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wannabespacesmuggler · 4 months ago

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L.H. | Like a Moth to a Flame

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Logan Howlett is a dangerous man; at least, that's what he wants you to think when he first meets you during your shift at Lucky's. However, he only seems to prove the opposite as he becomes a more constant presence in your life. After learning his true identity in a dark back alley, he's certain you want nothing to do with him. But against your better judgment, you're drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Pairing: Lumberjack!Logan Howlett x Bartender!Reader

Warnings: canon typical violence, men being creepy in an alley, canon divergent (because fuck the timelines), mutual pining, miscommunication

Word Count: 3.4K

Author’s Note: I am overwhelmed with the love and support for my first Logan fic. This man has taken over my ever waking thought. I wrote this while picturing lumberjack Logan from X-Men Origins: Wolverine and listening to Hozier (this man is so "Too Sweet" and "NFWMB" coded). Super proud of how this turned out, hope you enjoy it.

You’re used to a rough-and-tumble, rough-around-the-edges kind of crowd — blue-collar workers, committed hunters, down-on-their-luck drifters. Maybe that’s why you don’t think twice when he enters the tiny dive bar. He’s clad in a deep maroon flannel tucked into a tattered pair of jeans. You don’t even look in his direction as he sidles into a seat at the end of the bar. He looks like any other patron you’ve met while bartending at Lucky’s.

“Hey there, what can I get for you?”

He leans forward, forearms flexing against the counter. A shiver runs down your spine as your eyes linger on the deep scars etched in between his knuckles before traveling up his broad frame. It’s as if your fight or flight response kicks in, and suddenly, a voice in your head tells you to run. But as you finally meet his hazel eyes, you freeze. There’s a hollowness in how he looks at you — a profound sadness that makes your heart ache for the man sitting before you.

“Whiskey, neat.”

You simply nod at his request before turning to pour him a glass. As you place the drink before him, a flash of metal across his chest grabs your attention. The man follows your gaze, and his features harden at the realization of what caught your interest. He quickly shoves the dog tags hanging loosely around his neck under his shirt — out of your line of sight. Your cheeks instantly flush, humiliation washing over your body. You begin to apologize, but the man downs his glass of whiskey and slaps some cash on the table.

“Thanks for the drink.”

With that, he grabs his leather jacket off the back of his chair and stalks out of the bar. You watch him leave in stunned silence. You hadn’t meant to invade his privacy in any way. You’re used to the anonymity that some men around here need to survive — hell, you don’t even know the names of some of your regulars. Before you can get swallowed up by embarrassment, one of your other patrons calls for another drink. Shaking off your previous interaction, you return your attention to your job.

After work, you couldn’t stop thinking about the encounter. With a deep sigh, you pour yourself a drink and collapse into your couch. You don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about it. In reality, you probably won’t ever see the man again, which should relieve you; however, the thought only disappoints you.

To your surprise, he walks back into the bar three days later during your shift. You try to ignore his presence as he moves to sit at the same spot at the end of the bar. To make amends, you pour a glass of whiskey and set it in front of him.

“This one’s on the house.”

The man looks up, giving you a confused expression. He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off.

“Don’t. It’s just an apology for the other night.”

He gives you a nod before grabbing the glass and taking a long drink. You turn away from him, but his deep voice cuts through the rowdy Friday night crowd before you can take a step.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I still expect a tip, though.”

A chuckle reverberates in his chest. The sound of it causes your face to light up. The man’s lips pull up into a small, gentle smile. You force yourself to return to work before you get further drawn into him. Unlike the other night, he sits at the bar for the rest of your shift, ordering several glasses of whiskey and keeping his eyes trained on the television above your head.

“It’s the end of my shift. Ready to close out with me?”

Logan nods, downing the rest of his whiskey and then placing several bills on the counter.

“Keep the change.”

“Wow, thank you…”

You trail off, realizing you still haven’t learned his name. Looking down at the money he placed before you, you notice he’s tipped you at least fifty percent. You don’t want to invade his privacy again, but a part of you wishes you knew his name so that you could thank him properly.

