#AND NO ONE BUT REMY SAYS ANYTHING ABOUT IT

[hmhas-00]

Ch. 11

Hit Me Hard & Soft

A/N: i've been so busy but here's ch11!! I hope you like :)

~~~~~

Billie’s POV

I waited a while, checking my phone for a reply constantly but got nothing. I forced myself out of bed to get ready for rehearsal. I start the bath and undress, putting a Netflix show on my phone. I lower myself into the hot, bubbling tub and prop my phone up on the side.

I spend a while here, leaning my head back on the rolled up towel I set up for myself. I zoned off, thinking about switching out a few songs for tonight’s show.

As I drifted off into a daydream, my phone began buzzing. I opened my eyes to see it was Remy calling. Before I could dry my hands off, it slid towards the edge of the tub. My attempt to catch it failed, and my phone fell inside the water.

“FUCKING HELL BRO.”

I fished it out of the bath water, trying to answer the call anyways, but the screen was completely glitched out. Immediately, I got up and tried to dry it with a towel, shaking the water out of the charging port, only to realize my phone was completely messed up.

“You have to be fucking kidding me!” I grunted, sitting back down in my bath and throwing my useless phone at the floor. This is the least relaxing bath I’ve ever taken in my life.

I quickly drained the bath and took a shower, trying my best to not get into an irreversible horrible mood. When I finished getting ready, I threw an oversized hoodie over my outfit, put my hair in a pony tail, and left for the venue to start rehearsal.

******

“In the bathtub? No wonder you weren’t answering me.” Finneas tuned his guitar, prepping for sound check.

It was already 4:30pm, and we were getting ready before the concert at 7pm. Finneas joining me on stage for the next three days was the main thing keeping me going.

“Yeah, I was gonna ask, do you have an extra phone I can borrow for now?” I laughed, waiting for our sound guy’s sign to start testing the mics.

“We can get the team to get you a phone by tonight.” He laughed along with me.

“Actually, I was gonna tell you… Before I drowned my phone, I texted Remy.”

“You did?” He looked at me, wanting to know all the details.

“Yeah, I don’t know if you saw her instagram post, but when I saw it, I just wanted to talk to her… Tell her how much I miss her.” I looked down at the mic, fidgeting.

“What did you text her?”

“It’s literally so dumb. I feel so stupid, dude…”

“Tell me!” He begged, excitedly.

I cleared my throat and paraphrased, “I said… I saw your wall, it’s incredible.”

He laughed, leaning back and smacking my arm. “Literally no one… Trump fans.”

“Shut the fuck up!” I cringed at myself, laughing with him. “And then I just double texted her, and told her I missed her, and I wished I was with her in her newly painted room.”

“That’s rough, man.” He caught his breath, finishing up his guitar sound check. “Please tell me she answered before you destroyed your phone.”

“She called AS my phone jumped in the bath with me, dude.” I groaned, pouting while stifling a laugh.

“Fuuuuck!” He chuckled. “You wanna use my phone and give her a call back?”

“I was gonna call her from the hotel phone after the show. I don’t want her to think I purposely ignored her call.”

“So this is your first time speaking in over three weeks, huh? That’s almost a month. Have you thought about what you’re going to say?” He walked with me to the greenroom as we talked.

“Sort of. I’m going to apologize for sure. Hopefully, it goes well, and she forgives me. Hopefully it won’t lead to an argument. She’ll probably want to talk about it, though. I just don’t want to mess up and say the wrong things, you know?”

“Just speak from your heart. Don’t hide anything, leave it all out in the open. That’s just my advice.” He patted my back and grabbed a snack from the table.

“Yeah. I hope I can do that. I hope she even answers.” I shrugged, thinking about the possibility that she may not even want to talk anymore.

What if she changed her mind. What if me not answering hurt her feelings. What if she was just calling to tell me to go fuck myself instead?

“Let’s see right now.” Finneas immediately dialed her on his phone, putting it on speaker.

“No!” I covered my mouth and held my breath. I guess there would never be a better time to rip the bandaid off.

It rang for a while, the dial tone continuing on, until her voicemail greeting played. He hung up.

“Maybe she’s busy?” He looked at me, trying not to let me down.

“Maybe.” My heart drops. She usually answers Finneas, so the fact that she didn’t, made me feel like she didn’t want to hear from, or about me. Like she figured I was still on my bullshit and Finneas was calling to fix it for me. I fucked up. She’s probably hurt. I double text her, then I decline her call. She must think I’m the worst.

Finneas pats my back and gives me a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry.” He says.

The day goes on, my body traveled through space and time in autopilot. It passed by in a blink, and suddenly it was time to perform. I tried my best to get excited for the show while Finneas and the rest of the crew hyped me up. Before I knew it, I was on stage catching that adrenaline rush that was so familiar to me.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

After the show, I ran under the stage and back to the green room to grab some water and have a breather. Finneas trailed behind me, plopping on the same couch from earlier. It was a pretty known ritual of mine to immediately have some alone time to catch my breath after a show, mostly to keep the crew or management from rushing me all at once. I gave Finneas a heads up that I’d be getting un-ready in my dressing room, and made my way over.

I stretched my arms over my head and let out a giant yawn as I approached my room. Turning the knob, I swung the door open, exhausted from quite the performance I had put on, both physically and mentally.

Inside the room sat a pretty brunette facing the vanity mirror, holding an enormous bouquet of white, long stem roses. She straightened her posture and watched me through the reflection. Her back faced me until I stepped in and closed the door behind me.

“Remy?” I took a step closer. She turned around, remaining seated in the velvet stool. I almost didn’t believe it was real. I wanted to pinch myself but I was found half paralyzed, barely able to form full sentences.

“Hey, you.” She shyly spoke, her voice filling my heart with warmth and relief. She held the flowers out to me, standing up and looking at the brown-paper wrapped two-dozen in her hands. She struggled making eye contact and her arm was a bit shaky.

I stepped forward, moving the flowers out of the way and pulling her into my arms. We said nothing for a while, steadying our heartbeats. I indulged in our embrace, swaying back and forth out of habit. I focused on the reflection on the mirror in front of me, taking a mental picture of this moment. Her chin rested on my shoulder, her head only half an inch lower than mine. Her arms wrapped around my torso, and my hands on her upper and lower back. For three weeks, alI I needed was this hug.

Finally we broke the silence, “I’m sorry.” We both blurted out.

I pulled away, looking at her delicate face. She looked back down at the flowers, avoiding my gaze. Her makeup was done so lightly tonight, with a thin winged eyeliner standing out. I looked at her perfectly high cheekbones, noticing just a bit of shine added to them. Her hair was done in loose, wavy curls, with her curtain bangs remaining straight. Her lips were brushed over with a sheer gloss, her lips naturally plump and mauve. At the sight of them, I tucked my bottom lip under my top one, thinking before I let myself speak and ruin everything.

“Remy, I’m the one who should be sorry.” I finally mustered up the courage to talk, although careful not to reveal too much. “I fucked up. I didn’t know what the hell I was saying. I’m an idiot, I thought I was helping, but I was just being selfish. And this whole time I thought I was angry at you, but really-“ I stopped myself, noticing her long eyelashes batting at me.

I paused, taking a deep breath and giving myself a moment to think before continuing. “I was angry at you for nothing. I was wrong. I shouldn’t expect you to listen to everything I say, or make decisions about your career based on-“ I sighed, feeling like I could never find the words. I was tip toeing around the real problem, just like Finneas said. I wanted to be honest with her so badly, I did. I knew I couldn’t. It wasn’t the right time.

“It’s okay. I forgive you. I’m sorry, too.” She looked directly in my eyes. Her stare felt like knives jabbing into my soul.

“No, don’t apologize-“

“Let me apologize. Please.” She started, handing me the bouquet that she had trimmed and prepared herself. “I know I’m not the easiest person to be friends with. I have a lot of baggage, and-“

“Stop. Don’t say that-“ I hated hearing that. I hated thinking I contributed to her feeling this way.

She protested, “No, it’s true. We’ve been friends for so long, and you’ve been there through everything. You did pick me back up, and maybe that does give you the right to feel like you have to protect me and shield me from everything.”

I swallowed, admiring the roses in my hand, while listening to her soft voice.

“But you have to let me make my own choices and my own mistakes. And I need you to support me, because you’re all I have.” She began to cry, “Billie, this month has been so hard without being able to just text you or call you, and then you casually text me-“

I quickly put the roses on the vanity next to us and brought her into another hug. “I’m so sorry, Remy. I’m so stupid. I should’ve been more supportive. I’m stubborn and I think everyone should just think like me. I just wanted you to be happy. And it just felt like you’d be happier if I didn’t butt in on your life…” I gently placed a hand on the back of her head. Her hair smelled like jasmine and vanilla, and felt silky smooth. “It just hurt. Some of the things you said hurt, and I’m so fucking stubborn.”

I pulled away, grabbing both of her hands. A small gasp escaped my lips, “And today, when you called me, the reason I didn’t answer is because my phone fell in the bathtub and it fucking broke, I swear to god I wasn’t ignoring you. That time.”

She nodded, smiling a bit. That smile she held back from me, although minuscule, meant the world to me.

“I promise you, no more telling you what to do, no more harsh, unnecessary comments about your work. I’m going to support you, no matter what. If you ever kill Joe, I’ll be your alibi, we’ll bury the body together.”

She let out a small laugh. I made her laugh. Thank God.

“That was a joke.” I smiled. “I’m sorry for being so-“

She shook her head, “Me too. I’m sorry for complaining so fucking much. I understand why you want me out of there so bad. But I need to keep pursuing this. I feel it. Trust me, okay?” She smiled, letting go of my hands and wiping her tears. “And I’m sorry for saying that shit about you before I left the car. It’s not true. You’re not like that at all.”

I nodded. “It’s okay, I deserved it. I was such a dick, Remy.” I rubbed my eyes and took my hair out of the messy ponytail. “Let’s get out of here. We’ll go anywhere you want.”

“Billie.” She grabbed my arms, grazing my skin softly with her fingers. Her touch gave me goosebumps.

“Yeah?”

“I know you love me.” She looked directly into my eyes.

“You do?” My heart dropped all the way down into my ass. My stomach turned and my knees weakened.

“Yeah, you’re the greatest friend I could ask for.” She smiled.

The word friend echoed in my head, giving me the urge to break my neck right in front of her. However, I thanked my lucky stars that’s what she meant. This meant nothing had changed, and we’d continue as normal. As best friends…

[sqrkyclean]

ok heres the first quarter of it

Dissociative amnesia.

That’s what his therapist had said. Dissociative amnesia. Something about complex ptsd and adaptive survival methods.

It had taken years for Timmy Turner to eventually agree to seeing a therapist at all. There had been a lot more stigma around the idea back in the day— that it was something only crazy people needed to do. And he wasn’t crazy, he just…

Dissociative amnesia. 

Derealization. 

Complex PTSD.

There were all these new buzzwords in his head. They were supposed to mean something, supposed to mean that there was hope for him to get better, to feel… different from the way the last twenty years had felt. 

“And how have the last twenty years felt, Tim?”

His therapist, a younger-than-him blonde woman, fresh out of college. She always liked using his name, and she always had this… oddly casual way about her. She was the fifth therapist he had tried talking to, and honestly, it was going better than it had gone with any of the quacks he had seen before her. 

“Like… It’s… y’know the feeling when you’re watching a movie, and you recognize an actor, but you can't remember his name? Like, you know you’ve seen the guy before, but you can’t put… words to it. And no matter how hard you try to focus, it feels like it keeps getting further away?”

He made illustrative hand gestures, unable to look her in the eye as he rambled. 

“I’m… familiar,” she nodded. “Yeah, definitely.”

“It’s kinda like that, but— but that’s what it feels like whenever I try to think about where my life is supposed to be going. What I’m supposed to be doing,” Tim gestured vaguely. “Like there’s this big piece of everything that I can’t quite…”

He sighed, leaning back on the sofa. As much as he liked her as a therapist, her office layout was awkward. She would sit at her desk with her back to the laptop placed on top of it, facing towards the sofa. It made everything feel… lopsided.

“That makes sense,” she nodded, resting her elbows on her knees as she leaned forward. “You went through a lot of traumatic stuff as a kid. A lot of the time, when we spend so long in survival mode, once we get out of those situations it feels like you either need to keep being in fight-or-flight, or you end up kind of… listless.”

