it's insane

Anyhow yeah that's like. A couple things I guess

Here, have an Ollie Pic

#Cats #Ollieposting #Another perfect photo of the most beautiful baby boy

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imaginedisish · 3 months ago

Text

Everlong (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: This was not a request, just a thought I had and had to get out. "Everlong" by Foo Fighters just scratches my brain in a way very few songs can, and it fits perfectly for this fic. Hope you guys enjoy.

Summary: Logan offers you his bed as a friend, knowing how hard it is for you to fall asleep alone. But after months of sleeping next to him platonically, things finally take a turn...

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT! Thigh riding, Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), Cockwarming, praise kink, breeding kink (if you squint), cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan, non-sexual intimacy to sexual intimacy, friends to lovers, man-handling, rough sex, afab!reader/f!reader, feelings, fluff, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,619 jeeeeeeezzzzz this is DEPRAVED

Sleep was hard—that is, until you started sleeping in Logan’s bed.

It had all started out so innocent. You were sitting on a couch in the study, flicking through the pages of your favorite book. You had just finished your fourth lap around the grounds of the mansion, and you decided you needed a break. The clock on the wall read 2:22 AM, mocking you, reminding you that of all the gifts you have, sleeping would never be one of them.

“What’re you doing awake?” You jumped at the voice breaking up the silence, but quickly recognized its bassy, deep tone. You turned to face Logan in the doorway.

“Just can’t sleep,” you answered, shrugging your shoulders. He wore a beater and gray sweatpants, and you struggled against the urge to trail your eyes up and down his body. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him—you’ve wanted him for months.

Logan crossed his arms against his chest and smiled softly. “Can’t sleep either,” he said, taking a step closer. “You can come up to my room, if you want” he offered. “Next time you can’t sleep, or you have a nightmare, or you just can’t think of anything to do, come find me.”

You smiled at his words, at his kindness, at his willingness to help you. “Thank you, Logan,” you whispered.

“No problem, princess.” And then he turned to leave, walking back through the hallway and up the stairs to his room.

You’re still not sure what came over you in those following moments—still don’t understand where your confidence came from—but you forced yourself up from the couch and down the hall, following Logan’s path to his room.

He was already inside, already had the door closed, so you knocked. And the door immediately swung open. You swallowed, parting your lips nervously. “Lo, do you think I could take you up—”

But he didn’t even let you finish. He grabbed your arm and tugged you into the darkness of his room, navigating you carefully to his bed. He laid you down and walked to the other side, climbing in next to you. He brought the covers over your bodies, shuffling under the sheets, settling in, and then everything was silent.

You tried to get comfortable. You rolled onto your stomach and waited, eyes shut tight, hoping that sleep would take you under its current. But it didn’t. You rolled back onto your side, away from Logan, opening and closing your eyes frustratedly.

“You okay?” He asked. You could hear Logan inching towards you, his front suddenly pressing against your back.

You hummed in affirmation, leaning your back into him. He reached a tentative arm around your waist and pulled you into his chest. “Is this okay?” He husked, his lips at the shell of your ear.

“Yeah,” you panted into the darkness of his room, taking shallow breaths, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. You could smell him everywhere—on the sheets, the pillowcase, in the air of the room. It was all leather and musk and pine and denim. And there he was, holding you, his thumb drawing soft circles into your slightly exposed midriff. Something about it was overwhelming, but also comforting, as though all your senses were being cradled by him.

He could hear your heart beating, could hear your breath catching in your throat. “Relax,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. Go to sleep.” Your eyes fluttered closed, and you focused on Logan’s breathing. It was constant, stable, steadfast. He was so warm, so solid. And soon enough, you found yourself giving in to sleep.

You woke up a few hours later, the pale light of the moon still pushing through the curtains. Logan’s legs were tangled with yours, your face pressed into the center of his chest, his arm wrapped around your back, holding you tight. You tried to lift your head to read the clock behind you on the nightstand.

But Logan pulled you back down. “Go back to sleep,” he murmured against the crown of your head. “Too early.”

That’s how most nights have been since then—climbing into his bed, completely innocently, just to be able to sleep. He holds you all night, keeping you close. And when the sun finally rises, you both get up and head down to the kitchen, watching as Logan brews you a pot of coffee.

It’s shockingly domestic and incredibly intimate. And yet, the two of you have never talked about it. It’s a silent agreement, one based on pattern, convention, and repetition. These very events have played out more times than you can count—for months now. It has become so normalized that you don’t question it, don’t even think about it when you crawl into his bed, and he pulls you into his chest.

So, tonight starts out like any other. Your feet pad along the dark, mahogany wood floors, down the dim, quiet hallway, towards Logan’s room. You’re only wearing a pair of panties and one of Logan’s old t-shirts, the hem falling to the middle of your thighs.

You stand in front of his door and knock. You aren’t nervous anymore—aren’t anxious as he opens the door. He’s already shirtless, wearing just his boxers—which, however, is something you will never get used to. He smiles, his eyes trailing up and down your body as he steps to the side, inviting you in.

You know the drill by now—you walk to your side of the bed, lying down and pulling the covers up to your chin. Logan follows suit. You move in silence, but it’s a comfortable silence. It’s a silence shared by two people who don’t have to say a word, don’t have to communicate to feel connection. His arms wrap around your body, and he tugs you into his chest.

“Didn’t see you today,” he mumbles, his lips brushing your forehead. “Wish I could’ve.” His fingertips graze up and down your back, your t-shirt hitching up as you get comfortable, revealing your bare legs.

“I’m here now,” you whisper, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, smelling him, letting him overtake your senses. He tangles your legs with his.

“Is this my shirt, by the way?” he asks, his hands sliding down to the hem, which is now bunched up above the waistband of your panties.

You smile into his neck. “Maybe,” you answer, giggling softly.

His fingertips slip just under the t-shirt, tentative and hesitant, waiting for you to push him away, to tell him no. But you don’t. “Looks better on you than it does on me,” he husks, his thigh settling between your legs so that you’re straddling it.

“Th-thanks,” you stutter, trying to ignore the way he bumps against your core, the way his words make your heart race. You shut your eyes and wrap your arms around his center, letting him engulf you in his warmth. You swallow your feelings down and close your eyes. “Night, Lo,” you mutter.

“Night, princess,” he says, his lips against the crown of your head.

You listen carefully to his breathing, like you always do, and after a few moments, you find yourself falling asleep.

When you wake up a few hours later, your back is against Logan’s front. His arm keeps you pressed tightly to his chest, his nose nudging against the crook of your neck—you can feel his breath, warm on your skin. Your legs are intertwined, his knee just inches away from your core.

