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pastafossa · 3 months ago

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"Do I Need To Beg?" (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic) 🔥

Right so like a lot of other people, I saw that leaked trailer and had thots, mostly about Matt's new beard, and much like my thoughts on his coat, none of these thots are pure. This is pure fucking sin, in other words, one of the filthier things I've written, so scroll past if that's not your thing. Also thank you to my friends over in the Murdock's Tuna Team server, ya'll are the best fucking enablers ever.

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Chapter Summary:

“Welcome home, Mrs. Murdock,” he purred darkly, lazily dragging his tongue across his lips in a way that told you, quite clearly, what he was imagining. “If you need to shower or drink a glass of water, do it now. Because the second you enter this bedroom, you’re mine for the rest of the night. And I have no intention of letting you go until I’ve had my fill.”

Wordcount: 4.1k words

Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: oral f!receiving and a LOT of it like this is literally just a love letter to bearded Matt eating you out (Matt retains his 😺eating crown), brief oral m!receiving, Dom!Matt, Sub!Reader, bondage, overstimulation, subspace, dirty talk, PiV towards the end, Matt's new fucking BEARD none of us are ok

Matt with an oral fixation incoming, here have this:

Your trip out of town had lasted longer than you’d initially expected.

Initially you'd only planned to be gone for ten days, but ten had abruptly been extended to an irritating fourteen with little notice. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything you could do about it, though Matt had reassured you over the phone that it was fine. While he missed you dearly and would have vastly preferred you back home and in his arms, he understood that things were out of your control. However, he did have one more thing to say before you’d both given your goodbyes, something that wound up eating at you for the rest of your trip in all the best ways.

“Besides,” he’d murmured. “It’ll give me a little more time to work on my surprise for you.”

What that surprise was had been a mystery, one he’d smugly refused to reveal no matter how much you’d tried to pry it out of him over the ensuing phone calls. It couldn’t have been a gift for your next wedding anniversary, which was still a few months away. Nor was it your birthday, or Valentine’s Day. As best you could guess, this was just one of those moments when Matt decided to give you something, just because he could, just because he wanted to, no prompting needed. That wasn’t an uncommon occurrence with him, one more thread in the tapestry made from all the many reasons you loved him.

However, on the list of things you’d expected to find when you finally made it home, you hadn’t thought to include Matt standing shirtless in the bedroom doorway, his sweats slung low on his hips, his hair still damp from his shower. One corner of his mouth curled up into a wicked smirk, and oh, he knew. He knew, or he’d at least suspected what your response would be to his surprise, and you drew in a sharp intake of breath.

He’d grown a beard.

You raked your gaze over it, taking in the way it seemed to change the angles of his jaw and his face, somehow adding a dangerous edge to his smile. What was more, there were little patches of grey scattered amidst the dark of it. You had no idea why, but something about those threads of silver only added to the building heat between your thighs, a fire that had started the second you’d seen him standing casually in the doorway, his beautiful body on open display just for you.

How would it feel to touch him, cradle his jaw in your hands now?

How would it feel when he pressed his lips to yours, to your throat?

And how would it feel as he made his way down, down, down, the rough scrape of his beard lighting you up as he drifted towards one of his favorite places on your body?

Your shiver drew a rumble of satisfaction from him. He slowly rolled his head back, inhaling deeply, clearly savoring the scent of your arousal.

You were pretty sure you’d never downed a glass of water and gotten into the shower so quick in your life.

Matt kept his promise. The second you stepped out of the bathroom, he was on you, his beard a deliciously unfamiliar sensation as he caught your face between his hands and pressed his mouth hungrily to yours. That wild kiss didn’t stop at just one, your lips separating only to meet again a half-breath later, over and over again. The two of you only grew more frantic with every second that passed, hips beginning to rock, bodies swaying towards each other, until you were both left gasping, frantic and breathless, hands groping desperately across whatever bared skin either of you could reach.

“Bed.” The word was a low growl against your lips, his hand wound loosely around your throat, one thumb up under the hinge of your jaw to force your head back for him. One of your hands, meanwhile, had slipped back and down beneath the hem of his sweats, blatantly groping at the thick curve of his ass. He let out a rough groan that you eagerly swallowed down, the skin around your mouth already burning from the rasp of his beard where it had rubbed against you. “Fuck—Bed. Now.”

He wasn’t going to get an argument from you.

It was a short, stumbling walk from there to the bedroom. Neither of you bothered to keep your hands off each other, your fingers fisting in his damp hair as he pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to that special spot under your jaw that made your legs shake, Matt seemingly eager to drink the remaining droplets of water from your skin. You should have guessed his plans when you noticed the towel on the bed. But it was hard to focus with the tantalizing burn of his new beard dragging across the delicate skin of your throat, and with the taste and scent and touch of him filling your senses after a long two weeks apart. It felt like there was nothing in the world but him, nothing but the scent of cinnamon and copper and salt, the warmth of it so rich you couldn’t help but gasp with it as he herded you backwards until at last, you both found the bed.

The world lurched, and just like that you were pinned beneath him, the broad, heavy weight of him easily trapping you against the mattress, not that you minded. Your ragged moan of his name seemed to hang in the air, your fingers still tangled in his hair. God, your cunt was practically dripping already as you lifted your hips, trying to rock up against him in invitation. You'd been thinking of this the entire time you'd showered. He had to have sensed it. “Matt, sweetheart, please.” “I’ve been thinking about this since you left,” he purred in your ear, his breath a rush of burning embers before he started down your body. The moment he reached your bare breasts, he pressed his face between them, the rasp of his beard making you shiver. He inhaled deeply, dragging your scent deep into his lungs. That inhale led to a hitched, delighted moan, his hips rocking down against the mattress. Without warning, he turned his head and eagerly drew one of your nipples into his mouth. The greedy suction of his mouth when paired with the bristling scratch of his facial hair made you whine, writhing as best you could where you were trapped beneath the heavy weight of muscle and bone. But despite the way you offered up your chest in invitation, he had other plans, quickly releasing your breast to slide further down your body. His voice dropped into something low and sinful, then, soft as silk against your skin. “And I’ve missed this sweet pussy of yours, sweetheart.” He placed a tender, innocent kiss against your hip, the gentle nature of it at direct odds with the obscenity of his words. It was a combination that left you burning up, your breath hitching as he pointedly lifted one of your legs to drape it easily over his shoulder. He directed his blank gaze back up towards your own, his lips curling up into a feral grin. “So I’m going to see how many times I can make you come with my mouth tonight. And I’m not stopping until you’ve soaked everything underneath you.”

Oh god—

Your eager moan and the fresh flood of arousal between your legs was the only answer he needed. He let out a quiet hiss before diving in, his tongue burying itself between your folds for one heavy lap up your cunt, the first taste of you he’d had in weeks. And with a rough moan that matched yours in volume, he threw one arm over your hips, and settled in.

And there he stayed, his face buried between your thighs, for hours.

You lost track of your orgasms after you came for the third time, three of his fingers hilted deep inside you, his tongue lapping firmly, determinedly at your clit. It had been impossible to resist between that and the rhythmic, rough scrape of his beard against the inside of your thighs—a sweet-edged pain you were quickly growing addicted to. You came so hard you saw spots at the edge of your vision, came so hard you left a puddle on the towel beneath you, your startled cry loud enough to wake the neighbors. Your brain didn’t even know what to do with that kind of pleasure, your thighs snapping shut around his head, your whole body writhing as the pleasure washed over you in uneven waves.

But Matt didn’t so much as slow. If anything, he simply opened his mouth wider, drank from you even faster, swallowing down that flood as if you were the sweetest of wines. The moment he tasted your orgasm, one that drenched his beard and mouth, his eyes snapped shut, his hips bucking against the mattress. A wild, shaky moan tore from his throat as he came with you, soaking his sweats, the rhythm of his mouth growing clumsy and uneven.

Yet still, he didn’t stop, despite the fact you'd both come. All it took was a few breaths before he was back at it. He seemed almost mindless now, focused only on taking, greedy and insatiable as he forced your body and his to start the climb yet again.

You lost control over your body not long after, your reactions instinctive and uncoordinated. Somehow you found your hands back in his hair, soft, sweat-soaked strands sliding through your fingers. You weren’t sure what you meant to do then, whether you wanted to push him away from your overstimulated body or pull him in even closer, ride his face the way you wanted. Either way, he wound up deciding for you.

“Seems to me like someone can’t control herself.” He braced one hand firmly against your abdomen, and though he couldn’t see you, you still felt pinned by his gaze and the almost drunken little quirk of his lips. Even in the low light, you could see how his beard and mouth glistened, slick with the taste of you. “Do you need the rope, sweetheart? Do you want me to help you?”

There wasn’t a chance in the world of you remaining still without that rope, not if he intended to keep going. And you both knew it.

“Yes, please,” you whispered, your eyes fluttering closed as he clumsily rose from his place between your legs. Despite the lingering oversensitivity in your body, the sudden absence of his mouth still made you whimper. You just—you needed more, the promise of it keeping the tide of your arousal from fully easing.

“What a good girl, admitting you need help,” he crooned, crawling up the bed far enough to reach the nightstand, pausing only to brush his lips against yours, the scent of your sex clinging heavily to his beard and mouth. He opened the drawer and dug around for a moment, until he finally drew free a length of red silk rope, testing it out in his hand. Once he was satisfied, he began to loop the rope around your wrists. “Don’t worry. We’ll make sure you can’t move. Because I meant what I said. I’m not letting you up until I’m finished with you, and I’m nowhere near done, sweetheart.”

The moment your wrists were properly tied, he placed his knees on either side of you, rising up to hook the length of rope to the hook set into the wall. But that put something else within reach of your mouth, and all the grinding he’d done against the bed had managed to drag his soaked sweats down just far enough to expose his cock. He was already half-hard again, the head slick and dripping, flushed dark and tempting.

In that moment, you needed to taste it.

The noise he made as you darted your head forward and took the tip of him into your mouth was inhuman, one part choked gasp and one part snarl. You suckled at the broad head eagerly, rapid little licks of your tongue against his slit to draw out more of the precum leaking steadily into your mouth, trying to get as much as you could before he could stop you. He wound up hunched over the top of you, one hand braced against the wall, the other fisted in your hair to hold you against him. And the harder you sucked, the more his rough growls and snarls shifted into high moans and soft little whines, his hips bucking instinctively, helplessly forward, pressing his cock deeper into the warm, welcoming wet heat of your mouth. Even those powerful thighs of his started to shake.

If you did this right, he’d come in no time at all.

But it was the creak of the ropes as you instinctively reached for him that seemed to snap him out of it.

Just like that, your head was wrenched back by his hand in your hair, his cock sliding free from your lips with a wet pop, saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth, and down onto your chest as you stared blearily up at him. Chest heaving, dark eyes burning, he slowly leaned down until his lips hovered mere millimeters from yours. But even though his lips hadn’t made contact, his beard did, the faintest brush of bristling hairs tickling against your overheated skin until you couldn’t help but moan.