“Listless,” Timmy nodded. “That’s one way to put it, yeah.”

“Do you ever feel like… the opposite of that?” She tilted her head at him. “Like you know exactly what you want, and exactly how to get it.”

Timmy opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but then it just… fizzled out. “I—... I don’t… know.”

“What did you do as a kid that made you feel better when you felt out of place? I know your parents weren’t really an option.”

He tried to remember. He really, honestly did. There was that almost-memory sensation again, and then it was like it was swallowed up into the darkest corner of his mind.

Whenever he thought about this stuff, his head always went kind of… echoey. 

The synapses just wouldn’t connect, like a cord had been severed. Like he was going to sneeze but his body wouldn’t let him. Like his vision wouldn’t adjust. 

The silence was deafening. The absence of the memories that should have been there felt larger than anything real that he had left. 

“I’d… hang out with my friends? But then something… happened. I don’t know. I stopped seeing them, stopped hanging out with them. I guess it happened around the time I started 5th grade… A couple new kids joined my class halfway through the semester and…”

No, that wasn’t right. Was it? 

“You don’t have to remember all the details,” his therapist assured him, giving him a genuinely sympathetic smile. “What about now? Do you have any friends you can hang out with that might be able to give you some ideas?”

—

Remy Buxaplenty was doing pretty well, all things considered. His parents passed away and left him… everything. And he hadn’t run the family name into the ground yet, so that was nice.

does anybody wanna read my work in progress fairly oddparents fanfiction. its G rated and gen and about timmy coping with his lost memory as a 35 year old in therapy.

[1nt3rnalpu7ref4ct10n]

s2e8

[unriding]

Me sneaking into your asks with this drabble:

Disclaimer: I have yet to get a good grasp of Moze's character so this might be a bit OOC and on your side as well (sorry). I did my best. Also, this was inspired by the post you made abt telling Moze your tasks for the day | 600+ words (not proofread)

.

.

.

In Moze's eyes, you reminded him of a dog catching a case of the zoomies.

You were quite literally everywhere. He'd find you talking to someone one moment before you're rushing off to do something else entirely the next. It seemed like you had quite a lot on your plate as of recently. Tasks, things you wanted to do, and so much more spinning around that mind of yours. You've told him a bit of your plans so he has a general idea. But seeing you juggling all of those tasks at once makes both admiration and concern bloom in his chest.

One time, Moze found you carrying a box filled with items. It would've been amusing to him how comical it was that the items piled so high— he could barely see you behind it. However, he did worry right after given how you almost tripped over something. He managed to catch you and the items before both came crashing all over the floor.

He insisted on helping you carry the items to wherever its destination was. It took a bit of pursuasion on his side. Convincing you that it truly wasn't a bother to him at all, and that he'd be very much glad to be of assistance to you.

"I need to get these delivered first. Then go stop by the shop to buy some things. After that…" You go on to ramble about the things you had to do to help get a better vision on what else you had to do. "Oh, no… I messed up." The smile on your face dropping at the thought that had slipped your mind until that moment. "I forgot to invite Jiaoqiu to dinner with the others—"

"It's tomorrow evening, right? He knows. I mentioned it last time when I spoke to him." Moze says with a calm tone.

You blink at him, slightly caught off-guard by the man beside you. Though it's immediately replaced with relief and gratitude. The smile on your face already back, lighting up your features once more. Infectious as always, it makes the corners of his lips tug upwards as well. A small part of him feels quite proud to have been able to help you ease your worries even by a bit.

And this is when you start noticing it.

Did you mention that you're running out of a certain skincare product, but you can't find the time to stop by the store to buy it? Moze conveniently has to stop by near the store and buys it for you. Did you also mention that you wanted to do a certain task but keep forgetting about it? He gently reminds you about it via message or verbal if he's nearby. Did you also happen to mention that you've been meaning to try out a certain desert from a cafe, but the schedule simply doesn't seem to allow you? No fear, he passes by the store to buy you the treat.

Moze doesn't see you as someone incapable of handling things by yourself. To him, he simply sees it as a way to show his care. If making a quick stop somewhere, sending you a small reminder of something you had to do that day, or even helping you out with the tasks you need to accomplish, makes you smile? Gives you a chance to take a break? Let you worry less about the things you need to do? It's worth it in his eyes.

He does his best to avoid making you feel like you're bothering or troubling him (you really aren't). Most of the time, he does them discrcetly and casually. Partially, since he's also scared that you'll think he's weird or a creep for acting like that.

Please don't think of him badly.

Moze truly means well.

[imaginedisish]

Unchained Melody (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Get ready to cry again. Here is the *what if you and Logan went to a wedding together* request. Heavily inspired by "Unchained Melody." That is such a Logan song and you cannot tell me otherwise. ENJOY!

Summary: You and Logan decide to go to Rogue and Remy's wedding together, but you don't know what together means. Logan helps to clarify...

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT, thigh riding, oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), softdom!Logan, praise kink, cocky!Logan (literally), multiple orgasms, aftercare, Logan will do anything for you, afab!reader/f!reader, reader wears a dress, reader has hair (length/color/texture not described), feelings, so fluffy and cheesy, cursing, Scott is a little shit, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,452 I wanna dance with Logan

Maybe this was a mistake. You look at yourself in the mirror, turning around and around. You scan your face, check your hair, and smooth out your dress. Everything is in its right place. But, maybe, just maybe, this is all a mistake. 

You and Logan—somehow—came to the decision that you would go to Rogue and Remy’s wedding together. As in…

Together. 

And yet, you weren’t entirely sure what together truly entailed. Was this going to be a date? Or were you two simply going as friends? Friends friends friends. That god-awful, misery-inducing word you’re all too familiar with. Its meaning and restrictions haunted you as you got ready, and they’re still plaguing you now. You are so incredibly sick of being just friends with Logan. You want more—want him, all of him. But you can’t tell him how you feel—you can never find the words or the courage. 

So, you’re simply going to the wedding together, unlabeled out of fear of getting an answer you don’t want to hear. 

You slip on your heels, straightening out your gown one last time before heading towards the door. You take a deep breath, nervous beyond belief. You twist the knob, pulling the door open. 

And there he is on the other side, fist clenched like he was about to knock. Logan. He’s wearing a black suit, a bowtie tied perfectly at his neck. You watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Hi,” he husks, his eyes trailing up and down your body. He smiles softly as he meets your gaze. He shakes his head in awe. “You look beautiful.” 

“Oh, please I—” But he cuts you off, his hand reaching out to rest in the crook of your neck. “Really, you look beautiful. You always do.” Your breath hitches as his hand slides down your arm, his fingers intertwining with yours.

You take a deep breath, suddenly overwhelmed by the contact and Logan’s words. “You look really great too,” you choke out, a slight tremble in your voice. “Perfect,” you say, and Logan tugs your hand, guiding you out the door and into the hallway.

Rogue had told you the wedding would be small—just her and Gambit’s closest friends and family on the grounds of the institute.  

Logan leads you down the stairs and out the back door of the mansion. The first thing you see are flowers; an absolute abundance of flowers. There are lilies and irises, asters and chrysanthemums. Daises, tulips, every single flower one can imagine—adorning tables, white tents, and planted in pots and boxes. It’s beautiful—a rainbow of colors and fragrances. The lawn has been transformed into a secret garden. 

Logan guides you down a cobblestone path toward a trellis covered in vines and wisteria. Surrounding the trellis on either side are rows of white, wooden chairs. You and Logan walk to the front row on Rogue’s side of the aisle and sit down next to Storm, Charles, and Jubilee.  You wave as you sit down. “You look amazing!” Jubilee shouts, reaching over Charles and Logan to get a better look at your dress. 

“You look beautiful too, Jubes,” you say, motioning in her direction. Logan sits back, slipping his hand from yours and draping his arm over your shoulder instead. Jubilee notices the movement, her eyes flickering between you and Logan, a small smile playing upon her lips. She winks at you and settles back into her seat. 

Footsteps sweep through the grass as people find their chairs. You struggle to ignore the warmth of Logan’s arm around your shoulder and the way it makes you feel—the soft circles he’s drawing into your bare skin. It’s like he needs the proximity, needs the touch. 

You can feel Logan lean in, his lips at the shell of your ear. “You are the most—”

“Wow,” a familiar voice interrupts Logan. You turn your head, and there’s Scott, with Jean just a few steps behind him. “Didn’t expect that.” He raises his brows and cocks his head to the side. 

“You need something, bub?” Logan asks, annoyance and irritation heavy in his voice. 

Scott swallows nervously as Jean chuckles behind him. He shakes his head and sits down next to you. “Nope, I just…” He trails off, looking towards the trellis. 

Logan leans forward, his arm still around your shoulder. “You just what?”

Scott throws his hands up, feigning innocence. “Nothing, absolutely nothing.”

Logan leans back, squeezing your shoulder gently as he settles into the seat. You turn towards him, catching his gaze. You need to ask him what this is, even if it’s clear to him. It’s obviously something to everyone else. You part your lips, finding the courage to finally ask Logan what you two are. “Logan,” you whisper so only he can hear. “What is—"  

But the music starts up, a whimsical rendition of “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” filling the air as Hank walks down the aisle, stopping underneath the trellis. Next is Remy, in a cream-colored suit. He grins from ear to ear as he trails down the aisle, nodding to Charles as he steps under the arch. And finally, at the end of the aisle is Rogue. Her dress is bright white, lacey, and tight. She walks down, her bouquet of lilies of the valley and baby’s breath in hand. 

She meets Remy’s side, and the music stops. “Friends and family,” Hank starts, smiling widely at the crowd. “We have gathered here today for the marriage of two people who should have been married long ago.” The crowd chuckles as Hank goes on. “But it is always better late than never…”

He continues, talking about their story, their love. Hank—naturally—finds a few Shakespeare quotes to scatter throughout his speech. It’s incredibly cheesy, but it’s beautiful. And, as Remy and Rogue exchange vows, you can’t help but well up. Their admiration and passion for one another is so undeniably clear. They’re committed, a team, partners until the end. 

“I will always love you, chere,” Remy says, slipping the ring onto Rogue’s finger. 

A single tear slides down Rogue’s cheek. “And I will always love you, sugar,” Rogue says, placing the ring in her hand onto Remy’s finger next. 

You look up at Logan, and you notice that he’s looking down at you. There’s something in his eyes, but you can’t quite place it. He tugs you closer, his thumb still stroking your shoulder. 

Hank sniffles. “With the power vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Hank says, his voice shaky, his eyes glossed over, holding back tears. “You may now kiss the bride!” 

Remy wraps his arms around Rogue’s waist, and he dips her, his lips capturing hers. Everyone stands, clapping and cheering. You and Logan stand too, his arm falling from your shoulder, leaving you feeling cold despite the summer heat.

But as Rogue and Remy walk down the aisle, Logan’s arm wraps around your waist.  Rogue’s smile widens when she spots you, her eyes flitting between you and Logan. She laughs knowingly. Finally, she mouths to you, and blows you a kiss. The couple finishes their walk down the aisle, and they head into a nearby tent.  

Given that this is Rogue and Remy, the party starts right away. Music blares from the tent, and you can see the happy couple hitting the floor. You recognize the song immediately: “Take on Me” by Aha. Jean drags Scott across the grass to join them. Jubilee and some of the other kids trail behind. Charles, Storm, and Hank head over together. 

You look at Logan and smile, grabbing him by the hand and tugging him towards the tent. You can’t remember the last time you saw everyone this happy. It’s rare that you get to let loose, to have a good time. It warms your heart to see all the students dancing, to see them having a normal childhood experience. 

“Come on!” Jubilee calls. “Come dance!” She’s twirling around, dancing with Kurt and Morph, sparking her signature fireworks every now and then.

You squeeze Logan’s hand and pull him towards the dance floor. You’re shocked that he doesn’t drag his heels, that he doesn’t protest or tell you no—he lets you tug him onto the floor. You turn to face him, swaying to the synthy pop. Logan lifts his arm, twirling you around, laughing as you spin back to him. He grabs your other hand and bounces with you to the music.

“I didn’t know you liked dancing!” You shout over the song as Logan spins you again. 