Logan moves in his sleep, his knee bumping against your core now, his nose nuzzling into your neck, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just under your ear. You take a deep breath, pleasure pulsing between your thighs as Logan moves again, his thigh dragging against you. You can’t help the moan that falls from your lips.

He moves again, and that’s when you feel it—his erection stiff against the curve of your ass. Heat spreads across your chest, up to your neck, your stomach somersaulting as his hips press harder into your ass.

“L-Lo,” you stutter into the darkness of his room. But he doesn’t answer. His thigh slides against your core again. You can feel the wetness pooling between your legs, soaking your panties. “Logan,” you choke, moaning louder this time.

He hums in response, nuzzling his nose deeper into your neck, his lips pressing against your skin—the ghost of a kiss. It’s too much—you want to grind down on his thigh, want to feel his cock pressing against your ass, want to feel his hips rutting against yours. You thought maybe this would happen, hoped that one night would lead to something like this, but you never dreamed it would actually come to pass.

Logan’s thigh rubs against your heat again, and you mumble his name, your breathing quickening. “Fuck,” you groan, involuntarily bucking your hips against Logan’s. His erection drags along your ass.

You force yourself to be still as Logan grunts into your neck. “You awake, pretty girl?” He whispers against your ear.

“Mhm,” you murmur, trying to play half-asleep. You don’t want to let on that you can feel him hard against you, and you pray you aren’t soaking through your panties and onto his thigh.

You swear you can hear him mumble a soft fuck under his breath. Your thoughts race around your head. Maybe he was awake the whole time. Maybe he felt your hips roll against him. Maybe he can smell the arousal growing between your thighs. You know he can hear your heart hammering against your ribcage.

But his arm tightens its grip around your waist, and he pulls you closer, holding you down against his thigh. “What were you doing, sweetheart?” He rasps, pressing a true, open-mouthed kiss to your neck. You gasp, a shiver running down your spine.

“Wh-what do you mean?” You stutter, stumbling around your words as he kisses your neck again, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just under your ear.

He moves his knee, pressing harder into your core, dragging his thigh against your aching heat. You stifle a moan as he repeats the motion. “Felt you riding me, pretty girl,” he huffs, his hands gripping your waist, guiding your hips along his thigh. “Smelt you, too,” he whispers, his lips still at your neck. “Can feel that pretty, wet pussy dripping on me, darlin’.”

“Logan,” you whine, letting him move your hips back and forth. The pressure feels so good. You need more. “Please…” You trail off, grinding down onto him.

“Making a fucking mess of me, aren’t you?” He teases, his fingers gripping your hips like iron, so tight he might bruise. “Love watching you get off on me.” His voice is dark and honeyed, smooth like expensive liquor. Your walls clench around nothing as your clit drags along Logan’s thigh and you moan, throwing your head back against his shoulder. “So sensitive, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you pant, letting him pull you back and forth. You’ll take anything you can get—anything he’s willing to give to you. “D-don’t stop,” you beg.

“Fuck,” Logan grunts. “Need me that bad, huh?”

“Y-you have no idea,” you stammer. He bites your pulse point as one of his hands wraps around your front, slipping inside your panties and finding your clit. “Oh fuck, Lo,” you whine, the pads of his fingers drawing tight, rapid circles around the bud.

“That feels good, pretty girl?” You can hear the smirk in his voice. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and he’s getting off on it. You can feel his erection hard against your ass every time his hips buck into yours. “Bet it does, the way you’re soaking my thigh.”

“So fucking good,” you whimper. But you know you need more. You need him. “Logan, please…” You trail off, the words escaping you as pleasure pulses through your body.

“Please what, darlin’?” He teases, his fingers pulling out of your panties, his hands gripping your hips again, rolling you against his thigh. It’s not enough, and you groan at the loss of contact. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“N-need more,” you croak, dragging yourself along him.

“More what, beautiful?” But you know he knows. You know he wants to hear you beg for it, wants to hear you beg for him.

“More of you,” you choke out.

“Yeah?” He chides, slowing the roll of your hips with his iron grip. “More of me how?” He’s so goddamn cocky, so unfair.

“I-I…” your eyes roll back into your head as he slowly, teasingly drags you up his thigh, pulling you against his erection and holding you there. “However you want me,” you whisper, pushing against his cock. “Just want you.”

He suddenly pulls away, his grip on your hips forcing you into the mattress as he rolls on top of you, caging you in, his hands on either side of your head.

Logan’s lips crash down onto yours, swallowing you hungrily, his teeth grazing your lower lip and licking away the pain. You part your lips, inviting him inside, tasting his tongue against yours. He slides a hand down your body, stopping at the hem of your shirt and yanking it up. He breaks the kiss to slip the shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the floor. He sits up on his knees, his eyes trailing your body, settling on your bare breasts.

“So fucking beautiful,” Logan praises, lowering down over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand glides up your side and to your breasts. He palms your flesh, rolling his thumb over your pebbled nipple, pinching lightly. “Fuck, you’re perfect.” He traces across the valley of your breasts, his hand massaging the other side.

He grinds his hips into yours, his erection nudging against your core. “Wanted you so bad, pretty girl,” he pants, pressing another kiss to your lips. His fingertips drag down your body, gripping your hip tightly again. “Dreamed of fucking you, of tasting you.” He buries his face into the crook of your neck as he pushes you into the mattress, biting down on your pulse point. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.”

You moan as he sucks at your sensitive skin. “Want you, Lo. Need you,” you whine, your arms wrapping around his back, nails digging into his skin. “Always wanted you.”

He kisses a trail down your neck, to your collarbone, between the valley of your breasts. He slides down your body, peppering light kisses across your stomach, stopping at the hem of your panties. He looks up at you, his face illuminated by the pale, blue moonlight. You can see the desperation in his eyes, the need. He licks his lips—a man starved—as his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties.

He tugs them down your legs, throwing them to the floor, and settles between your thighs. His face is just inches from your aching heat. Your chest heaves as he brings himself closer, his breath fanning across your cunt. You look down at him and find him staring up at you, watching your every move.

“Wanna know what you taste like, darlin’,” he huffs, his palms splaying on your inner thighs, spreading your legs wide open for him. “Want me to make you feel good?” His nails dig into the flesh of your thighs possessively.

“Y-yes,” you stammer, already arching your back off the mattress. “Please, Logan.”

He smiles, his eyes still trained on yours as his tongue swipes through your folds, long and slow, all the way up to your clit. “Fuck,” he mumbles against your core, flicking your clit, lapping at it twice before starting all over again. He licks another teasing stripe through your folds, landing on your clit and taking the bud between his lips this time. He sucks roughly, releasing your clit and swirling soothing circles around it. “You taste so perfect. Better than I ever imagined.”