“And this,” he grit out, “is why you’re being tied: because you can’t keep your hands or your mouth to yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” you whined, trying to nuzzle at him in apology. He dodged your mouth, his hand tightening in your hair in warning. This time, at least, you listened, rolling your head back into his touch, trying to make up for what you’d done, submit like he wanted. “I’m sorry, Matt. I just wanted a taste, I needed you so bad.”

“If you’d asked like a good girl, maybe I’d have given it to you. Now you’re going to have to make it up to me.” He abruptly let go of your hair, climbing back down your body, ignoring the way you thrashed and twisted. Once he was back in place, he roughly shoved your thighs apart, dropping back down between your legs like he belonged there, claiming that space for himself. “Do I need to beg?” you choked out, practically shaking when he caught the thin, delicate skin of your inner thigh between his teeth, sucking hard. He lingered there for a long moment as you moaned and yanked desperately on the ropes, but it was no use. He was in control, not you, and you knew he wouldn’t let go until he’d left his mark, claiming this part of your body that belonged to only him. But what you weren’t expecting was for him to let go… and then tip his head, sliding his cheek, and his beard along the newly sensitive skin. The burn of it sent you soaring, your cunt clenching around nothing, your back arching as you tried to offer your core up to his mouth. “I’ll beg! God, I will, Matt, just—” “I don’t need you to beg,” he growled, his lips curling until he’d bared his teeth. “I need you to scream.”

Then his mouth latched onto your cunt again, relentless and inescapable no matter how much you writhed. It was torture, madness of the best kind, and it wasn’t long before something in your mind began to unravel, drawn right down out of your body and into his mouth to be swallowed down the Devil's greedy throat.

Things… got a little blurry after that.

There was no tracking the time, not when one orgasm melded into the next, minutes and hours falling away beneath the merciless lap of Matt’s skilled tongue, the brutal curl of his thick fingers, the rough scrape of his beard against your thighs and cunt until everything burned with pleasure and pain that turned the edges of your vision a fractured white. There was no outside world, no thought left in your mind but his name, nothing but the mountains he dragged your increasingly exhausted body up, and the swift fall when he mercilessly shoved you over the edge, over and over and over until you were ready to lose your mind.

“Matt!” you sobbed, wrenching hard at the ropes binding your wrists. It didn’t make one bit of difference, the rope firm and unyielding where you were bound. Down between your legs, Matt slurped hungrily, drunkenly at your cunt, his face and throat drenched with your slick, a wide puddle on the towel beneath the place where his mouth connected to your body. The burn of his beard was almost unbearable now, but you didn’t know what to do about it. You weren’t even sure he could hear you at this point, his eyes glazed over and glassy, the broad laps at your slit and clit so instinctive and clumsy that you were half convinced he was lost in the same place you were, drunk off the taste of your pussy, off your repeated orgasms and pheromones that he’d been drenched in.

Another finger joined the three he already had buried deep inside you. He’d been at this so long that your body parted for him with little issue, and god, god, you were so goddamn full, so trapped in the haze that all you could do was choke out another sob as all four of his fingertips rubbed firmly at that spot inside you. You were too tired even to close your legs around his head, but you could feel it—that final orgasm curling hot and inescapable inside you, so close now you could taste the fractured shards of it, tears streaming down your cheeks as your eyes snapped shut.

“I think maybe you earned that taste you wanted,” he slurred, kissing lovingly at your clit like he might a lover, his lips parted just far enough to let his tongue brush against you. And god, it almost hurt, it hurt, your body so far beyond oversensitivity that even that light touch hit you like a bolt of lightning, your body jolting. “Not that you can answer me now. Or can you?”

All you could give him was a mindless whine.

He chuckled, working his free hand down beneath himself as he lifted his hips. His mouth dropped open a moment later, face going slack against your cunt before he moaned loudly, his shoulder shifting rhythmically beneath your thigh, his eyes rolling shut. Was he—

He drew his hand up a moment later with a purr, his fingers now smeared and sticky with both your wetness and his, glistening softly in the low light. “What do you say, sweetheart? Would you like a taste? Because I would.”

You whimpered, tugging mindlessly at the ropes, and you—yes, yes, but your tongue couldn’t seem to quite form the word yes, because he still had the fingers of his other hand buried inside you, rubbing steadily at the spot that made you see stars. God, please, the mere thought of tasting your combined flavors on your tongue had you almost mad, your body a hairs-breadth away from coming. All you needed was a nudge—a brush of him at your clit, the taste of him on your tongue, and you’d tip over the edge.

He clearly knew it, too. And you thought-you’d thought he would be offering his hand as he dipped back down to your cunt, but instead, he pulled his soaked fingers free from you with a sigh. Your cry was a broken thing, something thick with grief at feeling so empty when you were so close, more tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Shh, you’re alright, sweetheart, don't cry,” he crooned gently, hushing you as he crawled up over your body, nuzzling at your sweat-soaked skin. “Don’t worry. It’s only for a second. I won’t leave you empty. I promise. Almost done. Almost there. One more for me. You’re going to give me one more, honey.” But how, when you were so empty, when you didn’t have his mouth or his fingers, lost and—

He groaned as he began to slide his thick cock inside you. You’d been stretched so open by his fingers, by all of your orgasms over the past few hours, that he entered you with a delicious ease. The sloppy, wet squelch of his cock as he slid inside you would have made your cheeks burn if you’d had any sense left.

“Shit,” he moaned, one hand braced beside your head, fisting in the sheets. One rock of his hips and he was buried as deep as he could reach, your cunt clenching around him as if it were trying to keep him there. You were too exhausted to lift your legs and lock them around his hips. All you could do was gasp and accept him, your eyes rolled back as you hovered on the edge. “Nn, there you go, sweetheart. There we go. Nice and-and full. Hold on just a little longer for me. Open your mouth, honey.”

You parted your lips instantly, long past resisting, long past thinking.

His fingers stroked gently against your tongue a moment later, allowing you to take in the combined musky taste of yourself, the bitter richness of his cock, and how it mingled and melded with the taste of his skin.

“Suck for me like a good girl,” he murmured, his other hand rising to wipe away a few of your tears. Once that was done, he settled his hand around your throat, as if he wanted to feel it when you swallowed. “Go on, sweetheart. You can have it.”

You curled your tongue around his fingers, drawing them deep into your mouth with a grateful moan. The explosion of it across your tongue as you swallowed, the sheer obscenity of it, made you choke out a broken cry. His fingers were yanked back a moment later only to be replaced by his tongue snaking lazily into your open mouth, blatantly chasing your paired tastes with a filthy moan. All of it rolled up over you at once—his cock sliding up against that spot inside you, the whisper of pressure around your throat as his massive hand closed around it, the angle of his hips that let his body grind against your clit, the paired taste of you both filling your mouth as his tongue curled against yours, but…

It was the harsh scrape of his beard against your skin that pushed you over the edge.

Later, you wouldn’t remember the noise you made as you came, your body seizing as your orgasm slammed into you in one sudden rush. Your body went rigid, back bowing off the bed so sharply you felt something pop, your head thrown back as you lost yourself beneath a roaring tide of pleasure. Because this-this wasn’t something you rode, something you swam with, something that swept over you gently. This was something you survived, something you choked beneath, drowned beneath. You barely heard Matt’s shout, didn’t even notice the spreading heat as he came with you in slick pulses of warmth. You heard even less his slurred words of encouragement against your lips as your orgasm lingered in waves that just didn’t end, and you couldn't, you couldn't—

“There you go. Good girl, good girl, so good for me, let it all go sweetheart, I’ve got you, good gi—”

You weren’t quite sure where your mind went, then. But things cut out for a while.

How long you tapped out for was a mystery, the world around you faded into a soft black. All you knew was that when you finally floated back up from that quiet sea, your senses coming back to you one by one, Matt was there, your limp body cradled warmly against his chest. “Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, the sounds distant and still a little warped as he rocked you gently. He had to have untied you at some point, you thought blearily, since he was holding you now, his back against the headboard, your head tucked down against his neck. “Come on back, honey. Time to come back for me.”

You made a soft little noise of acknowledgement in your throat, all you really felt capable of at the moment, your eyes fluttering half open.

“Hi there, sweetheart,” he hummed, nuzzling down warmly against your hair. One of his hands swept steadily up and down your arm, sensation that helped ground you, along with the easy rhythm of his breathing as he held you, the rasp of his skin against yours. “There you are, my good girl. You did so good, honey. Now you’ve got it. Take it slow. Breathe with me."

“Mmm.”

"That works." He huffed a quiet laugh, tipping your slack head back until he could brush his lips against your forehead. Your head lolled against his shoulder, your body feeling a bit like all your bones had just up and wandered off. Maybe Matt had sucked them out of you. “I got eight out of you tonight if you can believe it. A new record.”

“It’s,” you slurred thickly, “the… beard. I love it.”

“I figured. And now I'm definitely going to keep it.” He nuzzled at you again, lifting one of your hands so he could knead gently at your wrist where you’d been tied. You'd probably have some bruises tomorrow considering how hard you'd yanked at the ties, but you'd wear them with pride. You always did. “And now you get the full aftercare treatment. Water, a snack, maybe a massage and a lot of cuddling before you fall asleep. I almost thought about drawing you a bath, but I’m not quite sure I trust you not to accidentally slide down into the water right now, even with me holding you.”

“...Fair.” You sleepily mashed your face against his throat, drawing the musky scent of sex and his skin deep into your lungs. You were still floating to a certain extent, your body sore and exhausted, but the comfort of his touch, the low rumble of his voice went a long way to soothing you. “Love you. Missed you.”

“I love you and missed you, too.” He pressed a fond kiss to your wrist, letting out a contented sigh. “Let’s avoid being apart for a while.”

“Agreed.”

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x f!reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil x f!reader #daredevil #matt murdock #fic #fanfic #reader fic #x reader #reader insert #ns/fw #tw: smut #tw: oral #this is filth please mind the warnings #daredevil: born again fic #matt's blatant oral fixation #i regret nothing

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zomtart · 20 days ago

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Day Off (Frank Castle x Fem!Reader)

this is inspired by the lovely Tuna Team and also because I realized I’ve never seen a fic of reader taking care of sick Frank. No established relationship in this one but LOOOOOTS of tension they’re just both too stupid to realize it :D

Content Warnings: p*king (not too descriptive), brief mention of injuries, veeeeery sick Frank, reader who matches Frank’s stubbornness <3

Word Count: 1.3k

It was your day off, and you were making the most of it. You slept in until 10am, cooked your favorite breakfast, wore your softest pajamas, and grabbed your comfort book. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. The world was at ease.

…for about twenty minutes.

You were just about to brew your second cup of mocha when you heard the faint sound of groaning. Halting your reach for your coffee mug, the edges of your lips started to turn down as the noise continued. It seemed far away and muted. It seemed like it was…coming from next door.

You stared at the wall for a second before shaking your head. No. No! It was your day off. Frank had your number. He’d call you if he’d need you…right?