He smirks, chuckling softly. “I don’t!” He shouts back, pulling you in and out to the beat. “But I like dancing with you.” He draws you in closer, letting go of your hands as his arms wrap around your waist instead.

You can feel the heat rising to your chest, spreading up your neck. The song fades out, and a much slower one starts up. “Something” by The Beatles echoes across the lawn. Rogue and Remy take the center of the floor, and everyone steps off, watching from the side. Logan guides you off the floor and towards your table, his hand in yours again.

“They’re beautiful,” you murmur. You see the way Remy looks at Rogue, the way they move as one, fluid unit. “Don’t you want something like that?” You ask, your gaze finding Logan’s. He has that look in his eyes again—all soft, relaxed, happy. 

Logan nods, squeezing your hand. “I think I’ve found it already.” 

Your lips part as you rack your brain for the right thing to say, your breath catching in your throat. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted—the words you’ve been waiting to hear. “Logan I—”

But Jubilee is grabbing your hand as the song changes. “If you’re not gonna dance with my girl, then I’m stealing her!” Jubilee calls out to Logan, pulling you onto the floor as “Can’t Take My Eyes off You” by Frankie Valli rings out. 

“Jubes,” you protest. “Logan and I were actually talking about something kind of important and—”

“One song?” She begs, frowning, putting on her best puppy dog eyes. You look over at Logan, and he’s still standing where you left him, smiling widely. Dance with her, he mouths, arching his brows expectantly. 

“Fine,” you say, still looking at Logan. 

Jubilee cheers, taking your hands in hers, spinning you around. You jump with her, screaming the words. Logan watches from his seat. He loves the way you move, the way you shake your hips, the way you throw your head back and laugh. He can see how much fun you’re having, how happy you are. He can’t keep his eyes off you, can’t help but be mesmerized. And he knows—just by watching—that he wants to be with you forever. Longer than that. You’ve changed him, made him different. And all for the better. 

You look over at him, his arms crossed against his chest as his eyes follow your every move. He’s smiling widely, clearly getting a kick out of you. 

“He loves you, you know,” Jubilee says, twirling you. “I mean, just look at how he’s looking at you!” Jubilee smirks, nodding towards Logan. Her eyes widen. “I think he’s coming over here!”

“Jubes…” Logan chides as he steps closer to the two of you. “Think I can cut in?”

“I don’t know Logan,” Jubilee says sarcastically, grinning ear to ear. “We’re having a great time.”

Logan puts a hand on your shoulder. “I’d like my girl back now.” 

My girl. His girl. 

Jubilee lifts her hands, stepping away from you as the song fades out. “Fine,” she says, pretending to be heartbroken. “Guess I’ll just have to give her up.” Logan steps between the two of you, and you lean to the side to peer at Jubilee as she walks away. She catches your glance, thrusting two thumbs up, mouthing a You got this! as she wanders to her seat. 

“Unchained Melody” by the Righteous Brothers starts up, and Logan wraps his arms around your waist, tugging you into his chest. The sun is setting in the distance, a honeyed glow washing across the lawn, painting the tent and the dance floor in golden light. Logan sways you from side to side, and you let your head fall to his shoulder. 

His lips find the shell of your ear. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers so that only you can hear. 

“Lo, before, when we were watching Remy and Rogue…” you pause, lifting your head to look up at him. 

The corners of his mouth turn up. “I meant what I said,” Logan rasps. “I want you.” He presses his forehead to yours. “Just you.”

“I want you too,” you say, your voice soft and breathy. Logan holds you tighter, his lips just inches away from yours. You can feel his breath fan across your face. 

“Wanted you the whole time,” Logan husks, rocking you gently as the song plays out. “You’re all I ever think about. I can’t get through a day without seeing you, without talking to you.” He pauses as the music grows louder, the strings and piano echoing across the dance floor.

Woah, my love, my darling I've hungered, hungered for your touch A long, lonely time And time goes by so slowly And time can do so much Are you still mine?

“You feel like home,” he says, his eyes glossing over. “I’ve been alive a long time, and for once in my life, I finally understand what that word means. It’s you. This is what love is supposed to feel like.” He pauses again, taking a deep breath, his jaw working. “I love you, so goddamn much.”

“I love you too,” you confess. “More than anything.” 

And then his lips are on yours, and suddenly everything is nothing. The people around you are gone. Your problems have long melted away. Every ounce of pain and every second of suffering you’ve ever felt—that he has ever experienced—are forgotten. It’s all warmth and comfort, languid and slow, but passionate. He’s taking his time, tasting you, savoring you. It’s perfect. Beyond perfect. 

His lips part from yours, and he looks down at you, taking you in, committing the moment to memory. “Pretty girl,” Logan mumbles, tugging you off the floor as the song fades out and a pop song starts up. “What if we slipped away for a few minutes?” 

“O-okay,” you stutter as Logan guides you past your table and out of the tent. The bass of the music echoes across the lawn as you and Logan wander hand in hand toward the mansion.  

He pushes the back door open, leading the two of you inside, and immediately pins you against the wall. “This okay, sweetheart?” Logan asks, holding your hands above your head, his fingers wrapping tightly around your wrists. 

“Yes,” you breathe, your chest heaving against his. He closes the gap between you completely, his lips pressing to yours. It’s hurried now, hungry and frantic. His knee nudges between your legs, spreading you open. You can feel the fire burning in your core—the growing ache. 

You squirm underneath him, your arms fidgeting against his hold, longing to reach out and touch him. “Wanna make you feel good first, princess,” Logan soothes, his grip on your wrists tightening. “Let me take care of you.” You can’t help but grind down on his thigh at his words. 

“Lo,” you whine, searching for more friction. “Please, need you.” Logan swallows your moans with a kiss, his lips melting against yours. “I know, darlin’. I need you too,” he coos. “But I like watching you get off on my thigh,” he says cockily. “That feel good?” He pushes his thigh harder between your legs as you slide up and down. 

“Y-yes,” you stammer, rolling your hips. “N-need more.” 

“I know, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” Logan whispers, leaving a trail of kisses down your jaw to your neck, softly biting that sweet spot underneath your ear. “Gonna make this pussy feel good.” He lets go of your wrists as he slides down your body, hiking your dress up above your hips as he kneels in front of you.

Logan yanks your panties down your legs, leaving your core bare in front of him. “Wanna taste you, pretty girl,” he husks, his breath fanning against your heat as he settles between your thighs. 

“Please,” you beg, his face just centimeters from where you need him most. His palms splay across your inner thighs, squeezing and nudging you open. You look down at him, hunger, desire, and desperation darkening his half-lidded eyes. “Lo—”

And then he’s licking a long stripe through your folds, his tongue flicking your clit. You shudder underneath his touch as he does it again, his tongue pressing harder this time. 

“Tastes so fucking good,” Logan mumbles against you. “Knew you’d taste perfect.” He pulls your clit between his lips and sucks, his teeth grazing the bud lightly. Your knees buckle at the sensation. 

Logan pushes your legs further apart, one of his hands sliding up your thigh and toward your center. It’s teasing, achingly slow as his fingers finally reach your folds, toying with your slit and spreading your slick. He laps at your clit, and he’s desperate, ravenous, his mouth swallowing you hungrily.

He teases your entrance with two fingers—gentle compared to the way his teeth graze your clit, to the way he’s sucking every last drop you have to give him. You part your lips, ready to beg for him, but he’s thrusting his long fingers inside you—down to his knuckles—only to pull out and pump back in again. 

You moan his name, your back arching off the wall, your thighs trembling as he fucks into you. Logan smiles against you. “That feel good, pretty girl?” He asks, his fingers pumping in and out of your entrance at a rhythmic pace.

“S-so good, Logan,” you say, your voice shaky and uneven. His tongue flits out, flicking your clit before his lips wrap around the bud. He sucks again, harder this time, longer, his face buried deep inside your cunt, like he needs this. Needs to feel every inch of you. To explore you. To remember you. Your heart thunders in your chest as he thrusts in and out, his fingers hitting that sweet spot deep inside every time. 

Your walls flutter around him, squeezing him, taking him deeper. Logan laughs against you, the vibration rolling through your body in waves. “I know you’re getting closer, pretty girl,” Logan whispers, lapping at you between sentences. He looks up at you under those dark, hooded eyes as he plunges into you. “Let me get you there, wanna taste it when you come.”

You flutter around him again, his words threatening to spill the heat building at the bottom of your belly. “Lo,” you whimper as he brings a third finger to your entrance. 

“That’s it, pretty girl, say my name,” he demands, shoving the third finger deep inside on his next pump. 

“F-fuck,” you stutter, your legs shaking as you chant his name. Logan Logan Logan. 

“So fucked out that I’m all you can think about, huh?” Logan teases, edging you closer along. You moan in affirmation as Logan laves at you, stuffing his fingers deep inside. “So fucking beautiful,” he praises. “Doing so good for me.”

“L-Lo,” you choke out, clenching down around him. “I’m so close.”

You can feel yourself coming undone, melting into nothingness as he rams into you, sucking your clit roughly. “I know, princess. Let go for me, wanna feel you come on my fingers.”

Your hips buck and your legs tremble as you fall apart. Your orgasm crashes into you, pleasure coursing through your veins. Logan works you through it, his face still buried between your legs. His tongue laps at you softly, his fingers pumping slowly until they stall inside you. 

His gaze meets yours as he pulls his fingers out of your cunt and brings them to his mouth. His lips wrap around his fingers, and he sucks, savoring your release. He pulls his fingers out with a pop as he stands up. 

Logan presses his forehead to yours. “You know, there’s something else I want,” Logan says, his voice deep and raspy. “I’m not done with you yet.” He cages you in, a hand on either side of your head. 

“W-we need to be careful,” you stammer, nodding towards the door. “Someone could come in and—” Logan cuts you off. “Locked it the second we came inside, sweetheart,” Logan whispers, grabbing your dress and bunching it up around your waist. “No one’s coming in here. It’s just you and me, princess.” Logan pushes his hips into yours, and you can feel his erection straining against the fabric of his slacks. “Need you, darlin’.”

You wrap your arms around Logan’s back. “Need you too,” you pant. Logan’s lips find yours, crashing down needily, starvingly. He swallows your moans, one hand still collecting the fabric of your dress while his other tugs at his belt. He throws it to the floor with a clink and works at his button and zipper, pulling his pants and boxers down his legs. He hoists you up, one hand gripping your ass tightly, pushing your back against the wall for leverage.

“Fuck,” Logan curses, his hand guiding his cock to your entrance. Everything is rushed and frantic. He needs to be inside you, needs to feel you, needs to be as close to you as possible. His head slides through your folds, spreading your slick. “Wanted this for so long,” Logan huffs, his tip slipping into your slit. “My girl.”

With one thrust, he sinks himself deep inside you—down to the hilt. You’re suddenly so full, so whole. “Yours,” you answer as he pulls out and thrusts back in, somehow deeper this time. He’s everywhere and he’s everything. “All yours.”

Logan curses under his breath, panting your name as he sets a brutal pace. “Mine,” he growls between placing open-mouthed kisses to the crook of your neck. “All fucking mine.” His free hand slips between your bodies, finding your clit and drawing tight, rapid circles around the bud. 

You dig your nails into his suit jacket as he splits you open. You want to feel him—to feel his skin, his chest pressed against yours. But this will have to do for now. 

“Next time,” he mumbles, knowing exactly what you’re silently asking for. “You can have more of me next time, okay sweetheart?”

Next time. The words replay in your head as he fucks into you, taking everything you have to give. He knows you so well, already knows every curve and inch of your body, knows your dreams and desires. You fit, like two puzzle pieces, like magnets finally drawing together. 

His thumb brushes your clit soothingly before pinching roughly, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. Logan thrusts in and out, his hips snapping against yours, the sound of skin against skin echoing throughout the foyer. 

“Feels so good, pretty girl,” Logan groans. “So fucking perfect, so tight.” Your walls flutter around him, and he grunts as you squeeze him. “Taking me so well.” 

You’re already close, every thrust bringing you to the edge, every flick of your clit sending you spiraling. It’s all too much. And it’s all because of him. 

“Lo,” you whine, his hips rocking into yours, his cock dragging along your walls. “I’m so…” You trail off, squeezing him again, taking him deeper. 

He moans your name, sinking inside you and pulling back out. “I know, princess, me too,” he murmurs, his pace faltering, his hips sputtering. “Come on my cock, wanna feel it,” he pants. “Wanna feel you. Forever.”