He laves at you, devouring you, his head buried against your cunt. His right hand climbs up your inner thigh, nearing your folds as his teeth graze your clit. Your hips jolt back at the sudden feeling, and Logan is quick to slide his left hand under your thigh. He grips tightly, yanking you back to him, and pressing his face deeper into your cunt. “Don’t even think about it, pretty girl. You’re not going anywhere until I’m finished with you.”

You moan at his words, his right hand finally working its way up to your folds. His fingertips find your entrance, spreading your slick. “So fucking wet for me,” he murmurs, prodding your slit. “Want my fingers, darlin’?”

“Yes, Lo, please. Want all of—” He thrusts two long, thick fingers deep inside you, down to his knuckles. “Oh, fuck,” you cry out as he pulls out and slams back in.

His tongue swirls around your clit, his teeth grazing the bud every time he takes it between his lips to suck. It’s overwhelming, overstimulating, the way he laps at you, drinking you in, consuming you. If he could find a way to keep your taste on his tongue all day, he would. If he could slip under your skin to be one with you, to feel your warmth, he would. You know this isn’t want. This isn’t lust. This isn’t some one-off thing. This is need. This is longing.

Your eyes roll back into your head as he breathes you in, his tongue working at your clit as his fingers thrust in and out, dragging along your walls, scissoring inside you. “Doing so good for me, sweetheart,” Logan praises, and you clench down around him at the words. He smiles against your cunt. “You like that, don’t you? Like when I tell you just how good of a girl you are.”

Your walls flutter around him again. “I-I do,” you admit, your voice shaky as he fucks into you, hitting that sweet spot inside you with every pump of his fingers.

Logan chuckles darkly, the reverberation pulsing against your clit. “That’s my good girl, giving me what I’ve been waiting for,” he huffs, lapping at you, sucking on your clit like it’s candy. “Would’ve waited forever for you.”

Your muscles contract and release at his words, at the intimate confession. “Would’ve waited forever for y-you too,” you whimper, his fingers still working you open. You’re so close. Fire burns at the base of your spine, your walls clenching around Logan’s fingers again as his tongue draws tight, rapid circles into your bud.

“No more waiting, beautiful,” Logan grunts, and you know what he means—he knows you’re close. “Wanna feel you come around my fingers, wanna taste it.” It isn’t a request; it’s a command. His fingers plunge deeper, his tongue laving at your clit roughly between sentences. “Know you’re ready to let go, sweetheart. Don’t hold back. Come for me.”

You’re crashing down, falling, but not into nothingness—into Logan, into his warmth, into his touch. Your chest heaves and the room spins. Heat pours from deep at the bottom of your belly, fire spreading up your spine. Nothing has ever felt like this. His name is the only thing you can think, the only thing you can say: Logan Logan Logan Logan.

His pumps slow down, his fingers dragging gently along your inner walls until he stills inside you and carefully pulls out. His tongue is still lapping at you, still working your overstimulated clit.

“Logan,” you whine, your hands finding his head, digging your nails into his scalp. “Want you.”

He smirks against you, knowing full well what he’s doing. “You have me, darlin’.”

You groan, half in frustration, half in pleasure—the tension building back up between your thighs with every flit of Logan’s tongue. “Please,” you beg, tugging on Logan’s hair. He grunts at the feeling, smiling against your cunt again. “I want you, Logan.”

“Gotta be more specific, pretty girl,” he huffs, his face finally separating from your cunt. Your release glistens on his chin, his lower lip. He brings his fingers to his mouth as he waits, wrapping his lips around his fingers and sucking, savoring the taste of you.

“Want you inside me…” You trail off, watching as his fingers pop out of his mouth, his tongue darting out along his lower lip, rationing every drop of you he can find. “Want your cock,” you finally choke out.

The corner of Logan’s mouth turns up, his fingers hooking into his boxers and tugging them down. “Wanna fuck you so bad, beautiful,” he grunts, his cock springing free, bouncing against his stomach. He’s so much bigger than you had anticipated. You swallow nervously as he lowers himself down over you, resting on his forearm. “Thought about this for so long.”

His hand wraps around the base of his cock, guiding himself to your folds. He swipes through you, spreading your slick, notching against your clit. You moan at the contact, your chest coming flush with Logan’s as your back arches off the mattress. “Logan, please,” you beg. “Just want you. Only ever gonna—”

He plunges deep inside you, down to the hilt with one thrust. You’ve never felt so full—his cock thick and long, splitting you open. His presses a kiss to your lips, swallowing your moans as his tongue darts out, tangling with yours. He’s still inside you, stretching you out, allowing you to adjust to the size of him. “You okay, pretty girl?” He asks as his lips part from yours.

“Y-yes,” you stammer, your arms wrapping around his back. “Feels good. So big.”

Logan pulls out and thrusts back in, splitting you open again. “Fuck,” he groans, his forehead resting against yours. “So fucking perfect. So tight, so warm. Made for me, darlin’.” Your eyes flutter open and closed as his free hand slips between your bodies, quickly finding your clit.

“Lo,” you whine as his fingers draw tight, rapid circles into the bud. He sets his pace, pumping in and out of your cunt with reckless abandon. His hips rock against yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing along the walls of the room.

“Knew you’d feel like this,” Logan soothes, flicking your clit as he fucks into you. “Knew you’d feel this good. Wanna be inside you forever, princess.”

His lips find yours again, his teeth tugging on your lower lip and then sucking the pain away. It’s rushed and frantic, like he’s dying for more, searching for a way to reach deeper inside you, to feel all of you at once.

He ruts into you, his hips snapping, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust. He pinches your clit roughly, and your back arches off the mattress, your chest pressing against his.

“No idea how much I wanted you…” You trail off as his cock pounds into you. He’s still stretching you out, still working you open.

Logan moans your name, his cock throbbing at your words. “Wanted to fuck you that first night you came in here,” he whispers at the shell of your ear. “Wanted you before that too. Knew I needed you the second I saw you.”

The confession rocks through you. You think of all those nights spent next to Logan, all those stolen moments. He wanted you—needed you the whole time.

“Lo,” you hiccup, his fingertips swirling your clit, his hips rocking against yours. He sinks deep inside, again and again, pumping in and out. Your walls flutter around his cock, dragging him in deeper.

“Fuck, pretty girl,” he groans, sliding out and plunging back in. “Squeezing me so good, taking me so well.”