“Logan.”

“Thank you, Logan.”

He stands up from his seat before clearing his throat awkwardly.

“You working tomorrow?”

You bite your lip at his words, trying to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot. Trying to ground yourself back into reality, you remind yourself that you don’t fraternize with your clientele. While working at Lucky’s, you’ve learned one thing about the men who frequent the establishment — they’re bad news. But then you look back up at him. He’s got to be over six feet tall; his simple white t-shirt accentuates just how broad his body is, and yet this sturdy, well-built man looks almost nervous standing before you. Your body responds before your brain can catch up.

“My shift starts at 6:00.”

Logan slides his leather jacket on, and a slight smirk spreads across his features. He’s a devastatingly handsome man, and you’re no better than a moth to a flame — irresistibly attracted to that which you know will hurt you.

“See you then.”

And you do see him during your shift the next day, and your shift after that, and the one after that. Logan’s there in his seat at the end of the bar during all of your shifts, ordering whiskeys and making polite conversation until he’s become a constant presence in your life.

Today is no different. You have a glass of whiskey ready for Logan when he enters the bar. His schedule with the town’s logging company is pretty consistent. Logan accepts the glass graciously as you slide it in front of him.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

You ignore how nonchalantly the term of endearment slips past his lips — and how your heart lurches as he says it. Instead, you focus on his features, which somehow look more exhausted than usual today. His work is hard, long, and labor-intensive; however, throughout your conversations with the hardened lumberjack, you’ve also learned that Logan’s sleep schedule is abysmal. He’s a grown man; he can decide what he wants to do — or doesn’t want to do — but a part of you can’t help but want to care for him.

“You gotta get some sleep, Logan.”

He scoffs in response, looking up at you with tired eyes. You know he isn’t angry at your suggestion, but the pointed look he gives you is a warning. He’s opened up quite a bit throughout his frequent visits to the bar, but there is still an air of mystery about the man sitting before you. You know better than to push him, so you raise your hands defeatedly.

“All I’m saying is that those dark circles do nothing for that handsome face.”

A warm laugh reverberates in Logan’s chest. He takes a long drink from his glass before responding, downing a considerable amount of whiskey with absolutely no reaction.

“You think I’m handsome?”

You roll your eyes at the man, trying to keep your cool. Logan is an enigma to you — simultaneously socially awkward and overly flirtatious. It’s as if he has two personalities — two completely different sides of himself — fighting for dominance at all times. And yet, it works because he’s catastrophically charming.

“Shut up.”

A smug smirk spreads across Logan’s face, and you decide it’s getting a little too stuffy in the small dive bar. You grab the pack of cigarettes you keep stashed under the bar and turn back to Logan. He already knows what you’re about to ask. It’s become routine for Logan to join you during your fifteen-minute break, sharing cigarettes in the secluded alley behind the bar.

“I’m going for a smoke. You coming?”

“Let me finish my drink. I’ll be right out.”

You nod at him before moving towards the back door. As you step out into the alley, you’re met with a much-appreciated, cool breeze. It causes a shiver to run down your spine as your body adjusts to the sudden difference in temperature. After placing a cigarette between your lips, you pull a small silver lighter out of your back pocket. You slide your thumb over the engraving on the side: L.H. Logan had given you the lighter after yours burnt out about a month ago. You tried to give it back, but he insisted you keep it. You bring the lighter up to your face, but a voice surprises you before you can light your cigarette.

“Those things’ll kill you, sweetheart.”

A man you’ve never seen before emerges from the darkness and approaches you with an uncomfortable air of familiarity. The way this man says Logan’s term of endearment makes you sick to your stomach. It sounds sweet coming from Logan’s lips — grounded in a deep respect and laced with affection.