And then the tension snaps, heat spilling out of you as Logan thrusts again. He’s throbbing inside you, close behind. Pleasure pulses through your body, wave after wave. You wrap your legs tighter around Logan’s waist, keeping him close as he spills inside you, filling you up. He chants your name, his forehead pressing to yours, looking deep into your eyes as he comes undone.

Your chests heave together, sharing the same breath. His cock is still inside you. Everything is calm. Quiet. “So perfect,” Logan breathes, his lips finding yours again. “So fucking perfect.” He finally slips out of you and sets you down on the ground, keeping your dress bunched up around your waist. 

He leans over to the side, grabs a paper towel from a conveniently placed nearby roll, and sinks down to his knees. He’s cleaning you up, taking care of you, wiping away the mess spilling down your legs. He pulls your panties back up and kisses each of your thighs before standing and tossing the paper towel into the garbage by the door. 

He presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, letting your dress go. He fixes each of your straps, straightening them out, and smooths out your dress. “Beautiful,” he praises, swallowing harshly, as if he’s holding himself back from reaching out and taking you again. Part of you wishes he would.

But he bends over and pulls his pants and boxers up, tucking in his shirt, zippering and buttoning his slacks, and securing his belt back in place. He’s still a little disheveled—sweat on his brow, his hair out of place. But he looks perfect. He looks just like him. 

“You ready to go back out?” He asks, taking your hand in his. You nod and let him lead you outside and towards the tent. 

You find your seats just as dinner is being served. “Where’d you two go?” Scott asks, arching a brow. 

“Got a little too hot,” Logan says, smirking to himself. He finds your thigh under the table, squeezing gently, possessively. “Needed a break from the heat.”

You hum in affirmation, turning your head towards Logan. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “That’s one way to put it,” you whisper so that only he can hear. 

He squeezes your thigh again, harder this time. His lips find the shell of your ear as the rest of the table starts up a conversation. “You’re coming back to my room tonight,” he husks. “Got it?” You can feel the heat rising to your chest as he separates from you. 

You nod, his hand still on your thigh. 

“Good, because I’m not finished with you yet.”

tags: @starfleetteddybear @ilysmdovie12 @prettyseaveins @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @silversprings-mp3 @wittyjasontodd @theasiaabattoir @fanfic-writing-barbie @manipulatour @pedrohoe04 @derbygracie @honeyfewr @cosmiccandydreamer @Movhoney.

[comically-callous]

Can I request headcanons for Kurt, Remy, Logan, and Wade finding out that his gn s/o has never dated anyone else before him please?

X-Men requests YAYYYYY YAY YAY YAY YAY!!!!!!!! 🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃

Wade, Logan, Remy, and Kurt with a s/o who hasn’t dated anyone other than them!! <3

Warnings!: cursing ig, reader is referred to as pretty (I consider that gender neutral, but wanted to put it here just in case), and that’s it!

A/n: Want them all ngl 😞 If it wasn’t already clear, I’m delighted to have my first X-Men request. And I also really like this prompt (definitely not because I can relate to it. Haha, shut up). Also, requests: OPEN 💜

Wade:

He straight up thinks you’re lying when you first tell him. He even laughs because he’s convinced you’re just messing with him.

But, then he realizes you’re not laughing and he’s like “Oh, shit. Really?”

He’ll apologize for laughing and probably say some shit like “Sorry, I just didn’t realize a smoke show like you was capable of being single”

And he means it. He was fully under the impression that you’d been on more than a few dates because you’re HOT

Definitely teases you about it. “Is that why your hands were so sweaty on our first date?”

Don’t be afraid to (playfully) smack him.

Despite all of the teasing, he makes sure to let you know that it doesn’t bother him. In fact, he thinks it’s cute

He’ll say that you’re “new to dating” even if the two of you have been dating for years

Starts calling you a rookie. And he ends up saying it so much that it just becomes one of the many pet names he has for you

And, yeah. When you’re not around he’s probably giggling and kicking his feet over how he’s your first boyfriend 🤭

Logan:

When you first tell him, he just looks at you for a second, not saying anything before going “You’re serious?”

“And you decided I’d be a good first pick?” He says it like he’s teasing, but, in reality, it does confuse him a bit.

Like, wouldn’t you want someone sweet and kind for your first relationship? Not a grumpy, old guy with knife hands???

Nonetheless, he’s grateful (and even honored) to be given the title of your first boyfriend

He doesn’t make a huge deal out of it. He’ll occasionally bring it up, maybe ask a question or two about it. But, it doesn’t really change anything about your relationship.

Or, at least, that’s what you think for a while.

One night, he returns from a long mission and he crawls into bed next to you, and you think he’s just gonna immediately go to sleep like he does every time he comes back from a mission. But, then he mumbles something.

“I wish I’d had someone like you as my first.”

And before you can even process it, he’s asleep.

You ask him about it in the morning and he says he doesn’t remember saying it. You can decide whether or not you think he’s lying.

Remy:

You tell him that you want to tell him something, and he can tell you’re nervous about it.

“What’s got you so nervous, chère? You know Gambit don’t judge nobody. ‘Specially not you.”

And you confess to him that you’ve never dated anyone and he’s like. “Oh. That’s it?”

He doesn’t mean to sound apathetic. He was just expecting something bad.

He asks you to clarify what you mean by “not dating anyone before him” because he thinks he somehow misunderstood you

“You telling me no one ever tried to get with a pretty thing like you?” And then he smirks. “Or were you just ignorin’ all of ‘em till Gambit came round?”

He also teases you about it from time to time. Makes little comments about how he’s your first.

But, it’s just because he loves it.

He often thinks about how he’s the only guy who’s gotten to take you on dates and do all this romantic stuff with you

“Don’t no one else know what they missing out on….”

Kurt:

He doesn’t even try to hide his surprise. He can’t.

“I’m really your first? But, how? You are so beautiful!” He’s just upfront with why he thinks it’s absurd.

He needs to hear it a few more times before he finally accepts it. And that’s when he starts getting giddy.

“I am your first lover?” He grins. “I like that, I think.”

And now everyone has to know. Sorry.

He will gladly go around and tell people that he’s your “first love” (as he likes to say). Is it usually embarrassing for you? Yes. But, it’s Kurt. So, it’s okay.

So, yeah. You definitely don’t have to worry about whether or not he minds it.

Of course, now he has to ask a bunch of questions about it too.

“So, was the first date you’ve ever had with me?” If you say yes, he smiles before asking. “Was it good?” Like he doesn’t already know the answer.

He’s just over the moon that he was the first person that you really fell in love with. And he wants you and everyone around you to know how happy he is with you.

[choerypetal]

Hickeys / Wade, Logan and Remy

summary: small prompts, on how the xmen boys would be when given hickeys.

ps; i apologies if there is a few grammatical errors, as english isn't my first language.

enjoy!

Wade: 

That man can’t resist keeping you in his sight and making sure to give you at least a kiss, or some small gesture of affection, before heading off to work.

This means his lips would form an adorable pout as he insists on leaning in. When you give in, his lips curl into a smirk, and before you can protest, you feel his hungry kiss.

Of course, it doesn't end there. His fingers slide around your waist, gripping tightly as he pulls you onto his lap. "The boss can wait a little while," he murmurs, his voice rough and laced with a hunger that demands to feel his teeth on your skin. That's how his habit of leaving hickeys began. "Not until I'm done."

"Wadee," you tried to protest, glancing at the clock to remind him not to be late, but his priorities were elsewhere. You knew it when you felt his tongue tracing the crook of your neck, followed by the slow press of his teeth against your skin. He left a few more bruises, as if the ones from yesterday weren’t already enough for him.

"Shh…" he purred, his eyes darkened by lust and the passion in his voice. "I need to finish my little masterpiece." You rolled your eyes, letting out a slight chuckle, but before you knew it, a moan escaped your lips as he nipped harder with his teeth. "That's it, princess, I want to hear you moan," Wade whispered, the desire and need evident in his gaze.

He finally stopped, as always, to admire his work—several new hickeys on your neck. Just the sight of them made him bite his bottom lip. When your eyes met his, he leaned in for a sloppy kiss, leaving you breathless, with pouty lips and fluttering lashes. "Oh, so now the princess wants more? It's a shame I have to go to work. And so do you," he teased. Typical bastard, you thought to yourself.

Logan: 

Unlike Wade, Logan isn’t the type to be vocal about what’s his. As the Wolverine, it wasn’t surprising when you ended up covered in hickeys. One time at the X-Men Labs, Logan immediately noticed a coworker checking you out. It wasn’t just the hickeys on your neck but also an outrageous comment that set him off. If those hickeys weren’t enough, you were in for a session where Logan would mark you as his—completely and everywhere. EVERYWHERE.

Naturally, he chose the Lab as the perfect place to do it. Despite his wild nature, Logan is surprisingly traditional, which might catch anyone, including you, off guard. But with his Wolverine instincts, he didn’t hesitate to grip your waist, pulling you up from your chair despite your protests, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist for support. "You really thought I’d let you leave work that early? That’s the kind of question that would make me feel ashamed, love."

Before you could say anything, his lips caught yours in a hungry kiss. His voice was hoarse, thick with the impatience and craving he’d been holding back all day—especially after seeing you with your coworker. When Logan’s jealousy flared, you knew there was no stopping him. “Logan…” you whispered, your soft, vulnerable voice a huge turn-on for him. He purred as he nodded at your call. “Yes, sweetheart?” he murmured, his gaze never leaving you. “I need you, so bad…” Your confession was all he needed. He began by nuzzling his head against your neck, his teeth sinking in without hesitation.

The neck was just the beginning for Logan; he wasn’t satisfied yet. He needed more, which meant leaning you over your Lab desk. Your blouse clung to your curves as his fingers, both gentle and eager, began unbuttoning your jacket. The typical work attire—a short skirt, sheer lace, and a blouse that matched the color of your nail polish—was what truly captivated him. Even his own attire seemed to complement yours. One of the many things he adored about you, he murmured, “Man, you look gorgeous…” 

“You don’t look bad yourself either,” you echoed the words you’d whispered when you first met Logan. He adored this gesture, finding it endearing. Just moments before unbuttoning your blouse, he asked, “May I?” with the gentlemanly demeanor he always displayed. You smiled and nodded in response. “Since no one else will be coming to the Lab, my body is yours, Logan.”

That response alone pleased the Wolverine. As his fingers delicately and slowly unbuttoned your blouse, he took a moment to admire your breasts, beautifully outlined by the cup of your bra, before nuzzling his head against your stomach. His teeth sank into your flesh, leaving more hickeys than he had originally intended. “Now, I hope this will stop your coworker from looking…” he murmured.

Remy Lebeau: 

Of the two, Remy is undoubtedly the most proud when it comes to showcasing his affection. His love language includes plenty of flirtation, and he makes sure that most of your hickeys are prominently displayed. He’s also quite vocal about it, especially when your best friend, Peter Maximoff, notices the sudden marks on your neck and expresses his concern. “Geez, Y/N, someone was feisty last night. I’m curious who the lucky one is.”

In no time, an arm wrapped around your shoulder, with Remy’s shadow looming over your petite frame and a smug look of pride on his face. “Ma chérie, you look a bit tired today,” he remarked, prompting you to shoot him a death glare. Despite your effort to remain professional, Remy’s public displays of affection made Peter gulp silently. “I guess that’s my cue to leave,” he said. “See you at lunch?” 

That question was an offer Remy was inclined to refuse, as he had other plans in mind. Everyone knew it, especially you, which surprised him when you agreed to join. His grip around your waist tightened, and a smile spread across his face. As polite as ever, he said, “It would be a shame if Y/N didn’t join us. But my chère has other plans. Sorry, mon cher Peter.”

Wanting to protest or suggest otherwise, it was clear that Remy had different plans. Sneaking out of work hours only seemed to please him more. As he planted a few kisses in the crook of your neck, his silhouette lingering behind you, Peter took the opportunity to excuse himself. He shared a glance with you, his expression teasingly reflecting his amusement at Gambit’s protective nature.

“Now, chère,” he said, his voice hoarse and his accent more pronounced. His fingers gently caressed your waist. “We have some unfinished business to attend to, don’t we?”