Tears brim in the corners of your eyes at the pure pleasure drumming through your bones. You know you’re close, know you’re almost unraveling underneath him. Logan flicks your clit, drawing hard, rough strokes around the bud. You’re on fire, and you’re burning for him.

“Logan I-I…” You stumble around your words, unable to form a coherent sentence as he pounds into you. Your walls flutter around him again, and his cock twitches inside you at the feeling.

He groans, your name on his tongue like a prayer. “I know you’re close, pretty girl.” He throbs inside you, and you know he’s almost there too. “Wanna make you come again,” he grunts, pulling out and pumping back in. “Know you have another one in you, sweetheart.”

He’s right. You can’t hold on much longer, but you want this moment to last. You want to feel his cock dragging along your walls, filling you up, splitting you open. You want his chest flush against yours. You want to feel the way he bites your lip and sucks away the sting he leaves behind. You want it all—all of him—and you don’t just want it right now. You don’t want this to be a fleeting moment. You want it to be forever.

“Come on, beautiful,” Logan pants, his pace faltering, his hips stuttering. He twitches inside you again. “Fuck, you feel so good.” He strokes your clit, drawing those quick circles into the bud. “Let go for me. Know you want to,” he breathes, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

His words overwhelm you, and you let go. It’s all more forceful this time, more powerful, your body trembling, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as wave after wave of pleasure tears through your body. It feels like blinding, searing heat, spreading like a forest fire.

Logan is right behind you, moaning your name, his cock throbbing against your walls. “Gonna fill you up, pretty girl,” he husks, his chest heaving. You whisper a soft, pleading yes. “Fuck, gonna make you mine,” he moans. His cock throbs again, and then he’s spilling inside you, filling you with his release.

His fingers rub gentle strokes into your clit, his cock slowly pumping in and out before stilling inside you. His fingers slip away from your clit, his hand traveling up your body, and rolling you over so that you’re side by side, facing each other. He pulls you into his chest, his cock still deep inside you.

Logan’s arms wrap around your back, caressing your bare skin, tracing patterns and shapes with his fingertips. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head as you bury your face into his chest.

“Wanna stay inside you,” he mumbles against your hair. “Wanna keep you close.”

“You can,” you whisper, your heart hammering. “Wanna stay close, too.”

He presses another kiss to your head. “I’m not going anywhere,” Logan soothes, his fingers running up and down your spine. “Gonna want you forever.”

You lift your head to look up at him, his eyes immediately meeting yours. “Forever?” You ask, but you know it’s a dumb question. You know he’s telling the truth.

He smiles and nods. “Would’ve waited for you forever,” he says, pausing, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “Never felt this way before, pretty girl. Never felt this real, this perfect. Don’t wanna let you go.”

“Don’t,” you whisper into the darkness of his room. “Please.”

“I won’t,” he coos, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I won’t.”

His breathing steadies, and you listen to him like you do every night. Your eyes flutter shut, and you drift off to sleep with Logan’s cock deep inside you.

Forever. You think as your mind goes quiet and sleep drags you under. Forever.

Everlong.

tags: @ricefordays-blog1 @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @alsoprettyinpink @figsnpassionfruits @spiderset @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @starrdustss @wittyjasontodd @pedrohoe04 @fanfic-writing-barbie @evasmlp @derbygracie @cosmiccandydreamer @honeyfewr @movhoney @manipulatour @rammakela *I am so sorry if I forgot to tag you*

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thebestandworstdayofjune · 3 months ago

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i'm down on my knees, i wanna take you there

summary: you are suiting up for your first mission, the only problem being everyone "forgot" (intentionally withheld) this information from Logan wc: 2.3k a/n: thank you thank you so much for all of your support about my other Logan fic!! I am really enjoying writing for him, and have a few ideas for this Logan as well as some for Worst!Wolverine aka Deadpool 3!Logan as well! More info about empath!reader's powers and her role at the school in this one <3 warnings: slight (incredibly) slight angst, protective!Logan, a bit of a hurt comfort vibe, Ororo, Scott and Jean are meddlers this is the previous fic with these two, not required reading at all, though!

The leather was cool and surprisingly soft against your skin. There had never been reason for you to have to accompany a mission requiring one of the suits before, and you were shocked at how comfortable the uniform was. Typically, when you were asked to help with a mission, you were there for intel. Scope the place out, get a read on the general vibe of the place. Your powers didn’t provide the same level of protection as laser eyes or a strong regenerative healing factor. You would typically arrive with Rogue, in clothes from your own closet and one of the least fancy cars from the garage. You would slip in, get your read, and get out.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to help, you just lacked the training that the other members of the team had. And after all, someone had to stay back to mind things at the school. When Charles had approached you a few months ago about some possible applications for your mutation that would come in handy on missions, you’d been hesitant. It was so outside of your comfort zone to load yourself onto a jet that you’d never even considered the possibility. You were far more comfortable in the library where you held English classes for the students, or helping Charles keep students calm while exploring their powers. Neither scenario included the possibility of a lot of violence.

Ororo helped you finish zipping yourself into the suit, smoothing her hands along the sleeves before giving you a final nod of approval. Jean and Scott granted you small smiles and you did your best to look as confident as you knew they felt.

They’d promised it was a simple mission, the kind they usually took students on when Charles felt they were ready to join the team, if that’s what they decided to do after wrapping up their schooling. Charles had heard word of a young mutant who had some kind of telekinetic powers and had recently had an eruption while at school. Everyone agreed that it would be best to find them and convince them to return to the school for some training with as little force as possible, only expedited by the fact that Charles had found them hungry and afraid after running away from home using Cerebro. In the past, the kids had been resistant due to huge amounts of fear, causing them to lash out. You knew they were right that your powers would be useful at times like these, and if you were able to help in any way you were inclined to.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing to her?” You sighed. It wasn’t that you were all conspiring to keep this a secret from Logan. It wasn’t a discussion that you’d had to agree on group espionage. It just seemed that all of you had a sort of understanding that it might be better to ask forgiveness rather than permission. Not that you needed permission.

Logan looked furious, and what’s worse, he felt furious. You and Charles had been working to extend your powers over further distances, no longer needing to touch someone directly to know how they feel. Though it certainly doesn’t hurt matters. You’d sensed him upstairs, seemingly pacing around and seething. You’d hoped one of the kids had gotten on his nerves, or something on tv had set him off. You could see that was foolish now.

“We aren’t doing anything to her,” Scott had his visor on, blocking his eyes from view, but you didn’t need to see to know that he was rolling his eyes. “She’s chosen to accompany us on a mission.”