When has that ridiculous man ever asked for help?

But he only ever did his…job in the dark. And you had heard him come home last night, even checked out the door to ensure no trail of blood followed him. Surely he hadn’t gone out again. Surely he was fine.

A loud crash erupted from the wall, so hard you could almost feel it shake in the floorboards.

Goddamnit.

You ran to the door immediately, snatching Frank’s spare key and not bothering with shoes. Stupid, stupid man. Couldn’t he stay out of trouble for one day? It wasn’t that you didn’t want to spend time with him, but you had to admit you’d much prefer spending time with him when it wasn’t stitching his wounds up.

The moment you stepped through the door you were calling out his name, looking for signs of a break-in or injury. There wasn’t any blood or weapons, but his kitchen table vase lay shattered on the floor. The sight made your stomach turn, along with the fact that he hadn’t seemed to notice you had come inside. Frank was nothing if not alert.

“Frank? Frank!” You swore under your breath, wishing you had brought your taser. “If you’re--if you’re fucking with me right now I swear to god…”

There was another groan from down the hallway and without thinking you ran down to the end of the hall and pushed open the bathroom door.

“Frank—“

You immediately turned away at the sight of Frank kneeling over the toilet, a hand pressed over your mouth as you smelled puke. As a nurse, you unfortunately dealt with this a lot, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t gross.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Frank sounded mad, and you couldn’t quite blame him. However, you weren’t about to let your own anger go so easily.

“I thought you were fucking dying! God, did you hook a boombox up to your intestines?”

“Leave,” he mumbled around a groan that lacked any sort of strength, and not just because his throat was hoarse. He sounded exhausted. More exhausted than you’ve ever heard him, including when he had bullet holes in his torso. He was clearly in no state to be alone.

You blinked. “You do know there’s a broken vase on your kitchen floor right?”

He breathed your name, exhaling roughly through his nose. He closed the toilet and collapsed against it, letting his head hang backward.

“I’m fine. You see I’m not dying, yeah? Now go.”

“Well you’re not far from it.” you crossed your arms. His grouchy mood would likely have turned most people away, but you knew him. Christ, you could see how much pain he was in. Sweat coated his temples, his face pale, his nose red. You knew he needed help, and a little arguing from him wasn’t going to scare you off. “Frank, you’re not fine. I don’t even think you can walk back to your bed. I’m not leaving you. Not like this.”

“I can take care of myself,” he grumbles, trying to stand up. Keyword: trying. He immediately stumbled, and you were right there to catch him.

You grunted as his weight fell into yours, the two of you working to get him back upright.

“Jesus—fucking—yeah. Yep, you can totally take care of yourself. Can totally stand on your own.” you shook your head, grabbing one of his arms and slinging it over your shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s just get you to bed, okay?��

He mumbled something under his breath as he began to walk out of the bathroom with your support.

“That better have been a thank you.”

Once you got him into bed, with heavy groans from the both of you, you stared at him with your hands on your hips.

“Alright. I’m gonna…well. Do you have food in this house that I can make into soup? Or just tubs of spam?”

He pressed a pillow over his head, and that’s when you realized how badly he was sweating. And shaking. You swore under your breath and knelt down at this side, gently removing the pillow from his face and placing a hand on his forehead.

“You’re burning up.” you murmured. “Where do you keep the towels?”

“No.” he responded immediately, flinching away from your touch. “I’m not getting you sick. It’s your day off, for fuck’s sake.”

“You’re not going to g--how did you know that?”

“You told me,” he said nonchalantly, swallowing around a sore throat with a wince.

You blinked, recalling that you mentioned how you finally got a day off…but you could have sworn you told him that a week ago. Did he really remember that?

“I’m not going to sit here and give you whatever the hell I have.” he said roughly. “Just leave.”

“Did you hear me the first time?” you placed your hands on your hips. “I said no. You’re in no condition to be by yourself. I’m a nurse. I know when someone needs help. If I have to force you to accept that help, then so be it. Where do you keep your towels?”

There was a long bout of silence where you both stared at each other, the tension of your conjoined stubbornness almost tangible in the air. When he realized you weren’t going to give in, almost at the same time you realized he was finally too tired to fight you back on this, he sighed loudly.

“Bathroom. Third drawer to the left.”

You huffed and started walking past him. “Thank you. Was that so difficult?”

“You’re a real pain in my ass, you know that?”

“Another weird way of saying thank you…” you trailed off as you grabbed a washcloth and soaked it with lukewarm water.

“You never listen to anything I…say…” Frank’s arguing ceased as you pressed the washcloth to his forehead, and he just about melted in your hands. “Fuck…”

“Feels nice, huh?” you smiled a little, feeling that familiar warmth you always got when you got to take care of people. Or Frank, specifically. You weren’t sure when that feeling had tailored to him exclusively.

“Yeah, yeah…” his eyes drooped shut and he leaned against the towel, the edge of his cheek sinking into your palm. With your other hand, you brushed some of his sweaty hair away from his forehead. He hummed lowly, shamelessly reaching for your hand and pressing it back to his face. Your eyebrows shot up at the show of affection, a thing he rarely gave out.

It must be the fever.

“I’m gonna make you some soup, okay?”

“No,” he groaned. “Head hurts. Just…just stay here. Need the towel.”

“You also need to eat.”

“Will you just listen to me?”

You rolled your eyes, using your index finger to tuck some hair behind his ear. “For a few more minutes.”

In the end, it didn’t matter. He fell asleep within moments.

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle x oc #frank castle x female reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader #marvel

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rose-tea-and-strawberries · 8 months ago

Text

🎀💗 Birthday Kisses With Ace and Deuce 💗🎀

Since it’s my birthday (again) I thought I’d give myself a little treat

Reader is written as female

Masterlist

ACE TRAPPOLA

If there’s one thing you know about Ace was that he loved affection - kisses, cuddles, you name it. As much as he loved to play up the PDA to feed his ever growing ego, get a rise out of everyone in his vicinity, and get gifted your flustered expression, he truly did love smooching you until the both of you were left breathless, if the way he would smile into every kiss was any indication, or the delirious joy that would spread across his reddened face.

And it wasn’t like you were against his insatiable need for affection, if anything you enabled and emboldened him. If your heads weren’t resting on each other’s shoulders, or his arm isn’t fused around your waist, then you were the one reaching out for his hand, or pulling him in by his collar or tie, or sending him flying kisses or finger hearts whenever your eyes would meet.

The only ‘problem’, so to speak, was that Ace far preferred to give affection rather than receive it and if there was one way to describe Ace’s love it was ‘overflowing’. If you pecked his cheek or forehead or gave him a hurried kiss on his lips, or even just throw your arms around him with words of praise, he’ll instantly wrap his fingers around your wrist, pull you towards him, and cradle your face in his hands before taking your breath away and making you see stars, not caring (or perhaps even because) of the crowd around. Countless times the pair of you have been chided by Coach Vargas for your boyfriend’s late arrival for practice or interschool match whilst the rest of the team would either roll their eyes or send teasing smirks in your direction as you’d hurriedly smooth down your hair or arrange your askew clothes (meanwhile, Ace would make no indication of even thinking of doing the same as he’d stroll into the gymnasium with that lopsided grin).

So knowing that, you weren’t the least bit surprised to find yourself being on the receiving end of an onslaught the first thing on the morning of your birthday. For a boy like Ace, whose daily kiss count is somewhere around a hundred, the idea of not giving you kisses on such an occasion was blasphemy.

“You-you know,” you managed to gasp out between the split second it took for the redhead to move from your lips to your jawline, switching between slow and tender kisses and a flurry of pecks peppering down your neck, “birthday kisses are really only supposed to-”

You cut yourself off with a keen when you feel teeth lightly graze the junction between your neck and shoulder.

“Psh, only-shmonly,” Ace scoffs after his mouth leaves your skin with a smack, “when have I ever been the one to do things the way they’re supposed to be done. No way am I limiting myself.”

And he goes back to your mouth, kissing you harshly and desperately but still managing to seep in that gentle care you’ve always felt in his embrace. Against your own judgement, your hands find purchase in ginger locks pressing him closer.

Normally, you’d be fine having a make out session but your current position, with you straddling him on the living room sofa of your dilapidated dormitory, one of his hands around your waist to keep you steady, where just about anyone could walk in and see, wasn’t exactly ideal. The ghosts were busy playing their card game in the kitchen, though it was an open secret that they were very much aware of what inevitably happens every time Ace comes makes a visit and Grim could only be distracted with extra servings of breakfast tuna for so long, especially since his clinginess and need for affection and instant gratification was the only one that could rival Ace’s - those two certainly give each other a run for each other’s money and you loved both of them very much.

Once the unfortunate need for oxygen makes you pull away, he is quick to cup your face in his palms and through the hazy vision past your eyelashes, all you could sense was a blur before you were pulled down and felt his mouth pressing against your cheeks, your forehead, your neck, any sliver of uncovered skin he could reach. Fireworks crackled beneath your skin as you panted, red hair tickling under your chin as Ace did nothing to soothe the frantic beating of your heart. You could feel his lips curling upwards at the space between your collarbones, an arm tightening around your waist, as he looks up at you.

“Say, babe?” he sings, a devilish smile betraying the oh-so-innocent lilt of his voice, “what do you say to getting a hickey as your first present of the day.”

Despite the euphoric fog clouding your head, you managed to weakly smack him on the shoulder, “Ace! Don’t you dare!”

“Kidding, kidding,” he chuckles and hugs you, pulling you downwards and sideways so that he was now spooning you on the couch, your back against his chest and his arms wrapped around you, all nice and snug. With his lips to your ear, he whispers, “Happy birthday, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You snuggle back against him, “Thank you, Ace. You sure know how to make me feel special.”

Without a word of warning, you found yourself being unceremoniously turned on you back, and Ace was on his knees, holding himself above you, his hands on either side of your head.

“Ace! What-”

“I want to show just how special you are,” he smirks, a hand trailing down the collar of your blouse and stopping right at the first buttoned-up button, fingers twiddling with the smooth, round plastic, “is that alright, sweetheart?”

DEUCE SPADE

“Happy birthday!” The first thing that greeted you when you opened the door of your dormitory was a bouquet of fresh purple roses, baby breath and caspia, all wrapped up in baby pink and lilac tissue paper and tied together with a delicate blush pink ribbon.

You blinked at the flowers being thrusted into your face before you smiled at the red faced boy holding them, “thank you, Deuce. Would you like to come in?”

Once you’ve taken the bouquet from him, you step aside, letting him enter.

“Do you like them?” he blurts out, rubbing the back of his neck, “I thought I’d get you some flowers since it’s your birthday and all - not that these flowers are your gift or anything. I did get you an actual gift and not just something that would die in like a week. I wrapped it and everything only it doesn’t really look that nice since I’ve never really wrapped a present or anything so I’m really sorry and I don’t even know if you like what I got you so-”

“Deuce,” you say gently, placing a hand on his shoulder, “I love the flowers and I’m sure I’ll love what you’ve gotten for me. Honestly, the best present you can give me is staying here by my side.”