He wasn’t wrong. Your eyelids grew heavier as his teeth sank in, a soft moan escaping your lips just before he covered your mouth with his hand. “No, no, no,” he purred. “Not here.” Yet, he continued, and when he finally stopped, his fingers intertwined with yours, leaving you breathless. With a look of typical smugness, he found you adorable and said, “Alons, y.”

[scawch]

hate when people say “love unconditionally” like mfer if someone does you wrong and they hurt you, you shouldn’t have to owe them a single fucking thing. if someone is a bad person that are not owed any kind of fucking love whatsoever. no one should ever be told to love unconditionally and have to follow through with that to people who have abused them. the only reason UR saying this is because you are borderline abusive to your children and now that some of them are old enough to refuse to deal with you being a terrible person and these new cultish beliefs you’ve gotten. of fucking course it’s the people who constantly will hurt other people in some way or other who always end up saying” you should love everyone no matter whaaaat” like

this fucking lady is talking about how people would say “hey maybe you should not take ur kids ACTUAL BEDS AND DOORS away, because it’s an awful way to treat children and it’s a good way to get these children to end up resenting you big time for treating them so terribly and they won’t trust you and will end up trying to get away from you as soon as possible” and she’s like “well that’s their fault for not loving unconditionally” WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU??? yeah yeah sure whatever hey, quick question- does your unconditional loving include murders and people who cause mass genocide or just you and other parents who abuse their children?

shove ur conditional love up ur fucking ass

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request headcanons for Remy, poly! Logan, and Wade reacting to gn crush telling him that they had been told by their crushes that they're not good-looking and interesting please?

Poly! Wade and Logan

Bullshit! That is such utter bullshit! You’re so sexy don’t cry! - Wade

The idiot doesn’t know what he’s missing out on if that’s how he thinks - Logan.

Want me to kill them?’ - Wade

Logan would smack Wade on the arm ‘pack it in.’

Both of them didn’t like the prick, they never did but didn’t say anything about it for your sake.

Now? They’ll gladly drag that bastard through the mud and more for making you feel as though you weren’t shit. You are the shit when Logan and Wade are concerned.

Wade will be your hype man during this sensitive time but his affirmations were mainly things like:

You are sexy, you are fierce, you will crush that fuckers skull with your thighs the next time that fucker opens their mouth!

Dog pool likes you more than that fucking disappointment.

Emotions are neither of these men’s strong suit so they’re not going to be the best in comforting you but that doesn’t mean they don’t try to take your mind off of the whole thing.

Logan would be your shoulder to lean on for the teddy bear of a man wouldn’t bring himself to move as you openly ranted to him and Wade about the now former crush.

‘What did I do wrong?’

‘You didn’t do anything wrong and you know it, so stop trying to find a plausible way to blame yourself when the fault falls upon the fucking idiot who rejected you.’ Logan would say as Wade hums in agreement while painting his nails.

Pookie is right- Wade

Don’t call me Pookie- Logan

Pookie and I don’t want to see a cutie like you cry over yesterday’s news, if anything you should be strutting down the hallway to show that you don’t give a fuck.’ - Wade continued with a smile. ‘You don’t need someone like that who’ll abandon you upon the first sign of hardship and instead people who’ll gladly get their hands dirty regardless.’

These two may not know what they’re doing or whether they are doing it right but they’re doing their best to make you feel better and make you feel special, which they already do with Wade’s surprise cuddle piles, but that’s all that counts for you.

Out of the two Logan gives the better advice out of the two whereas Wade will want to trash your former crush’s stuff without getting caught. They both show their care in vastly different ways but you always come out of them with a smile and tad more confidence in yourself.

Remy LeBeau

‘They lie mon Cher, you are far from what they say and more.’ Remy would say while trying to bite back his own tongue.

This crush, or former crush now, must’ve been the most stupidest person to have ever lived to have called you uninteresting and not good looking.

To Remy you were by far the most beautiful souls he has ever come across and had nothing but love and respect for others you acquaint yourself with, not to mention you had anyone and everyone paying close attention on what it was you had to say.

He didn’t like seeing you become so unsure of yourself from one persons words and would do anything and everything just to prove that they were a bunch of lies made up by someone who doesn’t see you the way he does.

Remy would shower you in affection and praise that didn’t overstep any boundaries.

He’d spend all day and night with you if he must to show that you were more then some words made by someone else, he’d look at you as though you hung the stars in the sky, he’d look at you as though he could see you rather see through you.

It was beautiful to be seen and or looked at the way remy looks at you that it made you forget all about your former crush. He’d remember everything you’ve ever told him, would greet you in the morning with a tender kiss to the back of your hand while comparing you to the most beautiful rose in the garden.

How are you not meant to fall for him when he’s done nothing but sing your praises and listen intently to everything you’ve ever said.

‘Don’t let people like them get to you mon Cher, that’s what they want. They want you to be as miserable as them instead of flourishing like you should be.’ Remy said as he held your hand.

‘But I thought they-‘

‘Were the one?’ Remy asked. ‘We all think the first people we met are the ones for us, until we are proven to only have been blinded by the sweeter aspects of the relationship that we forget that the person we think we will love forever is as flawed as every other human.’ Remy adds as he lets you rest against his side, pressing a reassuring kiss to your forehead. ‘You’ll find your person.’ He smiled at you.

‘I hope they’re like you then.’ You said as you melted into his side.

‘Or you could just have me yourself.’ Remy would reply.

What’s your answer, will you have him Or wait.

[starboye]

starring: gambit x male reader

request: could you write about how everyone (all the xmen) think that the reader is the dom/top in the relationship even though its actually gambit and gambit gets tired of it so he makes reader moan loudly to show who's actually the dom? Kinks honestly you can do what you want but just can you add dumbification (I really just wanna be shit talked to by gambit 😭) If you want to add anything else you can!!

warnings: smut, rough sex, dumbification, cursing, ass slapping, slight cum denial, possessive, daddy kink

it wasn't your fault that everyone thought you were the dom of the relationship i guess they just thought you had kind of energy in you but every time they brought it up as a joke to remys jaw and fist would clench tighter than ever and he could feel his blood boiling.

when logan would lose to him in a training fight he'd tease remy with a "yeah what ever how 'bout you go get fucked by your little boyfriend or whatever" and remy just wanted to grab you and fuck you in front of them all,showing them how his boy actually is behind closed doors taking his dick.

you now walked into the kitchen to find everyone talking and enjoying their meals as remy cooked for them "woop woop look who it is mr y/n the gambit fucker" nightcrawler taunted teleporting to you with a cloud of smoke, as soon as remy heard this you could feel his whole energy change from happy to annoyed, i mean there was nothing you could do to stop them from thinking you were the dom.

but remy knew just the way to fix it, he stomped over to you and roughly grab your arm before dragging you to your guys shared room, logan could smell the lustful pheromones on the man as he walked past "so everyone thinks you fuck me huh well i'll show them" remy says stripping naked and pulling you into a heated kiss as he stripped you clothes off.

"remy c'mon there'es no ne-" you tried to stop him knowing the ensuing outcome of this all would be you getting fucked senseless "shut up i just need to prove those little fuckers wrong" remy roughly says pushing you onto the bed and arching your back down so your ass sticks up to him as he slapped his dick on your hole "you want me to fuck you" remy smirks "yes daddy please" you whimper at the sight of it.

"ohhh fuck" remy groans with shudders as he slides in, his spit acting as lube "mm fuck you feel so good" you say laying your face into the bed to silence your moans as he begins thrusting into you, usually he'd start off pretty slow but the need to show everyone who the dominant one is has him going at an ungodly pace into you.

"nuh uh baby let them hear those pretty moans" remy says pulling your hair to lift your head from the pillows as you moan out loudly "yeah keep going just like that" remy coos kissing your cheek to apologize for the ensuing pain before he starts going faster and faster with your moans growing and growing with each plap.

at this point the whole mansion could hear your moans and it was becoming insufferable, some people covering there ears to try and stop hearing while others just left the place for some peace and quiet, you felt most ad for logan and professor x who could hear better than anyone and sadly they were trying there best to stop listening to the sex but they just couldn't get away from it.

your ass was sore and your hole was gushing with remys cum as he didn't want to stop fucking you "such a dumb fucking whore for letting them think you were fucking me" remy spits out gripping your face to turn and look at him "now look at you moaning out my name while i mold your little hole to the perfect shape of my cock" he chuckles seeing your sweaty and tear ridden face from the rough sex.

all you could do was babble and moan at his words, to far gone to even understand what he was saying you just knew he wasn't going to slow down till every one heard you moaning his name, if anything you blamed scott for starting the rumor that you fucked remy after he walked past your room and heard remy moaning your name and ran to tell everyone else.

really what happend was you were teasing remy that night, edging him to the point of cumming just to stop but that story is one for another day not now, you begged remy to stop "i think they got the point rem please i need a break" you said with a hiccup, it felt like your hole was gonna split in two from the amount of force he was using while he abused your spongy walls "mm i dont know should i, i mean for a slut like yourself id expect you to love every inch of this dick" remy laughs.

you whined at his words "how 'bout this say my name and ill cum and stop" he say with a sinister smile, you thought this was gonna be hella easy but the moment you said the first letter remy fucked you roughly making you moan out instead, this motherfucker was teasing you on "oh come on baby i know in that pretty little mind of your you know it" remy taunts tapping the side of your head with his fingers.

"i... i do" you pant "it's re- fuck" you say getting cut off by his cock gliding past your good spot to the point you saw stars floating in the room "mm mm wrong name darling" he whispers in your ear and you could hear the smirk on his face "fuck you" you roll your eyes "oh but you're the only one getting fucked here, pretty good might i add" he says pushing you back down into the bed, you rutted your hips against the fabric of the blanket.

"hey did i say you could do that" remy sternly says now pinning your arms behind your back and lifting your ass up to have your dick dangle in the air aching hard "say my name" he orders smacking your ass making more precum fall from your cock "da... daddy" you moan "louder" remy says now slamming into you "daddy" you yell out "one more time for me handsome" remy groans on the edge of his climax "DADDY" you moan loudly, remy now spilling his thick load into you as he still has a rough grip on you.

after a couple seconds he pulls his twitching cock out of you slowly, watching the cum drip out of you "now who's hole is this" he asks spanking your ass to jolt you up "yours remy" you weakly answer "that's right and never forget it" remy says crawling up to cuddle you.

taglist:@mailmango@spermeboy@ghostking4m@gayaristocrat@addictedtomalepits@staarb0y@crispysoup318@its-ares@gargoylesworld09 @kadenvatsune @fuckshft

[awkward-walking-potato]

Can I request headcanons for Remy, Logan, Wade, and Kurt would think about his gender neutral s/o asking him if they can hold his hand or arm if they're scared before watching a scary Halloween movie please?

Headcanons: Remy, Logan, Wade, and Kurt on their Gender-Neutral S/O Asking to Hold Their Hand/Arm Before a Scary Halloween Movie

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

Playful Teasing: The second you ask Remy if you can hold his hand or arm, a sly grin spreads across his face. He loves that you're trusting him to comfort you, but he's gotta tease you a little first.

“Oh, chère, scared already? We ain’t even hit play yet,” he’d say with a chuckle, winking at you.

He’d definitely let you hold onto him, though, lacing his fingers with yours without hesitation. He might even wrap an arm around you, pulling you closer for extra security.

Protective Instincts: The idea that you're scared and coming to him for comfort sparks his protective side. He likes being someone you feel safe with.

During the movie, he’d periodically check on you with little side glances, making sure you're doing okay. If he feels you tense up during a particularly scary scene, he’d squeeze your hand reassuringly.

Subtle Bravery Boosts: Remy would quietly hype you up, whispering things like, “Ain’t nothin’ in the movie scarier than me, cher. You’re safe.”

And when you do grip his arm during a jump scare, he’ll smirk and say, “Got ya, didn’t it? Don’t worry, Gambit’s right here.”

Logan (Wolverine)

Soft Under the Rough Exterior: When you ask Logan if you can hold his hand or arm, he’ll grumble something like, “You don’t need to be scared of some movie.” But despite his gruff tone, he’ll offer his hand immediately, maybe even gently wrapping your hand in his big one.

He likes being your safe place, even if he’d never admit it.

Subtle Comfort: Logan’s not one for big shows of affection, but his way of comforting you would be to quietly let you hold onto him however you need.