“A small mission!” Ororo chimed in, doing her best to give Logan a reassuring smile.

You checked back in with his aura. Still furious. But it was a nice try, you supposed. Logan’s hackles were raised, his chest heaving. This certainly wouldn’t do. “Can I have a moment with you,” you glanced around the room, briefly meeting the other three mutant’s eyes. “Alone?”

Logan was still staring daggers at Scott. He wasn’t even the one who suggested you were ready to come along. Jean and Charles had approached you this morning. You laid a hand against his arm, hoping to lead him out of the room, but he flinched away. The pang in your heart was immediate. Did he really think you were so callous that you would ever use your powers without his express permission, or some kind of emergency. You could feel the tears starting to gather in the corner of your eye, your arms wrapping protectively around your midsection.

Jean slipped one arm through Scott’s and took Ororo’s hand with her other, gently leading them out of the room. “We are going to check a few things with the jet, last minute.” She began to hustle them out of the room. “Call if you need anything!”

The door shut firmly behind them, and you were left alone with Logan, who looked like he was going to start shaking. “I wasn’t going to-”

“You don’t think I know that?” You can’t help but recoil. You have never been afraid of Logan, even when it may have been in your best judgement to be wary, and you still aren’t. But you can’t deny that it hurts when he snaps at you. Especially when you thought, well. You thought you were growing close. You started to turn away, but before you could, a warm hand caught ahold of your arm. “I’m not… fuck.” He took a heaving breath, shaking his head as if he could clear whatever thoughts were bothering him. “I’m not mad.”

Despite the serious energy of the conversation, you couldn’t help the incredulous look you shot his way. He tried his best to hide it, but you could see the corner of his mouth turning up at you. “Fine, I’m not mad at you.”

“You know, you really can’t be mad at anyone, they were just doing-” you were cut off when you fell Logan’s hand traveling down your arm, and pushing your sleeve up gently from where it was covering your hand. He slipped his hand into yours and you felt yourself relax a bit. “Just, take a look, yeah?”

“Are you sure you want me to?”

“I trust you, bub.” You searched his eyes for any sign of hesitancy, but all you found was trust. Complete and utter trust. You nodded, tightening your own grip on his hand. Doing your best not to let the gentle rub of his thumb against your knuckles distract you, you took a deep breath and opened yourself up to his feelings.

At first you did feel anger, bright red and hot. You sifted past it, steeling yourself. The first time you had encountered such strong anger, you had felt as if you were going to collapse. But you were stronger now, more prepared to deal with these kinds of feelings. The anger was strong, but also surprisingly shallow. In the depths of his emotions, Logan was worried. Terrified. A deep dark purple that made your own hands shake. His grip on your hand tightened, effectively drawing you back to yourself. There was more, a soft inviting pink that you didn’t dare to touch and shiny bright gold, which told you he was proud.

You opened your eyes, fighting back the heat you felt creeping onto your cheeks. His expression hadn’t changed, pure trust and tenderness. It should have been disarming, or at the very least surprising. Logan wasn’t so open and honest with people. But the two of you had always had different expectations for the other.

You couldn’t help it, a smile crept over your features. “You’re proud of me?”

He rolled his eyes, but his smile only grew. He took your free hand in his, pulling you in closer. “I’m always proud of you.” He hesitated for a brief moment, and you did your best to bite your tongue. You could tell Logan had been making an effort to open up lately, and not just to you, but that didn’t make prolonged silences and easier to bear. “I know it’s not my place to demand anything of you.”

“You’re my… friend.” You cut him off, wincing at the pause. It didn’t feel like the time to pressure him into labeling whatever feelings may be floating around. “And I always want to hear my friend’s opinions. What’s bothering you so badly?”

“I could hear your heartbeat from upstairs.” Your eyes grew wide, too shocked to try to school your expression. Logan had told you several times that he had learned to block out his enhanced hearing when he was quite young. Usually to tease you when you got on a long tangent about something you enjoyed. He pretended to zone out and ignore you, but he would always remember small details about your rants, bringing them up nonchalantly at a later date “I, uh, keep an ear out sometimes. Helps with the worry.”

He worries about you? Even more surprising, he’s listening to your heartbeat like background music to his day. You promise yourself you will ask him about it when you don’t have a room full of your friends waiting on you. “I thought we’d covered this. I can take care of myself.”

He sighed, bringing a hand to rest gently where your jaw meets your neck. “Sweetheart, I know you can. But that doesn’t stop me from watching out for you.”

Your hand moved to rest overtop of his. “The good news is that I will have lots of people watching out for me. You know they won’t let anything happen.” You receive a single huff in return. He’s not convinced. “You know that these are the kinds of missions we send the kids on. I’ll be fine.”

He considers for a moment, before dropping his hand and nodding. “Give me a second to get changed, and we will head out.”

You grabbed for his hand, but he was already out the door, and moving too fast for you to stop. “Logan, don’t be ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous is you thinking that I would ever let you go out there alone.”

“As we already established, I have three very capable friends coming with me. I am only going as a contingency plan.”

“Well then consider me the contingency to the contingency plan.” You huffed, following him next door.

You darted around in front of Logan, pushing against his chest with all your strength, even if you were fully aware that it was the equivalent of a fly buzzing around him. He stopped all the same, eyebrows pulled together in frustration. “I know you’re worried and I know that this is you trying to help.” Logan had his I’m about to interrupt you look on his face, leaving you to shove him again. Thankfully, he understood your intention. “This is important to me. You can’t be there every time, and I have to stand on my own two feet. I want to contribute to the work we do here more than just teaching kids about how awesome Shakespeare is.” The look was back. “Which is still an important contribution.” You added, which seemed to appease him. “But, I don’t want it to be my only contribution. So I am going to go and make sure that this scared kid who is all alone out there makes it back here safe. And you are going to stay here and make sure that everyone gets dinner and help with their assignments. And then when I get back, we are going to have a talk about all this.”

“All this?” A smile crept back onto your face, hearing the teasing tone in his voice.

“Oh my god shut up!” He caught your hands before they made contact with his chest, but he was slow to let go this time. He brought the back of both of your hands to his mouth, dropping a small kiss on each one, before returning your hands to your side.

“If you come back with so much as a bump to the head, Scott’s dead.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, and pointing out that this was exactly what you were talking about earlier did little to sway him. So you gave in, agreeing to give him a full report before slipping your hand into his and tugging him towards the jet.