He sputters and coughs before clearing his throat, “well, I don’t plan on doing anything else.”

After unhooking his back from his shoulder, he took out a small box and handed it to you with a shy smile, his head bent so that his fringe shadowed his eyes, as he meekly said, “here you go.”

Taking it from him, you inspected the packaging. You could see where he was coming from since the clumsily taped on baby chick patterned wrapping paper was far from what most people would call ‘neat’. It was messy and unorganised, with rips and creases and too much cellotape covering it, but it was so quintessentially Deuce you couldn’t help but swoon. Affection bubbled up within you at the thought of Deuce trying his hardest to wrap this, the image of his adorably frustrated face with his furrowed eyebrows and wide, confused doe eyes being brought to the front of your mind. You knew that if you laughed, he would’ve taken your endearment as something to be embarrassed about so you forced yourself to keep silent.

You did away with the covering to find yourself holding a sleek black cardboard box. Opening it up, you found a block of foam inside with a pretty little obsidian coloured, spade shaped metal pendant sitting inside.

“Oh, Deuce,” you gasp, turning to look at him in adoration, “it’s-it’s gorgeous. I love it.”

“Really?”

“Truly,” you carefully pull on the pendant, letting the thin silver necklace it’s attached to cascade below it, and gently place the box down, “would you put it on for me, please?”

He gulped, “s-sure.”

With shaking hands, he takes the necklace from you and you turn around, swiping your hair to the side with a swish of your hand to give him more access. Behind you, you hear the telltale click of a clasp before you feel a thin strand of cold metal rest against your nape. You were about to turn back around but before you could move, strong arms circle around your waist, sturdy enough to hold you in place but loose enough to give you wiggle room, and pull you against him and soft lips press against the back of your neck. Slow and tenderly, his mouth lingered before it pulled away.

You spun around and wrapped your own arms around his neck before drawing him into a kiss of your own. He takes a few steps forwards and pushes you backwards so your spine meets the hard wood of your front door, and instead of feeling pain, all you could focus on was the way his lips moved against yours, at how perfectly the two of you slotted against each other like jigsaw pieces that were made only to complement each other.

Deuce naturally ran warm but now his calloused hands were burning, leaving sparks in their wake. His mouth finds its home along your neck and your fingers play with the navy strands at his nape.

“So beautiful,” he whispers against you, “I love you so much. It scares me sometimes - just how amazing you are. I’m worried that when I’m with you I will start to believe I'm greater than I actually am.”

“Don’t be silly, Deuce,” you reply, “you’re so strong and brave and brilliant. You’re so much smarter than you think you are and are so much better than you give yourself credit for. All of your achievements are your own. A result of your own hard work. And there'll never be a day when I’m not proud of you.”

“Hey,” he looks at you with almost glowing eyes and gives you a faux-annoyed look, only it doesn’t sell when paired with the redness that has spread across his cheeks, “today is supposed to be about you. It’s your birthday.”

“Exactly, it’s my birthday. And if I want to spend it praising my handsome boyfriend then I should be allowed to do so.”

He huffs, but it’s obviously for show, and leans in to claim your lips yet again.

“Thank you so much for being born,” he says once he parts away, “you’ve made my life so much brighter and you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I promise to make you happy for as long as I live.”

#twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #deuce spade x reader #ace trappola x reader #fem reader

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vivwritesfics · 5 months ago

Note

Requesting either combo Landoscar x male!reader or separately x male!reader pretty please (whatever floats your boat in terms of story, I love your writing style)

I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!! i've actually been thinking about this for the longest time, but every time i sit down to write i forget about it lmao. I used to write male reader all the time and I've missed tf out of it

It was an unprecedented situation, they found themselves in. Drivers being together wasn't. Look at Nico and Lewis, look at Max and Daniel, look at Max and Charles, look at Max and...

Teammates spent so much time together, it was expected that they were to fall into bed together. But this was new. Nobody really knew what to do with this.

Lando and Oscar stood outside of Zac's office, both of them leaning against the wall behind them. Lando had his hands folded over his chest and Oscar's hands were in his pockets. Neither of them touching, but the team knew exactly what was going on with the two of them.

But they didn't know about the man in the office.

No, not Zac (I might throw up at that lmao). The ex Formula Two champion stood in Zac's office, going over his requirements as a reserve driver.

"When do I get to drive?" He asked.

Zac laughed. "If one of those two breaks their legs or something, you can drive," he said.

A grin crossed his face. "I can make that happen."

They discussed when he'd be put into the car for practice sessions and things like that. His media duties with Lando and Oscar and more. They never crossed into the topic of his relationship with the drivers, not yet, anyway. That was a meeting to have with all three of them.

When he walked out of the office, Lando and Oscar straightened up. "So?" Oscar asked as he and Lando walked towards him.

He shrugged, but then a grin crossed his face. "Zac said I can drive if I break one of your arms," he said. "Who wants to go first?"

Lando threw his arms around his shoulders and dragged him away from the office, down the stairs in the MTC. "You're a little shit," he said through a laugh as the three of them made their way outside, to their cars.

"No more than you!" Oscar called as he jumped in. He grabbed him, pulled him away from Lando and into him. His lips met the top of his head as he fished the keys from his pockets.

Lando and Oscar had shown up in their expensive cars that couldn't hold more than two people. Now, that wouldn't do. But it was fine, because he had his shitty little ford fiesta that he loved more than anything in the world.

"I'm driving," Lando said, raising his hand for Oscar to throw him the keys.

"The fuck you are," he replied, catching the keys before Lando could. "It's my car."

Ever since he'd met the two drivers, he'd wanted a truck, one with a bench seat so that they could all sit in the front. Lando climbed into the passenger seat and Oscar climbed into the back. Lando reached forward to touch the radio, but he playfully slapped his hand away as he pulled away from the MTC.

"We're in my car, we listen to my music," he said as he pulled onto Guildford road and headed towards Woking. "What're we thinking for lunch?"

"Waitrose sandwiches?" Lando offered.

"Waitrose sandwiches," Oscar agreed.

The boys got themselves Waitrose sandwiches and got back into the car. They knew a dinner between the three of them would have looked weird, them crowding around a table, trying to eat. (Well, it wouldn't have looked weird, but there was a certain amount of paranoia that came with the three of them being together).

It wasn't romantic, the three of them sat in an empty car park as they ate their sandwiches. The moment Oscar opened his tuna sandwich, Lando let out a groan and scrambled to wind down the window.

"Want some?" He offered Lando. Lando leaned forward and bit into his sandwich, tearing off a corner of it. He hummed as he ate and offered him some of his own sandwich.

Oscar tried to do the same, but the moment he thrust his sandwich forward, Lando pushed open the door to the car and let out a retching noise, pretending to throw up.

"I don't think he's gonna kiss you after this, Osc," he mumbled through a laugh as he dug into his own food.

"Damn fucking right!" Lando shouted, sucking in deep gulps of fresh air, air that didn't smell like tuna.

Oscar rolled his eyes but leaned forward again. As soon as he did, he was kissing him, looking at Lando. Lando who was too busy with his head out of the window to watch the show. "I don't think it's working, Osc," He said against his lips.

He mumbled a quiet fuck it and climbed his way into the back with Oscar. If they were gonna make Lando jealous enough to join them, they were going to do it right.

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twisted-gremlin · 7 months ago

Text

So uhhh

Twisted Wonderland Yandere Purge AU

The ideas here stem from @yanderemommabean and @blughxreader for the og creator and some excellent world biulding- so here I am- just adding this to a gay ass mobile game

Yan Twst students x Reader

Twisted Wonderland, is a... odd world. Filled with magic, odd creatures, and the sort. It's the perfect place for a loner nerd like yourself to be!

The school and the land in itself feels so nostalgic to you. Things that you learn about each town, city, and country, just make all sorts of sence to you.

Then... you got 22 red letters. Grabbing one at random you open it to read the contents of what's inside.

Dear Shrimpy♡

Here we have this thing called the Purge. It's comes from the rose place, so we also do it here since teens tend to often get someone they adore so much that they just rip out the troats of whoever they talk to♡

Whops~ I said the quiet part out loud~

Do wait nicely for me when the day comes, it be soon♡ I can't wait to squeeze you tightly and keep you close forever♡

Love,

Your favorite Eel♡

Ok- the purge. In this fuckin Disney ass world?- do they even own that- I guess they own half of all media so MAYBE- (nope, it's own by Universal)

Opening the other letters there was more talking about this purge, and how that they are going to keep you here forever and keep you safe.

What the fuck?-

Grim was in the corner happily snacking on 22 tuna cans.

"Grim"

"What is it henchman, can't you see I'm haveibg the feast if a lifetime!"

"Uh-huh- and- do tell me- who gave you all that tuna?"

"You know- all the guys that we helped out and kicked the asses of"

"..."

"Yeah- along with Ace and Deuce. They seemed to be getting along- witch was odd'

"Crap they are teaming up- oh no- that means-" others are probably teaming up too-

Not good not good-

Let's see here so it's people that I know-

We have Floyd as 'your favorite Eel' and he called me Shrimpy so obvious giveaway-

Fuck Tsunataro also signed it in his Nickname and called me child of man. He dosent know much about this, so thar could be either safe or very dangerous

Two your queens- oddly enough- but probably Vil and Riddle

One that called me Waifu/Husabando/Spouseu signed by Gloomurai

A big sis/bro/sib from someone, seemingly young so maybe ortho- witch isn't at all good

Two knights, one calling me their dream

One written in shakespirian for whatever reason

... I just realized this one has feathers and a shit ton of money in it and called me their jewl

One of the more scaryer ones just says I'm comeing, dont fight it

And more oddities.

Well, might aswell use that cash that, maybe Kalim? Sent me to get some defense. Or maybe bribe Azul- scraych that, Floyd and Jade are after me.

I don't want to hide in town and get them hurt...

Oh what to do- what to do-

Knock

"Child of man?"

#twisted wonderland #twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere purge #yandere purge au

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jesswritesthat · 4 months ago

Note

Hi!!! I just read your poly Iwaoi (and will slowly make my way through the rest of the writing hehe) and was wondering if you could write poly SakuAtsu???

If not I will take absolutely anything for Semi Semi or Tendo <333

Thank you if you end up writing this <3

Oh my gosh yes! I definitely want to write more for Semi and Tendō, but first I have what you requested.

Hope you enjoy!

>>>>——————————>

Being in a Poly-relationship with Miya Atsumu and Sakusa Kiyoomi would include:

• Atsumu will wind Sakusa up constantly, the amount of sponges Miya has taken to his face is surprisingly high - especially when he feigns biting something or smearing dirt somewhere.

• Sakusa gets his own back however, when you come to one of their training sessions and hold your palms up for a high-10 he will hesitate but give you one with a smile. Atsumu will do the same and Kiyoomi will look at his hands with disgust and walk away.

“Wha— but you gave (N/n) a high-10!”

“I love them.”

“Excuse me?!”