If you’re holding his arm and you grip it a little tighter when things get intense, he won’t say anything—he might just move his arm closer, making it easier for you to lean on him.

Reassurance Through Actions: When the movie gets particularly scary, Logan might just nonchalantly place a hand on your shoulder or pull you closer without a word. He’s not big on verbal reassurance, but his actions speak volumes.

“Ain’t nothin’ in this movie that could stand up to me, so you’re safe,” he’d mutter at some point, just to remind you that, in real life, he’s scarier than any movie monster.

Wade Wilson (Deadpool)

Dramatic Acceptance: The moment you ask Wade if you can hold his hand or arm, he gasps dramatically. “Oh my God, yes! I thought you’d never ask!” He’s over-the-top with his excitement and will immediately hold out both arms, offering you the choice.

“Do you want this hand or this arm? Maybe both? Do you want to hold my entire body for comfort? I mean, I get it.”

Constant Commentary: While you're watching the movie, Wade will crack jokes about the scary parts to make you feel less afraid. He’ll probably act like he's also scared (even if he's not) just to bond with you over it.

“Oh no, babe! We’re in this together now! We’ll survive the haunted house, or at least... I'll be the bait.”

Affectionate Distraction: Whenever you flinch or squeeze his hand during a jump scare, Wade will use it as an excuse to get extra cuddly. He’d likely say, “See, this is why you date a man who can regenerate. I’ll just grow new limbs if the monsters get me first.”

He’ll hold your hand the whole time, though, genuinely loving that you trust him enough to reach out for comfort.

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)

Gentle and Reassuring: The moment you ask Kurt if you can hold his hand or arm, he’d smile warmly and take your hand immediately. There’s no teasing or hesitation—he’s more than happy to be your source of comfort.

“Of course, mein Schatz,” he’d say, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. He’s touched that you’d come to him when you're feeling scared.

Comforting Presence: Kurt would naturally move a little closer to you, maybe even drape his tail around your shoulders as a form of comfort. He’s so gentle and understanding that his presence alone would make you feel safer.

Throughout the movie, he’d whisper soft reassurances in German or English, saying things like, “It’s just a movie, love. You’re safe with me.”

Affectionate Gestures: When you grip his hand tightly during the jump scares, he’d blush a little but wouldn’t pull away. He’d lean in slightly, offering you his arm to cling to as well.

“I’m right here, always,” he’d murmur if you got especially tense, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back of your hand to soothe you

[lycanlupins]

NSFW Alphabet - Remy Lebeau/Gambit

Warnings: NSFW talk obviously! I love this kinky cajun and hope you do too

But seriously, I hope y’all like this, it was something to write while I recovered mentally and physically from being sick for so long

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He’s kind and caring, he’ll crack jokes while cleaning his partner up, maybe even run them a hot bath and give them a quick once over with a warm wash cloth

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On him its his cock, he’s loud and proud about it. He’s quite skilled with what he does and it doesn’t hurt that he’s well equipped

On his partner he loves thighs and ass. He’s 100% a thigh and ass man, anyone with a fat behind is right up his alley. He likes to hold and grab and grip and he can’t do that if there’s nothing there

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He likes to cum mark his partner, making sure that it’s on their tummy or face, taking a long hard look (and maybe a few pictures) just to remember the occasion

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He likes to fuck his partner in their sleep (consensually) and thinks its a wee bit hot when they wake up full of his cum dripping all over the sheets

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Very experienced, Remy is so good at what he does and he knows it. Especially when he’s going down on his partner and they moan about what a good job he’s doing, he’s smirk and say something they don’t understand before going back to doing his duties

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Nasty man likes it kinky, he’ll start off with a nice 69 and end in Lotus or Mating Press depending on his mood. He rarely does missionary unless its romantic or his partner requests it

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He can be goofy for sure but most often than not he’s serious in a sexy way, not a quiet and boring way. He’ll occasionally make sex a little humorous by whispering funny things while he’s trying to catch his breath or between changing positions

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

This man is natural to a tee, not to say its a bad thing but he doesn’t trim it at all. He naturally has softer hair so its not uncomfortable and its not too hairy by any means either

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He loves intimacy but he can turn that off quick if its a one time thing. He’s an adaptable lover through and through and he’ll give his partner all or none of the romance if they wish

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He gets off in risky places ie. common rooms, the kitchen, anywhere he might get caught by his partner or even someone else

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Vouyerism

Threesomes (or more)

Anal

Role play (CNC, kidnapper, etc. he’s in when it comes to fun consensual kinks)

Breath play

Food Play

Breeding Kink

JOI

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere, anytime. He has no qualms about where and when he wants to have sex, he’s ready to go at a moments notice

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Teasing of any kind, him or his partner teasing the other is a sure fire way to end up folded under him, getting pumped full of cum

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He doesn’t like physically hurting in the way of impact play to the face area, spanking is fine but he rarely if ever slaps his partner. Its kind of uncomfortable for him, it feels too much like abuse to him

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He prefers to give but its an equal 50/50 in his relationships, he’s good at what he does and he likes to teach his partners just how to please him

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He changes the pace often, sometimes quick sometimes slow, usually somewhere between rough and not but he’ll make sure his partner knows he’s fucking them

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are frequently needed in his line of work so he’s not against them whatsoever, especially if its in a pretty public place

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Risk would be his middle name if he didn’t already have one, he’s up for a good pregnancy scare or getting caught by someone unsuspecting

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

2-3 rounds before he needs to recover, and those rounds could be 10 or so minutes excluding foreplay (which is his favorite part when he can get it in)

Quickies are always a problem when he’s as insatiable as he is but he still gives his partner a quick round or two

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

God he loves toys, he doesn’t find them competition but gladly welcomes their use on him or his partner, especially anal beads/anal plugs and vibrators

He also has a small remote controlled vibrator to match his partner that both of them have control to so they can mess with each other when they feel horny

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Big tease, especially with the remote controlled vibrator mentioned previously. He loves to turn it on while he’s watching his partner lecture about something or when they’re watching movies just to fuck with them

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Loud and proud, especially when he starts speaking in his native tongue. He’ll start praising and cursing loud enough for someone to hear if they walked by the room or lived in the room next to his/his partners

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He uses his staff to fuck his partner and then uses it in fights just so he has a little extra luck, at least in his mind

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

9 inches, curves slightly up and to the left, BIG balls. Mean vein on the left side of his shaft and a dark pink tip

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Insatiable but he’s not annoying about it, he’ll wait if his partner isn’t in the mood but once they are its all bets off

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He makes sure his partner is all set and taken care of before he lets himself relax enough to sleep afterwards. He can’t go to bed knowing he didn’t take care of his beloved first

[swappermanent]

Laying the Foundation

Owning a general contracting firm isn’t the most exciting job in the world, but it does have its perks. And by perks, I mostly mean the eye candy. Whether it’s a sweaty crew under the summer sun or a client’s husband who catches my attention during a site visit, there’s enough visual appeal to keep my day interesting.

I’m glad I can admit that now. For the first 40-something years of my life, I refused to acknowledge the part of me that liked men. It wasn’t just denial—it was an ironclad, church-fed certainty that I was the straightest man alive. I had the life to prove it too: a wife, two great kids, and a job that kept me too busy to dwell on feelings I wasn’t ready to confront.

But five years ago, I couldn’t lie anymore—at least not to myself or my wife. The realization hit me like a freight train one afternoon as I was scrolling aimlessly through my phone, and it scared the hell out of me. I’ll spare you the gory details of how I came out to her; it was messy, emotional, and one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But if you knew her, you wouldn’t be surprised to hear how kind she was about it.

We got divorced. Not because she hated me—far from it—but because she deserved better. Someone who could love her fully, the way she’d loved me. She was understanding, even supportive, but understandably, she wanted a fresh start. She moved a few states away, which meant our boys, Elias and Remy, followed. They were in college by then, so it wasn’t like they needed me every day, but still—it stung not to see them as often.

Now, I only saw them on the breaks they got from school. Holidays, mostly. Elias was 22 and just starting to figure out his life, and Remy, at 19, was busy living his best college experience. They were good kids, and they didn’t resent me for coming out. At least, I didn’t think they did. But I could tell there were things they didn’t say, questions they didn’t ask. I tried not to push.

In the years since my divorce, I hadn’t exactly been a Casanova. You’d think that, as a newly single gay man, I’d dive headfirst into the wild world of dating apps and endless hookups. But it hadn’t played out that way. I didn’t know where to start, honestly. Bars felt too young for me, apps were overwhelming, and after decades of repressing this part of myself, I felt like I didn’t even know the rules.

And so, I stayed busy. Running my business. Keeping in touch with the boys. Pretending I wasn’t lonely. Pretending I wasn’t deeply, madly crushing on Tomas.

Tomas was one of my best guys—a foreman who had worked for me for almost six years. Early thirties, 6’1”, with the kind of lean, sculpted build that made work boots and a tool belt look like runway fashion. Tomas had short-cropped black hair, caramel skin that seemed to glow in the sun, and a confident swagger that made my heart skip a beat every time he walked past me.

He was also, without a doubt, the hottest man I’d ever laid eyes on. I wasn’t sure if it was his deep, musical laugh, the way his smile seemed to light up an entire room, or the sharp intelligence he brought to every project. Whatever it was, I was hooked. Hooked in a way that made my chest ache and my thoughts stray where they shouldn’t.

I knew I shouldn’t be thinking about him like that. I was his boss, for starters. And besides, for all I knew, he was straight and happily taken. But every time I saw him in the field, bending over to check a level or cracking a joke with the guys, I couldn’t help but fantasize. About what it would be like to pull him close, to feel his strength, to hear him say my name in a way that wasn’t professional.

I tried to keep my distance. Tried to focus on the work, on the business, on anything but the growing knot of desire that had taken up permanent residence in my chest. But Tomas was always there. Always just a few feet away, making me laugh, making me blush, making me feel things I hadn’t let myself feel in years.

I didn’t know what to do about it. Hell, I didn’t even know if there was anything to do about it. But one thing was for sure: I couldn’t take my mind off him.

---

The worst part about my unrequited crush on Tomas was the fact that I knew he was gay. I hadn’t guessed or pieced it together from subtle clues—no, I knew. I’d stumbled across his Grindr profile late one night while I was lying in bed, half-torturing myself by scrolling through profiles I had no intention of messaging.

Seeing his photo there had been like a punch to the gut. He looked incredible, of course—shirtless, smoldering, his chest lightly dusted with hair. I had stared at the profile for longer than I should have, memorizing the details: 33 years old, "masc4masc," and then the words that dashed any wild hopes I might have been clinging to: Please no guys over 30.

I closed the app immediately, my face burning with embarrassment even though no one else was there to see it. For days afterward, I kept replaying those words in my head. No guys over 30. Meanwhile, I was 50. Twenty years his senior, his boss, and, apparently, the exact opposite of what he was looking for.

After that, I resigned myself to suffering in silence. I’d accepted that my feelings for Tomas weren’t going anywhere and that I’d just have to live with it. It wasn’t like I could quit my job or fire him—he was too damn good at what he did, and I needed him on my team. So I kept my head down and my feelings buried, figuring that was the best I could do.

That is, until Miguel came along.

Miguel was the newest addition to the team, just 21 years old and fresh out of trade school. He was the youngest guy I’d ever hired, but he came with glowing recommendations, and within a week of working with him, it was clear they hadn’t been exaggerated. Miguel was a dynamo—hardworking, quick to learn, and always eager to take on more responsibility. He had an upbeat attitude that set him apart from the rest of the crew, and he never let the tougher, more grizzled guys intimidate him.

But while Miguel’s work ethic was impeccable, his looks were something else entirely. The kid was gorgeous. A fuckboy face if I’d ever seen one, with sharp cheekbones, thick lashes, a sexy dusting of a beard, and a jawline that could cut glass. His hair was a messy mop of jet-black curls, and his dark brown eyes sparkled with the kind of mischief that could make you question all your good decisions.

Even at his young age, Miguel had this natural charisma that drew people to him like moths to a flame. He wasn’t trying to be sexy—he just was. Whether it was the way he laughed or the easy confidence in his stride, you could tell he had everyone swooning at his feet. And that included Tomas.