“We’ll be back in a bit.” You promised. You could feel the others staring from just inside the jet, but you barely noticed. Logan was checking over your suit meticulously, tugging zippers a few more clicks up and making sure that the collar wasn’t too tight around your neck. He kneeled down, checking to make sure the laces on your boots were double knotted. “Logan,” you laughed, reaching down to tilt his head up to look at you. “I’m too seconds away from sending a lot of exhaustion your way and leaving you passed out in here. You have to let me go, it’s going to be fine.”

He remained kneeling for a second too long, a look in his eyes you couldn’t entirely place. The sound of the jet powering on broke the both of you out of your trance. He was on his feet in a flash, checking over you one final time. You rose up on your tippy toes, balancing by resting your hands on his shoulders, before gently kissing him on the cheek. You pulled back, nose scrunched up from the tickle of his facial hair. “We’ll be back in a few hours. Hold down the fort for us, yeah?”

He nodded, pupils slightly blown out and a dreamy look on his face. You giggled, walking backwards for as long as you can before turning around and finding a seat on the jet. You could feel Jean and Scott’s eyes on you as Ororo began maneuvering the jet out of the garage. “Don’t even start.” You muttered, settling firmly into your seat, doing your best to soak up the pride and confidence the others were projecting into the cockpit.

as always, feedback is so appreciated! if you have any requests for these two/wolverine in general, please leave them here!

next part

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dawnwriterimagines · 4 months ago

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The Guilty Plea

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x FEM!READER

Traitors Among Us (Part 1) and Innocents Among You (Part 2)

Verdict Due (Part 4) Clear Skies (Part 5)

Summary: As you're discharged from the infirmary, under watchful eye, you head to Laswell to talk on the rest of your now ruined military career. Of course, you're forced to confront your team as it happens, the last people on earth you'd like to see.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

Running your fingers along the raised, pink scar across you cheek, the feeling of it...it really looked terrible. A part of you thought it would disappear, hoped it would, but it didn't. It just became severely more noticeable. Looking at this, you knew you'd always have to think of it. You'd sport this reminder for the rest of your life.

Looking away from it, you find your own tired eyes in the mirror, you haven't been sleeping well. Or at all. You can't remember the last time you got 4 hours, let alone 8. Dark circles still surrounded them but at least the bruising and the swelling had gone down.

You couldn't recognize yourself. Not really.

This woman looked so exhausted, so frail and so goddamn angry. It was accurate, it was how you felt. All of it. So, you supposed that the mirror's reflection was the truth, this was you indeed.

"If you need another day or two, no one will ask questions."

You glance over towards your psychologist, your fucking therapist, a nice little 'gift' sent over by the bureau to check in on your mental state after your ordeal. Glaring at him through the reflection of your mirror, he sighs, putting down his pen that slaps against his notepad, "I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

"I'm going to Laswell." Ignoring his statement, you speak. "I'm ready. I'll pack up. Get back to base. Vera had me discharged from the infirmary. I can start ov--"

"Vera?"

"My nurse. You met her," you continued, annoyance spiking at the interruption. Your wrist brace squeaking quietly under the pressure of your fist tightening beneath the table.

"Right..."

"Do you listen to a word I say outside of...my 'trauma'?" You wonder, bluntly.

Your psychologist blinks, surprised, before clearing his throat, appalled. "If you feel I can be more attentive to your state of well-being throughout our process, than by all means--"

"Oh, so 'no'?" you lean back into your seat, a strained laugh leaving you. His lips press together and you continue before he can find the words. "Because whenever I mention leaving this fucking team, you either adjust our schedule for another two weeks or suggest hypnotic therapy, as if I need anyone else digging around to fuck up my mental state."

"I never meant to imply--"

"Oh, you implied it," you interrupted, gritting your teeth. "I know what I want. And I want off Task Force 141."

He taps at the leather of his notebook. "Scars heal, just remember that, Ms. (L/n). The reminders of your experience shouldn't have to haunt you."

"It's not the scars, I've had my share way before this," you admitted, rising to your feet. You exhale deeply that tells to the effort of it, the steel gear hinges along your leg braces shift with your change of position. Still getting use to them. "It's the person."

"Has she changed, you think?" the psychologist begins to write, getting somewhere.

"She doesn't exist anymore."

Finally, placing the mirror down and onto the side table, you pushed off of the table, rolling your IV pole along with you. Passing the chair your psychologist sits on, he closes his notebook with a frustrated huff, looking over his shoulder. "Session over for you already, Ms. (L/n)?" he sighs. "We've still got the hour."

"I'm done," you take the knob in your hand. Turning.

In more ways than one.

"You understand that, informing your captain on your leave is required of you. Have you spoken to any of them, in the last few weeks?" he spoke up, quickly. "I'm sure giving them a space to open up, share from their view--"

"Why should I care--"

"--will give you better understanding, better clarity of the situation they were in--

Appalled. "What the fuck?" Jamming the door closed with a loud, shuttering thud, you whip around. "IT'S NOT ABOUT THEM!" you could just rip your hair out. "Who--who says that to someone?!"

Your psychologist sits there, eyes wide in confusion. "What--"

"Christ, can you hear me? Can you--can you see me? I've got metal plates in my spine, braces holding my knees in place and nerve damage that'll never heal! Who gives a fuck about them!" your skin feels red hot, your face twisted in rage. "I gave my life! My life to this! And then I'm tortured, I'm threatened, drugged and beaten by my own team, my f--my family for eight fucking years..."

You continue with a heavy chest. "And I'm supposed to invite them for dinner to talk and listen them bitch and moan about why they thought it was necessary to beat me to death for two weeks?! Fuck you!" you spat. "I don't owe them anything!"

"That's not what I was trying to say, Ms. (L/N). I apologize, I overstepped. Come sit down--"

"Of course you meant it," you interrupted, mock humor. "Don't be a pussy, own up to it. Revel in your truth. Be tter yet--" you snatch a journal from the cabinet. Tossing it his way. "Make a note of it."

Turning the knob, you leave the room with a slam of the metal door.

---

You were officially famous. On the base, you were now a legend.

A story that would be mentioned and told at lunch for months. Probably years.

First, you were a rat. Next, you were innocent. This was the most gossip any of those in service had ever seen in their years of service.

An interesting reminder to those in service that you weren't safe off duty either.

You learned a few days ago that there was an update put into the interrogational unit, something about how to properly go about dissecting evidence and being on the lookout for enemy spies in the militia.

You guessed you had been told about it in an effort to be appeased by the thought that the head of control paid attention to anything beyond their own noses for once. But, you had little to no faith in a system that's nearly killed you on and off the field by now, so it didn't matter.

You doubted the new rules would be followed though, there was a plethora of things they'd done to you in that cell that were both illegal and unsanctioned. Most of all, that were expected towards an enemy, a prisoner of war at best, and not a fellow marine.