• There is always something interesting going on, Atsumu will come home with a random story, Sakusa adding a tale of horror to the mix, and you’ll tell them about your day. Communication is so good, even if it took more time, Kiyoomi feels comfortable opening up to you both now.

• You each take turns in cooking when you can or sometimes you’d do it together. Sakusa cleans as he goes and leaves the kitchen area spotless - then there’s Atsumu who manages something.

“This is really nice Atsumu, thank you!”

“Yeah, give our regards to Osamu will you?” Sakusa comments, always blunt.

“Hey?! I cooked this, what made ya think it was ‘Samus huh?” Unfortunately you know he’s lying but you chose to ignore it momentarily…

“Because at this rate, I know his cooking better than I do yours.” Sakusa highlighted with a cocky smirk, yourself following up.

“Plus uh, the delivery wasn’t exactly discrete…”

• Jealousy? Atsumu certainly shows it more and is by either if your sides demanding space if you or Sakusa look uncomfortable. If it’s you, while Atsumu is intervening, Kiyoomi sneaks you away and poor Miya turns around to emptiness after expecting praise. It’s so cute.

Sakusa on the other hand sort of unnerves others with his silent glare and disgusted presence alone. Yourself and Atsumu find it amusing in all honesty.

• Everyone always jokes about how you and Sakusa manage to put up with Atsumu and your partners’ responses kill you every time.

“It’d be more trouble to get rid of him.”

“Kiyoomi.”

“Why? Do you want him?”

“Kiyoomi!”

• Atsumu gets overwhelmed with emotion whenever either you or Kiyoomi doing anything remotely romantic/kind for him. Like you’ll buy him flowers or team up to make fatty tuna and he has tears in his eyes making up a lie about hayfever.

• Sakusa expresses his love very much by acts of service, the place is usually spotless and if you mention anything you need it’s there the next day. Atsumu however is very vocal about his love for you both, saying mushy stuff all the time if you catch him in one of those moods. However it’s really nice to spend quality time together.

• You are also victim of whatever diets they are assigned during volleyball season, and they always get a bit pouty if you eat something they can’t in front of them. Atsumu is more susceptible to teasing than Sakusa, he sticks to his diet without complaint.

• If you ever watch a series together due to varying tastes, Atsumu has a habit of commenting throughout the film - Kiyoomi humming along as the two of you engage in deep conversation about some nonsensical scene.

• Involved in such chaos is also the mini completions yourself and Atsumu have that involve getting Sakusa flustered. Pick up lines. Yes you’ll agree with Kiyoomi that it’s stupid, but it is fun.

“Oh oh Omi-Omi, are ya a hitter? Because I can set ya up~” Atsumu started, leaning to the left of Sakusa while he cleaned his trainers.

“Idiot.”

“Kiyoomi, if I serve you my heart will you receive it?” You slid to the right of the ravenette.

“Yes (Y/n) but why are you—“

“Are yer a volleyball? Because I’d hit that~” Atsumu smirked with a wink, yourself following up.

“Oh you play volleyball? Let me grab my kneepads so I can slide into your DMs gorgeous~”

Immediately Kiyoomi became flustered and covered his face.

“Yes I win! Take that Atsumu!”

“Nah that was a fluke!”

“Oh you’re definitely a setter, we both know you’re good with your hands~” Came your lowered voice, both men flustering now.

“I— shit (Y/n)— yeah, you win…”

• If you feel upset or saddened, these two are a dynamic duo - Atsumu has instantly enveloped you in his arms with either soothing words or threats to the world, meanwhile Sakusa has equipped himself with blankets and snacks to cheer you up. Even their cute bickering over you makes you smile and you can’t help but hug them both.

• Sick? Oh Sakusa never gets sick but if you or Miya come down with a cold, he is ON IT. You’re scolded for you idiocy and told to stay away from him but he is the most attentive doctor whilst you two are confined to a bed. Medication? Check. Home remedy? Covered. Healthy food? Duh.

Atsumu is needy but more grateful for your cuddles and kisses during this ‘tough time’. You and Kiyoomi are rolling your eyes at his dramatics.

• Sakusa particularly finds comfort in cleaning day, it’s one regularly reserved for a deep clean and because you see how content Sakusa is, you join in. Well Atsumu takes convincing but that’s easily done with food or kisses.

• As proud members of the MSBY Black Jackal volleyball team, it means you get VIP tickets to every one of their games. (Atsumu and Kiyoomi secretly compete for who gets to give them to you but shhh).

• They also get a bit competitive about whose number you’ll wear for each game, as naturally you have merch for both of them but mainly MSBY in general. They basically died when you wore Hinatas number one time.

“Look I’m just going to wear my MSBY jersey, with my name on it.”

“But (N/n)—“

“No, I like it. It’s the first one you both got me so it’s important.” You’d kept it all this time, the pair blushing slightly with Kiyoomi replying to you.

“That’s fair, we appreciate the support regardless of what you wear.”

“Well I mean…”

“Atsumu.”

• They have a tradition where they both come to the railing to greet / hug you after their games and they’ve done so with their team. Atsumu practically fell over it once but you caught him and he played it off - Kiyoomi still rips him for it.

• They’re both extremely aporecitive of your support with their volleyball careers, especially considering they’re off travelling for matches. They bring back souvenirs or snacks, with Atsumus’ being more random whilst Kiyoomis’ gifts are more thoughtful. At least with the Olympics you were able to come with them for part of the trip and they were determined to show you everything.

• Overall, it’s wholesome chaos - you have your disagreements but manage to make up and compromise (some with more persuasion than others) but you each love each other too much to care.

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

#sakusa kiyoomi x reader #miya atsumu x reader #sakusa x atsumu #sakuatsu #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu headcanons #anime x reader #anime imagine #anime headcanons #sakusa fluff #sakusa kiyoomi headcanons #atsumu headcanons #atsumu fluff #miya atsumu headcanons #haikyuu imagines

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circyexistforcontent · 2 years ago

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My overworld team is Diluc, Kaeya, Venti, and Zhongli. I love all of them equally, but as a tiny goldfish player, my primogems are limited. Still, I bought Diluc his Red Dead Night skin (he's carrying the giant tuna but I swear he'll get Wolf's Gravestone the instant it comes home) and both Kaeya and Zhongli have the BP weapons. And my beloved.... DPS Venti with R5 Stringless but 35k tap e. This team is a full DPS team,,, ehe?

TEAM COMP: DILUC, KAEYA, VENTI, ZHONGLI

♥ Kaeya and Zhongli just stare at the person they don't like getting more attention from the Almighty God. Diluc is just blushing at the new outfit he got from you. You dressed him up like a doll, will he say anything against it? N o. Venti is frolicking around Monstadt as he flexes his artifacts and bow. Because of this, there is a lot of bad blood around the team since neither of them like the other. Kaeya and Venti as well as Diluc and Zhongli may tolerate one another, they still have their guard up.

♥ Diluc is flustered about his new clothing, you really went on your way to buy this for him? Very well, he will cherish this and do his best to maintain the cloth for as long as he exists. He gets frustrated whenever he gets hit by a charged arrow, inspecting his coat and tunic to check if it has left a burn mark or tear. Sighing in relief that there is no such thing. He ignores how Kaeya rolls his eyes or scoffs whenever Diluc combs his hair back into a neat ponytail. He needs to look his best for the Almighty God, he can't waste how much money you spent to make him look like this. When he's participating in challenges he makes sure to kill the enemy as swiftly as possible, he needs to prove his worth. He has to pay back the kindness that you've shown him!

♥ Kaeya likes his new sword, when he does his idle animations he realizes how light and sharp the BP sword is. But still, he hungers for more. He doesn't mind that you didn't give him a new fancy outfit (that's a lie he really wants a new fancy outfit-) but if you focus more on the other team members he would turn salty and snarky towards them. It's a challenge since he is only a 4-star character and the rest are 5 stars, but does that really matter? Honestly, he never understood why vision holders are ranked. Everyone has just as much potential to overpower one another. And he is willing to prove that.

♥ Venti is so smug. Everyone! Move out of the way, the favorite has arrived. He doesn't outright say it but he makes sure everyone knows just how insignificant they are compared to him. Zhongli was tempted on multiple occasions to squish the green bard with a meteor if he doesn't learn to shut the fuck up. But he couldn't, even if he wanted to because of ✨Game mechanics✨. Venti does his best to prove just how great of a DPS he is, killing opponents with one charged arrow and forcing his HP to be high. He is the most envied teammate (what a surprise) and he loves it. He revels in their jealousy with a smile on his face. He doesn't care if Diluc has a shiny new outfit, it's not like his looks will be useful in challenges.

♥ Zhongli is just sitting over there, holding back the jealousy that threatens to spill over. He adores the spear you handed him, and he makes sure to polish it every day so it still shines as bright as the first time you gave it to him. He's ashamed to say that...he is jealous., of Venti. He does appreciate all that you do him, but...why not him? He knows he shouldn't be questioning your actions but he can't help but wonder about the possibility that it was him that you chose as your main DPS.

♥ Arguments are frequent, but the fights aren't physical. Venti would commonly be drunk which makes him easily irritable and as a result, would commonly start verbal fights with the other team members. Kaeya and Diluc have a little contest going on to see who would do more damage than the other. And Zhongli is just there sighing at his team's immaturity. But deep down Zhongli knows he's just as immature as all of them when it comes to your attention.

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a-leg-without-fear · 3 months ago

Text

No Fucking Way (pt.2)

and here's part two!!! thank you all SO MUCH for the support you've shown my writing. giving @sukinix a tag because they asked to be notified when this drops. love y'all!!

Ship: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader 🩸

Rating: 13+

Wordcount: 6.8k

Warnings: cursing, PTSD struggles, panic attack mention, and even more adorableness

Series: No Fucking Way

“I want you to name him,” you repeated. Logan stepped a pace away from you, hands raising in surrender.

“No. No fucking way,” he said. You flicked water at him as you finished rinsing off the soapy kitten below you. Logan scoffed at your reaction, moving around you to sit on the lip of the tub, “I ain’t naming a cat that’s not mine.”

“Who’s to say the cat isn’t yours?” you teased. You reached behind you and grabbed a fluffy, green towel from a hook screwed into the wall. Drying your hands, you turned off the faucet and inspected your work on the absolutely drenched kitten huddled in the sink. Blue eyes still squinted, large ears pointing straight up, gray and white fur plastered in one smooth ball around its little body.

“I say it’s not. I don’t want a cat,” Logan said. You gave him a look that said sure you don’t over your shoulder as you scooped the cat in the towel. The little purr factory was sure to bore holes in the towel with the strength of the buzzing. It nuzzled its little head against the towel in an attempt to get water out of its ears.

“Even one as cute as this fluffy guy?” you asked, attempting to reason with the forever-grumpy man sitting on the tub. He ran his fingers through his ruffled hair then placed both hands on his knees.

“How can I tell if he’s fluffy? He’s fucking soaked, doll,” Logan replied.