I wasn’t blind. I saw the way Tomas’s eyes lingered on Miguel during lunch breaks or how he found excuses to talk to him on the job. At first, I thought it might just be professional—Tomas mentoring the new guy, making sure he felt welcome. But it didn’t take long to realize there was more to it than that. Tomas was interested in Miguel. You could see it in the way he stood just a little too close or laughed a little too hard at Miguel’s jokes.

The funny thing was, Miguel didn’t seem to notice his effect on everyone else. Despite his looks and charm, he had this air of innocence about him, like he didn’t quite realize the power he had. He worked hard, showed up early, and went home late, never sticking around for beers or banter with the guys. It was almost like he didn’t want to be seen as just a pretty face.

Watching the dynamic between Tomas and Miguel unfold was like a slow kind of torture. On the one hand, I wanted Tomas to be happy, even if it wasn’t with me. On the other hand, the idea of him falling for someone so much younger, so effortlessly magnetic, made my stomach churn with jealousy. Not toward Miguel, exactly—he hadn’t done anything wrong—but at the reminder of what I couldn’t have.

---

A few months into Miguel working with us, I reached my breaking point. Watching Tomas flirt with him day after day, while Miguel remained blissfully unaware, was driving me insane. Tomas’s lingering glances, the playful shoulder taps, the overly friendly banter—it was everything I’d fantasized about, happening right in front of me, but directed at someone else. Someone younger. Someone who didn’t even notice.

Damn it. Why couldn’t that be me?

I had to do something. Anything. The jealousy was eating me alive, and the hopelessness of my situation was unbearable. So, in a moment of desperation, I decided to use something unconventional. Something I’d never planned to use at all.

A few years ago, I’d taken a trip to South America—a solo getaway to clear my head after the divorce. While exploring a small town nestled in the Andes, I’d stumbled upon an old shop filled with trinkets, charms, and artifacts that seemed plucked from legend. One item caught my eye: a smooth, jet-black stone about the size of a silver dollar, etched with intricate carvings that seemed to shift when you looked at them too long. The shopkeeper had insisted it was a swapping stone, a relic capable of exchanging bodies between two willing participants.

At the time, I’d bought it as a novelty. A conversation piece. But now, staring at it on my nightstand, an idea took root in my mind—an idea so reckless and audacious that I couldn’t believe I was considering it.

The next morning, I pulled Miguel aside during a coffee break. He looked surprised but didn’t question it, following me into my office.

“What’s up, boss?” he asked, plopping down into the chair opposite me with his usual relaxed energy.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. “Miguel, I’ve been watching you these past few months, and I’ve got to say—you’ve been doing a hell of a job. The crew loves you, and you’ve been busting your ass out there.”

He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the praise. “Thanks, but I’m just doing my part.”

I nodded, then leaned forward, clasping my hands on the desk. “Look, I know how hard this kind of work is. It’s physically demanding, and you’ve been carrying a lot of weight for someone so young. So I wanted to offer you something.”

His eyebrows raised. “Offer me what?”

I pulled the stone out of my desk drawer and set it between us. “A swap.”

Miguel tilted his head, his confusion evident. “A swap?”

“Yes. A swap. With me.” I gestured toward the stone. “This… is a bit of a long story, but let’s just say it’s not an ordinary rock. It has the power to let us trade places—temporarily, of course. I’d take your body, and you’d take mine.”

Miguel stared at me, silent for a long moment, before letting out a disbelieving laugh. “Boss, are you feeling okay?”

“I’m serious.” I pushed the stone closer to him. “Think about it. You’re out there every day breaking your back, while I’m in here taking calls and pushing paperwork. If we swap, you’d get to enjoy the perks of being the boss—shorter hours, no manual labor. You could take my car, my house, my money. Do whatever you want for a while.”

His ears perked up at that. “Whatever I want?”

I chuckled. “Whatever you want. Look, I may be in my fifties, but I’m still in good shape, and I’ve got the resources to make it worth your while. You could have some fun. Live it up.”

Miguel leaned back in his chair, studying me. “Okay, but what’s in it for you? Why would you want to swap with me?”

I hesitated, trying to come up with something that didn’t make me sound like a crazy old man. “Honestly? I’ve been in this business a long time, and I want to understand it better. Really get a feel for what it’s like to be on the ground again.”

Miguel raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.

“And…” I added, with a sheepish grin, “maybe I want to relive my youth a bit. See what it’s like to be in my twenties again. Humor an old man, will you?”

That got him. He burst out laughing, shaking his head. “Man, you’re something else.”

“So, what do you say?” I asked, my heart pounding.

Miguel studied the stone, his lips pressed into a thoughtful line. Then he looked back at me, a mischievous glint in his eye. “If you’re serious, boss, then yeah. Why not? Let’s do it.”

Little did he know, my motivations had nothing to do with reliving my youth or gaining a new perspective. My eyes were set firmly on Tomas,

We both stood in my office, the stone resting between us on the desk. Miguel seemed skeptical but game, his trademark grin lighting up his face. I couldn’t help but marvel at his confidence—effortless, natural, the kind that came with being young and having the world at your feet.

“So, what’s the magic phrase, boss?” he asked, clearly humoring me.

“It’s in Spanish,” I said, picking up the stone and holding it out to him. “I did get it in Chile, after all. We both have to hold it and say, ‘Quiero cambiar.’ It means, ‘I want to swap.’ Simple enough, right?”

Miguel gave me a look that was equal parts curiosity and amusement, then shrugged. “Alright, boss. Let’s see this thing work.”

He wrapped his calloused hand around one side of the stone, and I gripped the other. For a moment, I hesitated, wondering if this was really the right thing to do. But then I glanced at him, at the youthful energy in his face and the opportunity shimmering in his eyes, and I knew there was no turning back.

We spoke the words together: “Quiero cambiar.”

The moment the last syllable left my lips, I felt it. A strange warmth radiated from the stone, seeping into my palm and spreading up my arm like a current. My back arched involuntarily, and a sensation like liquid sunlight flooded my chest, pulling me out of myself. It wasn’t painful, but it was overwhelming—intense, euphoric, like every nerve in my body was alight.

Across from me, Miguel was going through the same thing. His head tilted back, his body trembling as the same warm glow overtook him. I could hear his sharp intake of breath, followed by a low, guttural moan. We both stumbled a step back, clutching at the air, though there wasn’t anything visible leaving our bodies—just the overwhelming sense of movement.

And then it stopped. Like flipping a switch, the warmth vanished, leaving me standing there, panting, in Miguel’s body.

The first thing I noticed was how much lighter I felt. My limbs moved easily, like I could leap ten feet in the air if I tried. My skin was smooth, my shoulders lean but sturdy. I raised a hand to my cheek, running my fingers along the softer, smoother surface, and then down to my abs—firm and defined, cobblestones under my touch. It was like my body had been built in a dream.

Miguel, now in my body, flexed one of my arms experimentally. “Damn, boss,” he said with a laugh, staring at my bicep, which was massive and veined from years of heavy lifting. “I don’t know if my body’s really any better than yours.”

He turned to the small mirror on the wall, lifting my shirt and giving my old body’s abs a quick once-over. “You’ve been holding out on me, man! If I looked like this at 50, I’d be showing it off all the time.”

I let out a nervous laugh, still getting used to the sound of Miguel’s voice coming out of my mouth. “Yeah, I’m not so sure about that,” I said, my fingers grazing over my new, perfectly sculpted abs. “This feels like a serious upgrade.”

Miguel smirked, striking a mock pose and letting out a low whistle. “You’re not wrong. Your body’s hot as hell now. Don’t break too many hearts, alright?”

I grinned, I had quite the opposite in mind.

[triptuckers]

nothing without you - remy lebeau

Request: nope Pairing:  remy lebeau x reader Summary:  remy loses his beloved cards and you figure something out about him Warnings:  mentions of anxiety, mentions of blood/wounds (nothing big), remy is a lil sad :( Word count: 1.5K A/N: do I know anything about gambit or his lore? no. I do know I went to see deadpool & wolverine again and now I need him to call me chéri. enjoy!

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you knew remy loved his cards. after a while you'd lost track trying to count them. in every pocket of every piece of clothing he owned, you'd find a deck of cards. it was an entire chore to empty all of his pockets before doing laundry. and still some of them would end up in the washing machine, and they'd come out all soggy and messed up.

if he would round them all up, you're sure he'd be able to fill an entire storage box. he always had at least one pack of cards on him.

but there was always that one favorite pack of cards. the one he took with him on missions, the one he always had on him "just in case".

and now it's missing.

ever since he found out he lost it, remy has been heartbroken.

you helped him search for it, turning the whole place upside down. remy was the first to give up the search. he told you he'd accepted the fact he lost them, but you knew he was just too sad to have lost them to keep on searching.

his powers didn't have anything to do with that specific deck of cards, they were simply his favorite. he'd had them since he was a kid, learned all of his skills with them. of course they were special to him.

you tried to cheer him up by getting him a new deck and talking about his other decks, but nothing seemed to help.

you'd noticed he'd grown more restless since losing the cards.

from the moment you met him, you had only ever seen him with a deck of cards in his hand. safe for the moments where he was doing something that required both of his hands. but his fingers were never far from the cards.

now that he's lost them, he's constantly holding on to other things. you'd never really considered remy to be a very anxious person, but he's fidgeting constantly now.

if you're sitting next to him he's playing with your fingers or the hem of your shirt. he's tapping patterns that make no sense to you on your thigh. he'd repeatedly tap his own fingertips against each other.

right now, he's sitting on the couch after getting back from a mission. he got a nasty cut on his forehead but otherwise he was fine. you just got back from fetching the first aid kit from the kitchen when you see him staring off into space while rapidly tapping his fingers on his leg.

'hey.' you say, sitting on the salon table in front of him.

he blinks a few times before his eyes settle on yours.

'you okay?' you ask.

remy nods, but you can tell something's bothering him. you decide to let it rest until after you take care of him. it can wait.

you scoot closer to him, opening the first aid kid.

'I'll need to clean it first, before I can bandage it.' you say softly. 'it might sting a little.'

'it's okay, chéri.' he says.

you carefully put some rubbing alcohol on a cotton wad and lean in. as you gently press it on his forehead, remy sucks in a breath and closes his eyes.

'sorry.' you say, as you start to slowly wipe the cotton wad over the wound to get rid of the dirt and blood.

you feel something on your leg and when you briefly glance down, you see remy is fidgeting with a loose thread of your pants. they were really his, but you stole them so long ago they're basically yours now. you always had to roll them up a couple of times before you could wear them, otherwise they were too long.

as you get out a fresh cotton wad, you notice remy still has his eyes closed. he really hasn't been the same since he lost his favorite deck of cards, and you're worried about him.

'remy?' you say.

he hums in response as you lean in to finish cleaning the wound on his forehead. you put the bloody cotton wad on the ground next to you so you can throw it away later.

'talk to me. what's going on?' you say.

'I didn't look where I was going, the knife barely missed me but it nicked me. I should-'

'I'm not talking about today's mission, love.'

remy opens his eyes and looks at you with a slight frown on his face. you give him a soft smile.

'you've been... different. and it's okay, I just want to know how I can help you. you haven't been yourself since you lost your favorite cards.'

he closes his eyes again and leans into your touch as you bandage his forehead. his fingers are still playing with your pants.

'they keep my mind off of things.' he says eventually.

'the cards?' you say.

remy nods. 'I've got something to do with my hands. I can think about the cards. not about... other stuff.'

'all done, my love.' you say, when you finish bandaging him up. you press a soft kiss to the bandage and look down to find remy looking up at you.

'thank you, mon amour.'

'you're welcome.'

you get up to put the first aid kit away and throw the trash out. then you get back to join remy on the couch.

his fingers immediately take a hold of yours as he starts to play around with them.

'you know, I never figured you for a very anxious person.' you say.

'I'm not.'

'baby, you can't keep your finger still. and when you're doing something with both of your hands, your leg is always bouncing up and down.'

remy frowns. 'I do that?'

'it's usually something people do subconsciously. then again, being the gambit is a pretty stressful job.'

'I guess.'

you turn to look at remy. 'you really miss your cards, huh?'

'chéri, you have no idea.' sighs remy.

'I'm sorry we didn't find them.' you say.

'it's not your fault.' says remy, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your cheek. he knows it's not anyone's fault but his own. he probably lost them somewhere outside, because they did search the entire house. every cabinet and under every piece of furniture.