You arrive at the housing quarters, swiping your key card, pulling the handle and entering the wing. Immediately, you're greeted by a dozen eyes, conversations stopping short and clothes ruffling to silence, suddenly whispers fill the space and eyes turn away.

"Oh, god, it's her..." says one man in the far corner.

"Shut the fuck up, man!" came a harsh whisper back.

"I didn't know it was that bad..."

All those eyes on you, makes you pause in your step, looking around at all of your fellow soldiers, the men and women you've served with for years. Many you recognized, ate with, fought beside that turned their backs to you now. Out of respect? Out of distaste, morale, nerves, pity, it all didn't matter. It all felt the same.

The wheels attached to your IV pole suddenly sounded much too loud on the polished flooring, as you walked down the hall as fast as you were able to.

Breathing out deeply, you get to an elevator, pushing on the button, once, twice, three times, just open goddamn it.

With a ding, the metal doors open, and suddenly you're aware that people could be in the elevator, they could be in this elevator, he could be in this elevator. Your eyes flicker down to the floor, your grip on the pole of your iv tightens, your shoulders stiffen, waiting for a blow that will never come.

You stand there as the doors open up, the small space empty, the metal walls reflect only her and a streak of lighting from the ceiling.

Looking up slowly, finally taking a breath, before sliding the iv up and onto the elevator, following it as you press your floor number along the way.

The ride up is fast, a little rumble as it stops, and then the doors open. Faster than you were prepared for.

Peeking out down the hallway, luckily no one to bump into, which you were thankful for. But, it didn't make this hall any less haunting. You'd been cornered in this same hall, you could recall being hauled out of the room after the solid handle of a knife hits your temple.

You don't go down fast enough, whipping around as you stumble to take the wrist of your attacker, mostly for balance, it's Price. In shock, you're unprepared as Johnny's arm encircle your neck, locking you into position as you both stumble backwards onto the floor. He blocks your airways, hushing you harshly as you struggle, feet kicking out and your vision blurring as your team surrounds you. Your family.

That was quite the headache to wakeup with afterwards.

You hadn't quite remembered until now. Being back served as a hell of a kickstart to your memory.

Just a few more reasons to get the fuck off of 141.

Getting off the elevators, the metal doors sliding closed behind you, you make your way down the hall. The polished flooring creates a subtle squeak through the wheels of your iv pole, your hand absently running over the fading stitches along your side.

Passing the shadows of your tortured memory, the doorway of the office was closed, locked.

You pass Kyle's room.

Johnny's.

Finally, you rush up to the next room on the left, grabbing the handle, before beginning to twist, but then you're yanking your hand back as if the metal had burned you. Your back ramming into the back wall, catching yourself, this wasn't your room.

It was Simon's.

You'd spent hours, days, in that room. More than your own.

Why wouldn't you? You were about to get married to the man. You had more in this room than you had in yours.

Sharp breaths leave you, shivering in your effort to keep yourself together, your head goes back into the wall, swallowing down the ache in your chest.

You wait, muscles tensed and your body pressing back into the wall, hoping it'd absorb you if that door opens. Listening for every sound, any pin drop, even an exhale from beyond that doorway. Luckily, Simon seemed to be out for the day.

Hurriedly, nearly running, you steady yourself against the wall as you rush down to the corner of the hallway, finally finding your room.

Turning the handle, it's not locked, it's broken. It opens with ease.

Entering the room slowly, pushing the doorway aside, the crackle of glass beneath your boots as you step forwards, clothes and picture frames laying scattered.

The mattress flipped and ripped open, springs and cotton cut from it. Your wall of metals and certificates, from acts of bravery and mementos of valor, discarded, later you'd find them in the trash, one with a bullet lodged into the gold.

Sniffling as you leaned down, picking a specific frame off the ground, the only one that hadn't been broken. Laying along the ruined rug, with no care for the glass digging through your jeans, you stare at the still shot of your family.

The only family you had outside of Task Force 141, your father and his sister, military brats themselves, until their retirement. Your mother had passed, or just up and left, days after your 5th birthday, you weren't completely sure, the story kept changing every year. But, these two were the only family you've ever known, ever had, until you joined the military, following in their footsteps.

They'd been so proud when you arrived back after your first assignment, in truth you were heavily traumatized, but seeing them, you just had to smile. Having a family that understood the harsh toll on the line of a trooper, now a lieutenant, it was always easier to bring your troubles to them. But, they were also military nuts so "suck it up" was also a quick go to answer from your aunt, while your father was the smoother talker.

They had met Simon, loved him, his rank, his love for you, his seriousness. They trusted him completely with your heart.

So, when he called them, after the evidence leaked...

They believed him.

"What're you talking about?" You took the handle of the chair in your grip, easing you down into it as your legs do weak at what you were hearing. "I didn't...I didn't do it, Dad."

"Do you know how humiliating and disappointing--how it felt to hear him say that to me, hm?" he says, static crackles on the reciever. "My daughter...my own flesh and blood...working with terrorists--"

"I'm not working with anyone! Are you-" you huff out a breath of disbelief. "Are you even listening to me? I've never betrayed the code. How can you think that way of me?"

For a moment, he's silent. "Alright, then," he began. "Than, what'd you do? huh?"

"What--what..."

"Oh, come on, (Y/n)!" your father yells. "What did you do?! What could they possibly have had on you that made you the most likely target? You had to have had done something, been somewhere, were with somebody you weren't supposed to be with! They didn't just get that information from anywhere."

"What the fuck--" Your expression twists with frustration and misery, running your hand through your hair, pulling at it. "I've sacrificed every part of myself for this job, for this team, what do I have to gain from throwing that all away? They send me everywhere, places you've never heard of, places you'll never hear about and people you'll never have to meet, because of me! Why would you just believe Simon? Why couldn't you just wait to talk to me?!"

Hearing your father scoff at your words was painful. "What reason do I have not to believe him? He knows you, maybe even better than any of us. Besides, he was going to be my son in law--"

"I'm your daughter! Fuck Simon, what about me? You'd believe him instead?"

He sighs. "Listen, you're upsetting Cass. We didn't expect your call. I gotta make this brief..."

"You're upset?" pulling at your hair, sucking in sharply. "I'm the one who's permanently fucking altered here. What do either of you have to be upset about?!"

"Watch your fucking mouth!" he seethes. The anger in his voice isn't new, but the way he spits it at you is. "You did this to yourself, I didn't. Maybe that's what your nightmares were about, am I right? Your guilt?"