You sighed, eyes rolling up to the white ceiling. Sure, you loved Logan. You loved him more than life itself. But Christ could he get on your nerves.

“Your understanding of physics never ceases to amaze me, darling,” you said in a singsong manner. A humorless laugh barked from Logan’s chest. The cat looked over to him, eyes widening slightly at the sudden noise, ears perked forward.

“What’re you lookin’ at, cat?” Logan asked. His question was answered with a small “mrraow?” from the now mostly damp kitten. He scoffed at the small creature, “Now it’s sassing me.”

“He’ll sass you less if you give him a name,” you said. A rough grumble echoed in the tub as Logan stood. Boots clacked across the tiled floor as he moved to stand next to you again.

“Alright, you know what? You said he’s fluffy, so that’s his name. Floof,” Logan said. You arched an eyebrow at him, the kitten looking up at him with narrowed eyes.

“...Floof? Really?” you asked. Logan huffed and threw his hands up in frustration.

“You don’t like the name, change it!”

“No, no. I like it. Just didn’t expect that to come from you,” you said, giggles building in your chest.

Logan glared at you, grumbled “whatever,” then stormed out of the bathroom. The kitten, or Floof, watched him leave. His gray and white fur was getting more fluffy the more you dried him with the towel. You assessed the cat in your hands.

“Floof. Yeah, I like it. How about you?” you asked. Blue eyes blinked up at you.

“Maaoww.”

“Good.”

~~~~1 week later~~~~

It was no surprise that Floof became the favorite among students. Whenever the kitten walked into a room, the children would immediately flock to the furball and give it so much love, the professors started complaining about lack of focus within the student body.

Cat trees and scratching posts were a permanent fixture in nearly every room, felt obstacle courses adorned some of the common areas’ walls, there were even pots of cat grass growing in Charles’s study. Floof was free to wander into any part of the mansion, so the students had adapted to looking at the floor whenever they walked to and from class, not wanting to step on the six-week-old kitten.

The only person throughout the entire mansion who hadn’t taken a shine to the newest member was Logan. Of course it was. Mr.Grouchy hated fun, as you knew.

It didn’t help matters that whenever he would style his hair, you would compare his hair tufts to Floof’s ears. You even went so far as to take pictures of both Logan and Floof, without Logan knowing, and edited them to be side by side so you could show Logan the likeness. That had earned you an irritated “they’re not cat ears!” and the cold shoulder for a few hours.

“You look like his dad, Lo,” you said through a fit of giggles. Logan sat in one of the leather armchairs of this particular sitting room. Lit cigar clutched in his left hand, right hand raised to push away Floof should the cat get too close, ankle crossed over his thigh.

“I’m not his fucking dad. I don’t have a cat,” Logan groused, scooping up Floof by the stomach from the armrest and placing the kitten back on the floor. The movement was met with an indignant “mooaaoow!”

“Uh huh. Yes dear,” you replied. You sat across from Logan, and the rather persistent cat, on the green-clothed couch. Shelves with a smattering of books lined the walls not overtaken by huge, bay windows. Streams of midday sun lit up the room. The only other person in this common area was Via, a pink sweater-wearing mutant with telekinesis and telepathy. She sat on one of the benches affixed to the bay windows.

“Don’t ‘yes dear’ me,” Logan said. He lifted the cigar to his mouth and took a puff. Smoke curled around his head like a gray halo dispersed in the sun’s rays.

The bell around Floof’s neck jingled as the cat jumped onto the armrest again. Tiny, gray paws patted on Logan’s elbow. Logan huffed, grabbing the cat around the middle and setting him back on the floor. You watched the two over the mug you held in your hands.

“Cats are more attracted to people who don’t like them,” you mused, taking a sip of your coffee. Logan grunted in response. He pulled on the blue flannel he wore over his tank top. Floof paced back and forth by Logan’s foot.

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” Logan asked. He gently tapped Floof with the toe of his boot to push the cat further away. Another “maow!” met the action.

“Letting them make the first move instead of forcing affection makes them feel independent,” you explained. The gray fluffball sat in front of Logan, tail wrapped around its feet, and stared up at him. Logan glanced between you and Floof, a frown set deep in his face.

“But he likes the kids, and they’re grabbing at him all the time,” he argued. You snorted a laugh at Logan trying to reason with you. You set your mug down on its coaster and leaned forward, elbows resting on your knees.

“He’s a strange one. Maybe that’s why he likes you so much. You’re exactly alike,” you said, a mischievous smile growing across your lips. Logan took another drag from his cigar.

“We’re not exactly alike,” he said, blowing out a stream of smoke.

You glanced up at the pointed hairstyle that Logan wore everyday. Two, dark, styled points on the sides of his head that faded into sideburns on his cheeks. You looked back down at Floof. His ears twitched as he took in the sounds all over the mansion. Two points on the sides of his head. You met Logan’s eyes again, leaning back and crossing your arms.

“Then explain the cat ears, Lo.”

“Stop it with the fucking cat ears!”

~~~~1 month later~~~

For some reason, the beginnings of a presidential election were taking place. Posters were hung on the walls all over the mansion, buttons had been made, flyers handed out, speeches given. Debates were even being held between students on the candidates.

Well, candidate. Singular. There was only one creature running for office.

Floof.

Started by Crys, a blonde with super strength, and Eclipse, a green jacket-wearing girl who could block other mutant’s powers, the presidential campaign for Mr.Floofen von Floofypants was all the students could talk about. It didn’t help matters that Jean and Storm were working on ballots to be used for the upcoming election.

“All this for a cat is a little ridiculous, don’t you think?” Logan called down from his place on the steel ladder. He reached down and grabbed another thumbtack from your outstretched hand, “I mean, he’s not even the legal age to run.”

You and Logan were working on hanging streamers along the foyer ceiling. It was a day before the “election,” and most of the common areas had been decorated like they were taken from an American Dream magazine. Balloons, big banners saying “FLOOF,” party hats, and posters all bearing the red, white, and blue. It had definitely taken some convincing of Charles. Getting the Brit to yankee-fy his home was like getting Logan to let Floof in his lap.

“You’re Canadian. How do you know U.S. election law?” you asked. That earned a huff from Logan as he stuck the thumbtack through the blue streamer in his hands.

“I’ve been living in America longer than I did in Canada, doll. I’m practically a citizen,” he replied. He pushed on the thumbtack to ensure it was secure, then reached down for another. Floof, the electoral candidate himself, rubbed on your calf.

“Did you take the test?” you asked jokingly. Logan took the thumbtack from you, cocking an eyebrow at your question.

“What kinda test?” he responded. You breathed a laugh. Floof started pawing at your pant leg. You took the hint, scooping the kitten around the middle and holding him to your chest.

“The test to become a citizen,” you said. Logan rolled his eyes as he stuck the thumbtack through the streamer.

“Fuck no. Did the cat take the test?”

“He was born on US soil. He doesn’t need to,” you answered. The cat in question rubbed its chin on your fingers scratching at its neck. Vigorous purrs vibrated against your chest.

“I think he should take it if he wants to be president,” Logan said. You shifted your fingers to scratch at Floof’s pointed ears.

“And what exactly would be on a cat’s U.S. citizenship test?” you asked, laughing at the absurdity of this conversation. Logan grabbed another thumbtack.

“English comprehension, for one,” he said easily. You snorted, the noise disturbing the buzzing kitten in your arms. Floof looked up at you through squinted, blue eyes.

“Maow?”

“I think he comprehends English just fine,” you said, resuming your calming strokes on the kitten’s fluffy body. It seemed your disturbance was forgiven, the purrs resuming their intensity. Logan sighed.

“Is that so? Why don’t you ask him about his policies?” he suggested. The rest of the streamer was out of arm’s reach from his current position. He started climbing down the ladder, boots clanging on the metal rungs.

“That’ll have to wait for the debate tonight,” you said. Logan grabbed the ladder and moved a few feet towards the other end of the foyer. You shadowed behind him, both Floof and the box of thumbtacks in your arms.

“Who the fuck is debating against the cat?” Logan asked as he set the ladder down. You set Floof back on the floor to continue handing Logan thumbtacks from their plastic box. An annoyed trill came from the gray fuzzball.

“You are, Lo, if you keep it up,” you said. Logan glared at you, then climbed back up the ladder. He grabbed the limp, blue streamer and held it against the ceiling, reaching down for a thumbtack. You placed the brass pin in his palm, “Just imagine, two cats debating each other on their ideas of the flow of commerce. I’m sure it would be absolutely riveting.”

“I’m not a- you know what? I’m not gonna respond to that anymore. You clearly enjoy annoying me too much,” Logan grumbled. A wide, evil grin overtook your relaxed smile.

“Took you long enough,” Storm said from behind you. The white-haired, brown-eyed woman stepped up next to you, her arms folded across her blue blouse. You met her amused smirk, then you both looked back up to Logan above you, “We’ve been waiting for you to give in since the beginning.”

“Beating a man into submission. How forward-thinking of you,” Logan said snarkily. Floof trotted over to the ladder and sat beneath where Logan stood. The kitten’s tail flicked back and forth along the wooden floor.

“Not so much ‘beating’ as getting you to see sense,” Storm replied. You snickered, digging in the box for another thumbtack, as Logan used his freehand to show Storm his middle finger.

~~~2 months later~~~

“Why are you feeding him that shit? It’ll make his fur all shaggy,” Logan called from his place at the breakfast table. Snow frosted on the window behind him, flakes steadily falling and glowing orange in the setting sun.

A collection of snowmen sat on the fish pond’s bank. The little sculptures were a variety of shapes and sizes. Some being your stereotypical circular snowmen, others taking the shape of dragons or horses. The results of the art class you held outside yesterday.

“What do you mean?” Scott asked, red glasses looking between Logan and Floof’s food bowl. He wore a yellow, wool sweater and brown slacks that complimented his cropped dark hair. He held a bag of store-brand kibble above the empty bowl.

“That knockoff bullshit ain’t good for longhaired cats, genius,” Logan said. He was leaning on his elbow propped on the oak breakfast table. That morning’s paper sat ignored next to his third coffee of the day.

You sat across from him with Floof in your lap. One hand used to stroke along the steadily growing kitten, the other grading essays on Leonardo DaVinci your students had written. Your own mug was filled with your favorite tea.

“Why do you know so much about cat food?” Scott retorted. He set the crinkling bag of kibble back on the blue-tiled counter and faced Logan, hands finding their usual place on his hips.

“Look, all I know is that when you feed him that shit, he needs way more brushing than usual,” Logan explained, gesturing to the purring, gray fuzzball in your lap. Floof blinked slowly at Logan from across the table. You rested your chin in the hand you were petting Floof with, using your fingers to hide your growing smile.

“Well, it’s not like you’re the one doing the brushing,” Scott said indicatively.

A few moments of silence filled the kitchen. The cuckoo clock hung above the sink ticked the seconds away. You looked at Logan with a knowing grin. Scott’s incredulous frown morphed into an ecstatic smile.

“Holy shit, you do brush him!” he exclaimed.

“Vampire’s usually busy with class!” Logan replied quickly, voice coming out frantic and desperate. You couldn’t hide the laughs that leaked through your fingers. Scott doubled over as he guffawed at Logan’s response.

“You-You brush the cat!” Scott wheezed, voice echoing from below the counter. Logan grumbled under his breath at both you and Scott, the two of you laughing like madmen. He grabbed the newspaper and opened it.

“Whatever,” he groused, pretending to ignore the cackles bouncing around him.

Floof took offense to your shaking chest and slipped off your lap. His bell jingled as he crossed under the table to Logan, finding the grumpy man to be a much better spot to curl up. Your and Scott’s snickers were given new life when Floof hopped up and into Logan’s lap. Peals of roaring laughter, especially from Scott, surrounded Logan.

“Fuck you. Both of you,” he said. A tiny, gray paw patted at the air by Logan’s neck. Logan sighed, lowering a hand to scritch under Floof’s chin, “I don’t get any respect around here. Do I, bub?”