'how about we watch a movie? try to get your mind off of it for at least an hour or two?' you suggest.

'sure, alright.' says remy.

'you pick the movie, I'll get the snacks.' you say, getting up to go to the kitchen.

you get out a bowl and half a bag of popcorn. you dump it in the bowl and stuff the empty package in the trash, which is nearly overflowing. knowing it'll only annoy you in the morning, you let out a sigh as you take it out.

after taking it out of the bin - which took more effort than you would have liked - you close it and take it out the backdoor. just as you throw it in the larger bin outside, something purple catches your eye.

you walk over to where it is sticking out from under the bin. as you drag the bin away so you can take a closer look, you see a familiar rectangular box.

remy's beloved cards. his very favorite deck.

you quickly snatch it up and head back inside.

when you get back to the living room you see remy has picked one of your favorite movies.

'hey.' he says, glancing over his shoulder at you. 'no snacks?'

'I've got something better.' you say.

remy looks over his shoulder again and his eyes land on your bright smile, then drop to your hands.

'tada!' you say. 'found them outside under the bin! I knew we didn't lose them and they had to be around somewhere so I-'

you're cut off when remy grabs your face and kisses you. you hadn't even noticed him getting up and walking to you in two quick and long strides.

'mon amour, you're the best!' he says, smiling at you. he kisses you again and you can feel he's still smiling.

he pulls back and takes the deck of cards you're holding up for him. instantly, he takes them out of the case and twirls them around, throwing them in the air and catching them again.

you watch as his face lights up. you're so glad he's got his favorite cards and he looks like your remy again. you watch him for a while, following the cards with your eyes.

eventually, he puts them away and pulls you against his chest, making you laugh as he hugs you tight.

'oh, what would I do without you?' he says as he pulls back slightly so he can look at you.

'well you'd have to find someone new to fix you up after a fight. and to find your cards. and take care of-'

'alright, alright, I get it, I'm nothing without you.'

'and don't you forget it.'

'I won't, chéri, I promise you I never will.'

A/N:If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rulesHere’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost, steal or translate my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

[rebelliousstories]

Magical Relationships

Relationship: Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Reader, Logan Howlett/ Wolverine x Reader (Platonic)

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by @oh-prettylady

Warnings: Fluff, Brief Angst

Word Count: 1,466

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: He had spent so long looking for her, only to find that she was closer than ever suspected.

Consider Donating: Here

If there was one thing that Gambit always asked for whenever he could, it would forever be a relationship of his own. He had seen Jean and Scott fall in love, witnessed Beast try himself; hell, everyone he knew had tried. But for some reason, Jean and Scott were the only ones that made it work. But Remy wanted that. He wanted his own lady to call his, to love, and to spoil. When he came back from a mission one day, he got his wish.

A beautiful girl around his age had shown up with the Wolverine. She was shy, only sticking near the burly man, and not speaking to just about anyone. But she was gorgeous, sweet and kind. Her ability to transform into any animal she wished never ceased to amaze Remy when they were in the danger room.

Slowly but surely, she began warming up to the other, but not Gambit. She was still hesitant around him, refusing to say more than a few words to him. It threw the Cajun for a loop the first few times he tried to flirt with her.

“My, my, my, chere. Ya face would look so much prettier up close, ya know? Just close enough for a kiss perhaps.” This caused her to flush red.

“How’s about you and me go and paint the town red tonight, chere?” She turned to Logan for help who kindly told the man she was off limits.

“Oh, I’m feelin’ awfully weak, chere. I hear ya kisses are magic though. How’s about one for ya patient, yeah?” Turning to scamper off was her course of action for this.

Each time he tried to flirt with her, she refused. Maybe he was coming off too strong for her. He knew very little about her backstory when she came to the school. So, Remy decided to switch tactics. He tried to bond with her over something, anything. But they seemed to have very little in common. But he was desperate to have her talk to him in any way they could.

After a few weeks of this, Gambit made very little leeway in his attempt to talk with her. It was not until Logan decided to go off on his own again that he finally got a break. This was not how he wanted it to start, but it was how it happened. Remy had found her staring out of a window towards the road in the school on a day off for them.

“You miss da Wolverine, chere?” He asked quietly. She got a bit spooked, jumping in her seat, and went to leave.

“No, no. I didn’ mean t’ make ya scared. I can leave if ya want.” Holding his hands up, Gambit tried to make himself appear as non threatening as possible to the woman. But what she did next shocked him.

She shook her head, and patted the sot next to her in the window. Waiting, Remy tried to see what exactly she meant, which was met with her patting the spot once more. At her insistence, he made his way over, and slumped down into his seat.

“I just really miss him, you know?” She began, still staring. “He took care of me when I had no one around. It’s hard being without him, not knowing where he is or if he’s alive.”

“Oh, chere. Don’t worry ‘bout it. The Wolverine will come back soon. Besides, I’m pretty sure that man lives purely off of spite, so he be fine.” Remy tried to comfort the girl, but only felt like he was causing her more discomfort.

“You’re right,” she spoke after a brief silence, “Logan will be okay. He’ll come back.” Looking out the window, she looked towards the road once more before turning to the mutant to her right.

“I love your eyes, by the way.” This time, it was Gambit’s turn to be bashful. His face blushed something fierce as he turned away from her. He could only hope that she did not see what was happening to his face, or the smile that appeared on his face.

“You flatter Ol’ Gambit. Ain’t do nothin’ to deserve it.” He stammered out, hoping that she would let it go. But to his fortune, and mis. Fortune, she did not.

Her giggles rang out through the small nook that they were tucked away in, and Gambit turned to face her fully. Even he was not immune to her infectious laughter. Soon, he was joining her in his own deep chuckles that boomed out next to hers. After a few minutes, they began to wind down. And as he looked over at her from across the windowsill, Remy thought something to himself.

This might just work out.

After that night, it was like a flip had been switched. Instead of constantly being shy, and running away from the Cajun, she had begun to enjoy his company. She was enjoying a cup of tea with him in the morning while he made his coffee. In the evenings, she would make a bowl of ice cream for each of them to enjoy in front of the fire in the main study room.

And all through this, they grew closer. Remy’s flirting no longer made her anxious, it excited her. She still had yet to get over her blushing and shyness when he did so, but she was no longer running away which he considered a win in his books. Gambit so badly wanted to properly ask her out; it burned within him. But he had to contend with Logan coming after him.

Oh, he was well aware that the Wolverine would just give him the tough love act, but that did not make it any less intimidating to ask her pseudo-father for permission. It also did not help that the man was currently somewhere that they at the school could not reach him. So for the time being, Gambit was sticking to making her blush like a school girl at every chance he got.

Remy loved the challenge of getting her to blush harder and harder each time. Sometimes, it was the fact that it was in front of the other team members. Other times, it was because of what he had actually said. One particular instance stands out better than the rest.

“Chere, jus’ need t’ ask ya somethin’. Will you Brie mine?” Remy drawled out as he leaned against the counter. Storm, Beast, and Cyclops were sitting at the table nearby and actively listening to what was coming next.

“Don’t you ever get tired of thinking up different pickup lines to use on me?” She teased back, finishing her making of food at the stove.

“Ain’t no trouble to the Gambit if he has t’ think of you. So whatcha say?” There was quiet laughter coming from the table nearby.

“Can I at least have my breakfast first?” Her tone was teasing, even if her words were annoyed.

“Never too early to start the greatest love story ever.”

“Sometimes it is.” The laughing stopped. Gambit stopped in his tracks, and was afraid to turn and face the voice behind him.

“Logan, you’re back!” Her plate was quickly abandoned in favor for wrapping her arms around his neck. His own found a home wrapped around her back before they pulled away.

“Missed me, kid?” A smirk toyed at the edge of his lips.

“Maybe a little.” She admitted; a smile of her own forming on her lips.

“Now, what was this I hear about you wanting to ask the kid out, Cajun?” Logan near growled in his low-rumbling voice.

“Now, Mon Ami, jus’ remember is just Gambit.” He stammered out, holding his hands up defensively. The Wolverine placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to stop what he was saying immediately.

“Treat her right, or you’re turning into a kebab. I’m going to unpack and go to bed.” Passing the girl on his way back to his room, Logan gave her one last pat on the shoulder and left. There was a stunned silence that enveloped the entire room as everyone tried to process the events that had just unfolded.

“So, Remy,” she began with a teasing tone, “something you wanna ask me?”

He could not speak. The smooth talking Cajun was speechless after that interaction. But once he began to recover, a smirk overtook his rugged features. He walked up closer to the woman and placed a hand back on the counter.

“Will you go out with me, chere?” Remy finally asked her.

“Of course, Gambit. Besides, I have a man waiting to turn you into a kebab if you mess up.” She began to laugh, but the color started drawing from his face once more.

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about married poolverine at the x mansion for the Christmas parties.

I like to think that even after he's quit drinking and is older, Wade lets him sit around the mansion and drink a shit ton of egg nog and just.. chill. Wade won't let anyone ask him to do anything except.. what he didn't know.. is that he signed logan up to be santa for the younger kids, and he's definitely dressed as Mrs. Clause, a wig, heels, red and white fluffy skirt, everything.

"You want me to wear what??"

"Oh, come on its for the kids peanut! Besides... ill repay you later~"

"Wade, these kids are like 12 theyre not gonna-....fine"

By the adult party runs around and the kids under 21 are forced off into their rooms, morph kurt and logan are lounging on the couch trying to sing a german carol after busting out the GOOD Alchool but Kurt forgets half of it so its just the three of them mummbling nonsense and wade thinks its the cutest most humble thing he's ever seen Logan do. Just.. a guy being a guy with his friends. And he's so happy. Soooo happy to finally have them back. Even if these aren't HIS x men, he's missed this so bad. Later he will cry because he misses HIS x men but for now? Let him be not sober and forget about that.

"Alright santa. I think its time for bed." Wade says, still in his Mrs. Clause outfit, trying to tug Logans arm up.

"Aye! Get offa me! My husband will kill you!" He throws a fit and backs away, into kurt who's tail flickers and gives her a dirty look. Who does this woman think she is?? Trying to make his friend commit adultery???

Wade pauses, then giggles, realizing just how much makeup he had on right now. He's utterly estatic that Logan won't come with him. It's only really morph whos confused because that's obviously Wade. You would think the guy could smell his own husband right?? Yeahhh... not like this.

"Teehee and that right there is why it's bedtime, peanut." He says, hoping itll spark a few plugs but logan only does the Loading cat face, tilting his head. His face is red from the alchool and the santa make up.

"Don't call me that!" He whines.

Wade rolls his eyes, smiling. "Baby, come on. You're tired." He says in that special voice. The one that leads Logan down to earth when his anger is the only thing he can see when he forgets who he is, when he's having his PTSD attacks.

"... I am?"

"Yes. Now come on. Time for bed."

Kurt whispers not to be tempted by her in his ear, and it's back to square one. It takes Remy interfereing by telling Kurt that this "devil woman" IS Logan's husband and that it's okay.

The whole thing is a mess, and it has Rouge giggling her ass off, hugging her brother as his tail flickers still.

"Ooh!! You big buzz ball! Always lookin afta folks aint ya?" She tells him, squeezing him enough to make him wheeze. "Careful cher, Gambit thinks he wants his ribs attached."

"Nonsense! A lil roughhousin nevah killed nobody!!"

You just see him trying to take Wade to their room and Logan does the little slap at his arms and is like "I can walk by myself lady! Jeez!! ..... wheres my husband? Im gonna tell on you!!"

"I AM your husband." Wade says, finally taking off the wig and caressing his chop the way he usually does. Logan's eyes squint, his eyebrows burrowing together before dilating, and Wade can swear he heard his heart beat quicken.

Laura gags.

"....'sup" he says, pulling him closer with a big idiotic grin.

Wade squeals, now trying to push him away. "Eww!! Never say that again!" He giggles. "You big lud! Bedtime!"

It's the absolute sweetest thing anyone ever witnessed, and it makes Jean happy too to know someone did infact take the big bad putty tat home. Finally-

This is how I want every teacher au Christmas fic to go you understand me? No sentinal drama. No worries. Maayyybbee Magneto if he behaves.

Just let this man be HAPPY for once.