Wiping the streaks of tears that had fallen down your face, lips quivering and chest aching with sobs you frustratedly shoved down. "Why don't you believe me?"

"I don't deserve the disgrace that will come with you as my kin, I've lived my part of this war. No daughter of mine should even be in this fucking position," your father spat, disgusted into the receiver. Suddenly, he was the cruel, bitter old man your mother had always known him to be, you wished she had stayed to at least remind you of that. Maybe it wouldn't have hurt as much. "You should be ashamed of yourself, but at least you got yourself out it. The least you could do for us."

"Well--what does that mean?" you spoke, quietly.

"Don't call again..."

"Dad, no--" you break this time, a sob escaping you.

"Me and your Aunt Cass..."

"Daddy please, don't do this--"

"..We've decided to cut ties. We're not taking any heat from this, you're on your own," he finishes, clearing his throat, waiting a moment, listening to the pleads and cries of his only daughter, his once pride. "You take care of yourself. Goodbye, kid."

"Why can't you just believe me? Why?!" you cried.

"Don't come to the house."

"No, no,--" the line goes dead. And staring down at your phone, his caller id going blank and the call disconnecting.

Your phone all of a sudden feels heavy, the device and your hand falling down to your thigh, before the phone slips out of your grip and onto the floor. You sit there silently, until your tears drop up and even after.

Staring at the photo now was haunting in its own way, it was just another painful reminder.

Using the bed frame to stand to your feet, your grip on the frame is painful as you squeeze it, the glass cracks audibly.

"Bonnie..."

Whipping around at the sound of John MacTavish's voice, you back up a few steps at the sight of him, your back hitting the edge of your desk.

He reaches out as you stumble, before his fingers curl back into his palm as you find your balance, his hands receding back to his sides. He doesn't enter the room, just lingering just beyond the doorway, his eyes flickering around the room, guiltily.

"I didn't know--we didn't know you were out," he speaks quietly, as opposed prideful personality that translated into his voice usually.

You say nothing.

In the dark, your eyes are wide and your shoulders are tensed up, he can see the glint of your leg braces, the iv pole at the side, the scar beneath your eye. You looked terrified to see him.

"We were coming back to clean up today, just got back from...from a mission..." he stutters on his words, shifting his feet.

"It's been a week."

His lips press together hearing your voice. "I know..." Johnny glances around at the room he'd let those officers destroy, it hadn't been them, but they might as well had done it. "I know...we just...didn't know it was so bad."

"Really?" your voice is mockingly sweet, drawing out the word. "You didn't know? Well look..." you hold up your family photo, the light in the hallway catching on the glass. "You missed one."

Your hand dropping, the heavy frame comes down just as fast, ramming into the ground, the glass practically exploding on impact.

Johnny flinches, the photo of your family...He looks back to you, surprised. "Bonnie..."

Snatching the next closest thing from your desk, a ceramic cup. "Oh, wow, can't believe you guys missed this one," you chuck it into the wall. It breaks on impact, the remains scatter along the flipped mattress and onto the floor. "That used to be my favorite mug by the way."

The Scotsman worriedly steps forwards, 'Lass, I'm sorry--"

"FUCK YOU!" you spat, coming into the light. You're sure you look deranged, and you didn't care. You could've wrapped your hands around his throat, killed him right on the floor and you wouldn't have blinked. "It doesn't mean anything! 'I'm sorry', 'I'm sorry', 'I'm sorry', over and over and over again! As if you shouldn't be! Your apologies mean fuck all."

"I know...I know," he breathes. "But, I've gotta say it anyway, bonnie. I should've believed you, there was no reason not to. I know that now. I just--"

"Believe me!" you cut him off with a yell. "Trust me! Fucking 'HELP ME'!" you screamed with the same fever as your days in the interrogation room, that terrible cell, the cold, the burn and pain. "I cried it all to you, to all of you, and nobody came. Nobody came for me," you breathe in sharply. "It doesn't matter what you should've done. You didn't do it!"

Johnny's eyes are red, he opens his mouth, closes it and then swallows down whatever chokes him up as he looks at you. "I should've came for you. I wish I did. I wanted to, Bonnie..." he steps forwards, and you recede back away from him, your eyes narrowed with violence. "I'll never forgive myself for not listening to you. For not coming to help you. For laying a hand on you. I'm so sorry, (Y/n). I'm sorry..."

I'll never forgive myself... "That makes two of us," you assured.

Johnny's eyes widen, before they close, his guilt ever consuming. He can't help but understand, to respect your decision, to know things can never be ok again. "(Y/n)...."

Grabbing hold of the nearest thing, a pencil cup, you hurl it at Johnny. He doesn't put his hands up, flinching as it hits him, the metal clinking against his kevlar, eyes closing then opening, he stands still. "I don't forgive. I don't accept your apology. I don't fucking care about it!" with each sentence you throw something else his way, a broken frame, the trash bin, a pillow, the CD player.

His hand has to come up for the knife you unsheathe, a memento from one of your missions, it's rusted, ancient probably. But, you hadn't given it up to a museum or to pawn, you had nearly died on this mission, saving Johnny ironically. You had to keep it.

Seeing the weapon, his defensive position is instinctive but his hands drop just as fast, he understands, you need this. You deserve this. "If you need to..." he speaks. Your eyes flicker up to him, away from the knife. "If you need to, I get it..."

And you need to. You really fucking do.

Your grip on the knife is dangerously hard, it hurts.

Looking at Johnny, he'd been your brother in more than a few ways on and off the field, he had been your comfort, your friend, your family. You had bled with him, held onto him as he carried you from the battlefield, joked, laughed, screamed and cried. You've loved him for years.

He'd had a rough few nights you could see that. He was quieter, reserved. Almost as terrified to see you, as you had been of him.

And you could kill him right now and never bat an eye.

And so, throwing that knife was so fucking easy.

Johnny's eyes close as you do just that, fists clenching and teeth biting down on his tongue to prepare for the pain.

The ancient weapon whiz's through the air, the sound is sharp and he knows it will cut through him like butter.

The thud rings in the room, and Johnny's eyes blow open wide, holding his breath as he collapses to his knees, before turning to you.

You dig into the pile of clothes that had been cast aside, a pair of sneakers and a new shirt. You don't look at him a single time as you take it all, stuffing them in a bag, and leaving the room, passing him completely, a limp in your step.

Johnny releases a pained breath, tears finally leaving him as he looks up, the knife lodged into the frame of the doorway, just barely missing him. The sleeve of his uniform ripped open.

He sits there in the quiet, destroyed room. A testimony to the relationship he's destroyed between you.

Part 4!! OUT NOW

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