~~~4 months later~~~

It was a complete shock to everyone, the day you found out that Floof was a mutant. The cat had been growing at a healthy rate. Food was readily supplied, a never ending stream of affection followed the cat like a shadow, and a large number of toys were spread throughout the mansion.

So when Floof had walked behind your chair leg and appeared next to Logan in the doorway, all hell broke loose.

Hank and Jean had run tests on Floof’s blood to see if they could find the presence of an active X-gene. Drawing his blood, under the very close watch of Logan, and running it through their typical series of tests that all turned up positive.

It was difficult for them to get any scans, x-ray or otherwise, of the cat as at the first clang or shudder of a machine, he’d appear upstairs or in the next room over.

“Damn thing just won’t stay still!” Hank exclaimed, blue fur frazzled and yellow eyes wide. His white lab coat was in a state of disarray you had never seen before. Jean sat on her office chair behind the lab’s computer. Her red hair was tied up in a loose bun, brown eyes scanning across the computer screen, lab coat perfect as always.

“You’re scaring him, asshole,” Logan said. He was leaning on a silver wall in the lab. Arms folded across his chest, leg crossed over the other, typical frown across his lips. This time, Floof had disappeared from being in the x-ray machine and appeared behind Logan’s legs. Logan stooped down to pick up the frightened cat.

“Then what do you suggest, o’ cat whisperer?” Hank asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. He rolled up his coat sleeves, white fabric bunching around his blue arms, as he reset the x-ray machine for the third time.

“I could sit in the machine with him,” you suggested. Both Hank and Logan’s gaze fell to you. You sat across the desk from Jean. You had been watching the whole exchange with a great deal of amusement. Hank sighed, lifting his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe, it’ll work,” he said. He replaced his glasses and gestured to Logan, “Lord knows this one’ll throw off the readings too much.”

Logan glared at Hank, hands buried in Floof’s long, gray fur. You stood from your chair and circled around the x-ray machine to Logan.

When you were met with hesitation from your partner, you paused. Logan’s dark brows were knit together, frown deepening across his lips, arms holding Floof tighter to his chest. You placed your hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, he’ll be ok. It’s just some scans. And I’ll be right there with him,” you soothed. Logan puffed a gust of air from his scowl, the action rustling the fur on Floof’s head. The cat looked up at Logan with wide, blue eyes.

“I’ll make sure they’re quick,” Jean called from where she sat. You used the hand on Logan’s shoulder to massage soothing circles into the muscle.

Logan sighed, posture drooping, as he said, “Fine. But if he teleports one more time, that’s it. No more for today.”

“Of course, Lo,” you said. You gave him a reassuring smile. You knew all these tests were getting to him. Watching Floof get stressed over the large machinery and sharp needles reminded Logan too much of his past. Well, the parts he could remember.

You tucked your hands between Floof and Logan, fingers running across long fur and flannel alike, and you pulled Floof against your chest. The usual intense purring that would buzz from Floof’s abdomen was nonexistent. You smiled again at Logan, who returned a smirk that didn’t meet his eyes, then turned to Hank.

“I’ll need you to lay down on the table. The cat, or… Floof, will sit in your lap. You’ll have to be very still, or you’ll throw off the scans,” Hank instructed. You nodded in response, approaching the x-ray machine. As you sat on the metal table you could feel Floof’s heartbeat speed up.

“Shhh, baby. It’s alright,” you cooed, lips pressed into the short hairs on top of Floof’s head. Floof rubbed his head against your chin. A small “mrraow” accompanied a few licks on your neck.

You felt every single eye in the room on you, especially Logan’s, as you laid down on the table. Floof settled into the crook of your legs, feet tucked under his chest and tail wrapped around his paws. The epitome of a fluffy loaf. You ran your fingers across his back a few times.

“Alright. Try not to move,” Hank said, grabbing the handles at the foot of the table. You gave Floof one last scritch under the chin then placed your hands at your sides. Floof kept his eyes on you as both of you were pushed under the x-ray machine.

You ended up inside a long, metal tube. Lights lining the white metal started blinking on, one by one. Blue light filled your vision. You glanced down at Floof, who was still staring up at you. You slowly blinked back at him.

“Everything alright in there?” you heard Logan ask. His low voice ricocheted around inside the metal tube.

“Yup. So far, so good,” you replied. Floof was sitting perfectly still in your lap. You continued to slow-blink at him.

“About to take the first set of scans. Keep him still,” Hank called from the other end of the machine. You hummed in response.

A low whirring kicked on along the entirety of the tube. Floof’s pointed ears flattened against his head.

“You’re okay, we’re okay,” you said calmly. Your continued slow-blinking and soothing voice seemed to be working wonders. Other than his ears, which were now back to pointing towards you, he had remained perfectly still. There was a louder ca-chunk that slightly rattled the table near your stomach and made Floof flinch.

“That’s his top half done. How’s it looking, Jean?” Hank said.

“Looks perfect. Keep doing what you’re doing, vampire,” Jean replied.

Floof remained perfectly still as the whirring picked up again by your knees. Ears perked up at you, blue eyes slowly blinking, claws only slightly digging into your jeans. The second ca-chunk didn’t even phase the cat. He just continued to stare at you. You could even feel the purrs building in his chest.

“Okay, got what I need! Go ahead and pull ‘em out, Hank,” Jean said. The blue lights surrounding you blinked off in sync as you felt the foot of the table rattle again.

The lights of the lab were nearly blinding when you emerged from the x-ray machine. You used one hand to shield your eyes while the other stroked along Floof’s back.

Logan was at your side in an instant. He scooped Floof into his arms and cradled the cat to his chest. Fingers scritching under Floof’s chin, nose buried in the fur on Floof’s back. Seemed the whole ordeal affected Logan more than you thought. You ran a reassuring hand along Logan’s arm.

“Why don’t you two head on upstairs? I’ve got it covered from here,” you said lowly. Logan gave you a once over, nodded, then carried the ball of fur in his arms out of the lab.

You sighed as you sat up, swinging your legs over the side of the table. Your eyes met Jean’s confused expression.

“Alkali,” was all you said. Jean quietly said “oh,” then turned her attention back to the computer. You pushed yourself off the table and moved to look over Jean’s shoulder, “Anything standing out?”

“Well, for one, you have horrible bone density,” Jean replied. You gave her arm a light smack. Jean laughed at your response, then continued, “Nothing in his skeletal structure is off. All of his joints are connected where they should be, cartilage is intact, nothing’s broken.”

“So his mutation isn’t physical?” you asked. Jean shook her head while biting her lower lip.

“We’d have to do an MRI on his brain to tell for certain. But, as far as I can tell, he’s like me and Kurt,” she explained. You heard Hank scoff behind you.

“More similar to Kurt, I’d say. Both him and the cat are awful to analyze,” he said, laughing without humor. You turned to look at him, arms folding across your chest.

“At least Floof does it because he’s scared. Kurt does it to piss you off,” you said. Hank grumbled under his breath at that, seeming to recount all of the failed exams he’d given the Nightcrawler over the years. You chuckled at his disgruntled reaction.

“We should be good, vampire. Go check on Logan for me,” Jean said, drawing your attention away from Hank. You gave her a pat on the shoulder, then followed Logan’s path out of the lab.

The jarring difference between the basement and the mansion itself would be alarming to anyone who hadn’t spent decades living there.

In the mansion, warm wood and plush furniture could be found in every room. Golden sunlight filtered in through grand windows, vibrant green plants in colorful pots decorated shelves and tables, beautiful paintings and cheerful pictures were hung on every available wall.

In the basement, however, steel lined everything. Chrome ceilings, chrome floors, chrome doors, even chrome furniture constructed the entire basement. High-tech gadgets, like state of the art computers and medical equipment, were reserved to be specifically used in the basement’s lab. Giant, metal doors hid training rooms and simulation areas the older students would utilize. And, what was often sought after and coveted, lay behind a door with a large, chrome x on it.

Cerebro. A circular room with a single, metal console in its center. An array of switches and buttons were embedded in the console. Wires ran to and from the console’s base and the platform it stood on. Sitting on its pedestal was the helmet Charles would put on when he used Cerebro. Metal rods and wires protruding from a chrome cap that glowed blue when in use.

Just beyond Cerebro’s door is where you saw Charles. His mechanical wheelchair whirred as he directed himself into the open room.

“Hey professor,” you said as you passed. Charles looked over his shoulder at you and smiled.

“Hello, my dear. I was just about to do the monthly search. Care to join?” he asked. He spun his wheelchair in place so he could face you. He wore a clean, blue suit and a pale yellow tie. His shiny, black shoes reflected the artificial white light that gleamed from lights set in the ceiling.

“I’d love to,” you replied. Your shoes clicked along the polished, chrome floor as you walked up to where Charles’s wheelchair sat. The hand resting on the chair’s joystick moved, spinning the chair to face into Cerebro, then matched your pace as you walked through the huge doors.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about Logan,” Charles said, reading your mind like always. He didn’t do it out of malice or ill-intent. It was just second nature for him to hear the runaway thoughts of those around him. His bright, blue eyes peered up at you as you walked across the suspended platform, “Memories of Alkali always tend to make him anxious. Just give him time.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. Small, white lights on the sides of the platform flicked on as you and Charles walked further into the room. The enormous, paneled sphere that constructed Cerebro bounced the light all around you, giving the space a pleasant glow.

You stopped just behind Charles as he rolled up to the console. You watched as he fiddled with a few switches and buttons, none of it making sense to you, before he looked back at you again.

“You know the drill. No moving,” he said through a kind smile. You gave him two thumbs-up, which made him chuckle, then clasped your hands together in front of you.

Charles turned back to the console and lifted the helmet. The chrome glinted in the soft, white light, throwing strange reflections onto his aged face. He raised the helmet above his head, wires stretched near their limit, before he set the chrome cap around his head.

In an instant, the room around you melted away into an endless space of darkness. Clouds of black ink flooded your vision, the entire white room overtaken by a midnight sky. White dots started sprouting up amongst the darkness. First one, then ten, then millions and millions lit up the blackness until they formed constellations in the shape of the world’s continents.

Everytime you got the chance to see Cerebro in action, it took your breath away. Watching as Charles connected with every human’s mind on earth was nothing short of incredible. Brief visions of people all over the world floated past in glowing apparitions. Ghosts showing glimpses into peoples’ lives flying by in rapid succession.

Red overtook the white as Charles focused on specifically mutants. Crimson stars blinked in the dark, taking up significantly less of the night’s sky than the humans’ white spots did.

The visions flying past were now drenched in a red glow. One showing a girl, no older than three, playing with a barbie doll. Another showing a teenage boy flirting with a classmate.

Two silhouettes stood out amongst the chaos. Both female, both older in their teenagehood, but looking nothing alike.

The first was a taller girl. Hair smoothed back into a ponytail, arms as thick as tree trunks, skin reflecting light like a cluster of diamonds. A whisper of “Lindsay” from Charles gave a name to the face. Her apparition floated back amongst the constellations to land somewhere in New Zealand.

The second was a girl sitting on a rooftop. Her skin was coated in shimmering scales, eyes slitted like a snake’s, bat-like wings protruding from her back. She was curled up next to a gargoyle, surveying the city below her. “Brooke” was the name Charles said, then her image floated away and landed in Utah.

The red dots were snuffed as streaks of darkness flew through the air. Like coffee under a paper towel, the black ink overtaking the room disappeared into the console. Charles tucked his fingers under his helmet and placed it back on its pedestal.

“Right. Two new mutants. One in Utah, the other in New Zealand,” he said. He turned his chair around to face you again. A hopeful, gleeful look was painted across his face like a work of art, “I’ll send Scott and Storm to fetch them. In the meantime, have Jean drum up some high-strength pain reliever. Lindsay seems to have a migraine problem.”

“On it,” you replied, your own grin growing to match his. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and texted the details to Jean, following after Charles as he exited Cerebro.

“Two more students. Ah, I can’t wait! I have a feeling Vienna and Brooke will get along quite well. Not to mention how Crys and Daniel will take to someone like them when Lindsay arrives,” Charles said cheerfully. With the message sent, you stowed your phone in your pocket and focused on the professor. He continued to ramble on about the interactions he predicted to happen between the new and current students. You listened intently, fondness filling your chest like a warm breath.

The two of you entered the circular elevator, with cream-colored walls and a yellow light set in the ceiling, as Charles spoke. You felt the floor lurch as the elevator started to climb up to the mansion.

“Both Brooke and Lindsay seemed to be rather talented writers. Hopefully they’ll like the creative writing club. Oh, and they should enjoy the book club, too,” he said. The elevator door slid open to reveal the mansion’s first floor.

Kurt, the blue-skinned and long-tailed teleporter, threw you and the professor a wave as he passed by. Several textbooks about religious studies were clutched in his clawed hands. You gave him a wide grin and a wave of your own.

“Afternoon, Kurt,” Charles chirped, smiling fondly at the German as the two of you passed by. A quiet “afternoon!” followed you and the professor as you walked toward the west wing of the mansion. You trailed after Charles for a few more paces.

“If you don’t need anything else, I’m gonna go check on Logan,” you said. You paused in the middle of the long, windowed hallway you and Charles occupied. He gave you a nod.

“Yes, please do. Give him my best,” Charles said. You gave him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder, his wrinkled hand patting on the back of yours, before you made your way to the staircase in the foyer.

Several students greeted you as you walked through the mansion. Christopher, a dark-haired brainiac, and Josh, a brown-eyed boy with two extra arms, said a brief “hi!” before returning to the scattered chemistry homework in front of them. Mads, the short-haired plant bender, waved at you from where she knelt next to a plant with withering leaves. A subtle, green glow emanated from her palms as life was pumped back into the monstera.

While climbing up the grand staircase you noticed one of Floof’s campaign posters still pinned to the wall. Wide eyes stared out of a red, white, and blue drawing. You smirked, remembering how much the whole thing had annoyed Logan.

Rogue and Bobby gave you a brief greeting as you passed on the landing between opposing stairs. They continued down the carpeted staircase you had just climbed as they discussed seeing a movie together later that week.

When you reached your and Logan’s room, the third door on the left, you noticed it was firmly shut. Thinking it strange, you turned the brass knob and swung open the wooden door.

“Maaaooowww!” Floof yelled from where he sat next to the door. He gave your leg a quick sniff, then darted between your legs and into the hall behind you.

Perplexed, you looked at Logan. He was sitting on your shared bed. Arms crossed over his chest, boots kicked off next to the bed, eyes closed as calming piano played from his phone’s speakers.

You slowly latched the door shut behind you, toeing off your shoes, and climbed into bed next to him. A rough grunt met the jostling of the mattress. You sat next to Logan, your back leaning on the wooden headboard.

You let silence hang in the air, only disturbed by the light song playing from the nightstand. When Logan got like this, stuck in his own mind, it was best to let him take things at his own pace. If you moved too fast he’d completely shut down. Which, having known him for at least two decades at this point, was something you could easily maneuver around.

After a few minutes you felt a rustle next to you. Logan’s arms uncrossed from his chest, eyes still closed, as the hand closest to you fitted into yours. You tangled your fingers with his. A few more moments passed, then you felt the weight of Logan’s head on your shoulder.

You pressed a soft kiss into his hair. He hummed in response, rubbing his cheek along the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

“Doing alright?” you whispered. Another minute passed, piano filling the room.

“Yeah,” Logan mumbled. The hand not clutched in yours was thrown across your waist. He pulled you against his body, face buried in the crook of your neck, “Yeah, now I am.”

You let your fingers nestle in the short hairs along his neck. Soft, soothing strokes along his skin that left him practically purring against you.

“All the stuff with Floof dredge something up?” you asked. A beat, then Logan nodded against your shoulder.

“Medical stuff, ya know? It’s just… A lot,” Logan explained. He squeezed you tighter against his chest. You gave the crown of his head another gentle kiss.

“Take your time, Lo,” you breathed. You tracked the deep inhales that filled Logan’s chest and the smooth glide of his cheek on your shoulder. Good. Didn’t seem like a panic attack was brewing.

The two of you sat on the bed, cuddled against each other, light piano playing around you for another couple minutes. Calm, still settings like this were the best for when Logan was struggling with his past, you’d found. Breathing with him, gentle touches, and reaffirming words helped keep him grounded in the present.

You started chattering quietly about what the scans had shown. That nothing seemed abnormal about Floof, that the teleportation must stem from his brain, and that you apparently had low bone density. That sparked a brief chuckle from Logan’s chest.

After about an hour of the two of you huddled together, a light scratching came from the bedroom door. You sighed, head rolling back and thonking on the wooden headboard.

“Frickin’ cat,” you murmured under your breath. Logan reluctantly untangled his limbs from yours. He leaned back against the headboard, hazel eyes opening and looking at you.

“You wanted him,” he said, an amused grin growing on his lips. You groaned, pushing yourself off the bed and walking over to the door.

When you pulled it open, a gray and white furry bullet shot into the room. A chorus of indignant meows overshadowed the music coming from Logan’s phone. You scooped up the annoyed cat and moved back to the bed. Floof’s distinct, intense purrs rumbled against your chest.

“Hey, bub,” Logan said when you sat next to him. Floof squirmed in your arms until you finally released him, then the little shit jumped into Logan’s lap. Your mouth gaped open.

“Fucking traitor,” you gasped. Your despair was ignored as Floof circled himself a few times, paws kneading into Logan’s jeans, then curled up in Logan’s lap. Logan scritched under Floof’s chin.

“Sorry, doll. Guess he’s picked a side,” Logan said, cocky grin plastered on his stupid face. You huffed while curling your knees against your chest and thumping your chin on top.

“You’re lucky I love you, ya jerk. Or else I’d be fighting for that cat’s honor,” you grumbled. Logan laughed, the deep sound bouncing out of his mouth like a large bell.

“It wouldn’t be a fair fight. You’d win,” he said. Floof nuzzled into Logan’s palm, purring so strong you could feel it in your chest. You let your head fall onto Logan’s shoulder. You felt his cheek rub against your hair.

“Nah,” you said. You looked between Logan and Floof. Matching ears and hair tufts, smiling eyes filled with adoration, purrs and happy hums coming from both of them. Your initial grumpiness was overshadowed by a deep-seated adoration for the two of them, “You would.”

~~~~6 months later~~~

You stood in your and Logan’s shared room. Warm, wooden panels covered the walls decorated in landscape paintings. A black cat tree, about four-feet tall, sat in front of one of the windows by your bed. The pale green curtains were drawn just enough so only a sliver was left open for Floof, who enjoyed sitting on the top platform and watching the flying birds and bugs.

The rustling of clothes, caused by your rummaging, disturbed the peace in the room. You were digging around amongst Logan’s folded shirts in the wardrobe’s drawers. A white t-shirt sat on top of the wardrobe. Bold, black print reading “#1 Cat Dad” sat in the center front of the t-shirt, along with an image of Floof surrounded by a large, red heart.

You slipped the t-shirt amongst the space you had made in the drawer then slid the wooden compartment closed. Confident in how well you hid the new article of clothing, you took a look around the room.

Pictures of you, Logan, and Floof sat on every available surface. Earlier pictures featured a frowning and distant Logan, who was uncomfortable being in a picture with the young kitten. But, as Floof got older, Logan was seen in more and more pictures with him. The two of them cuddling on the couch, Floof curled up on a sleeping Logan’s chest in bed, Logan holding Floof up like Simba in the Lion King.

A fond smile graced your lips. The man you loved most, an unerring grump, really did have a soft spot. Him and Floof had grown inseparable. When Logan walked into a room, the now full-sized, fluffy, gray cat was sure to follow. Whenever Floof needed to visit a vet, Logan was the one to take him. If Logan were to leave for a mission, Floof would consistently yell the entire time his pal was gone.

Several footsteps passing by your open door drew your attention from the pictures. You looked into the hallway at what had caused the noise.

Logan, hair styled in the classic two tufts, had Floof perched on his shoulder. The adult cat was draped over Logan’s flannel-covered back like a fluffy scarf. The pair reminded you of a mountain lion perched on a tall cliff.

Logan threw you a grin and a quick wave. You smiled, waving back, as your vision shifted to the swarm of children following Logan. Eyes wide with adoration for Floof, toothy grins on each child’s face, giggles exchanged between students.

As the crowd passed by, the long-haired cat meeting your eyes and letting out a soft “mraow,” it was hard to believe that there was a time when Logan had said “no fucking way” to Floof.

once again, so much love to the murdock tuna team!! you all fill me with so much joy on a daily basis. i'm so incredibly thankful to each and every one of you :) also, here's what the Floof 2024 posters look like

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#wolverine #logan howlett #hugh jackman #xmen #wolverine fanfic #logan howlett fanfic #xmen fanfic #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #fem!reader #murdock tuna team #i seriously love the tuna team so much #they consistently inspire me every fucking day

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