You were simply going to ignore him, knowing Logan’s presence would deter him in a matter of minutes; however, your body bristles as two more figures join him from the darkness of the alley. Your body moves on its own accord, seeking the comfort and safety of the bar — of Logan. But the man closest to you grabs your arm before you can step out of their reach.

“Where you going, sweetheart? The party’s out here.”

His voice is sickly sweet and dripping with venom — a stark contrast to Logan’s low, warm timbre. The two men behind him laugh at his words. Your fight or flight response kicks in, and you struggle against the man’s hold as you’re hit with the gravity of your situation.

“Just let me go.”

Your voice is stern as you rip your arm away from the man’s grip. You rush to get away, but he’s quicker. He places both hands on the brick wall behind you, caging you in. Now you’re panicking. A threatening growl interrupts the encounter before the man in front of you can say anything else, and Logan emerges from the darkness. His features are menacing in the dim light of the alley, but you’re met with a sense of relief rather than fear.

“You heard her. Let her go.”

The tiny hairs on the back of your neck raise at the sound of his voice; however, the stranger in front of you doesn’t seem to find him as frightening. Instead of backing down, the man lets out a dry, unamused laugh at Logan’s words.

“We’re just having some fun here.”

Bile rises in your throat at the insinuation in his tone. Logan seems equally displeased by his response as another animalistic growl rips through his body. He takes an intimidating step forward before speaking.

“You don’t want to do this, bub.”

It’s almost as if he’s pleading with them — begging them to stop so that he doesn’t have to act first. Your eyes find those dog tags hanging around his neck again. Your heart breaks as you realize Logan doesn’t want to fight, but he will — for you. Based on the look in his eyes, he’ll rip these men apart limb from limb if they lay a hand on you.

“No, buddy, you don’t want to do this. You’re outnumbered — three to one. You don’t stand a chance.”

The man’s tone is amused but impatient. He’s itching for Logan to either leave them be or throw the first punch, but he does neither. Instead, Logan squares his shoulders and extends his arms out at his sides.

“You sure about that?”

Your brow furrows at an unfamiliar sound — a strange, metallic snikt. You’re surprised when the man’s arms fall from either side of your shoulders. You take the opportunity to create distance between yourself and the group of men who are all staring at Logan. Not understanding what caused their sudden hesitation, you also look over at Logan. Your body tenses at the sight of him standing in the middle of the alley with long, metal claws protruding from his fists. He takes another step forward, and the men scatter, running for their lives.

Logan waits a few moments, ensuring that the men are actually gone. Then he lets out a deep sigh as his metal claws retract back into his hands. Your hands meet the cool brick behind you, grounding you in this incredibly unreal moment. You blink, expecting to wake up from whatever dream you’re having right now — but you’re not dreaming.

Logan finally turns to face you, and his features soften. His eyes scan your body, checking you over for injuries. He takes a step toward you but stops as you take a step toward the bar's back door. You can’t seem to look away from his hands — at those deep, pronounced scars between his knuckles. His eyes follow yours, and you’re met with instant regret as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. You finally look up at his face and are anguished at the sight of his hardened features.

You want to tell him a million things. Your body moved on its own accord. You didn’t mean to stare at his scars. You’re just confused. You’re grateful for his help. You’re not afraid of him.

But you don’t mutter a single word. It’s as if you’re frozen in place.

“Alright.”

Your heart almost breaks in two at the pained sound of his voice. Logan meets your eyes one last time, disappointment evident in his gaze. Finally, your body shakes out of its paralysis, but it’s too late — the damage has already been done. You watch helplessly as he begins walking away from you.

“Logan, wait.”

But he doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking until he vanishes into the darkness. Tears begin rolling down your cheeks as you slide down against the brick wall — partly because of what could have happened and partly because of what did happen. And just like the first day you met Logan, you fear you may never see him again.

But once again, you were wrong.

Eight unbearably long days later, Logan enters Lucky’s again. You watch his bated breath as he approaches, hoping he’ll sit at his usual spot at the end of the bar. Instead, Logan places a few bills on the counter before meeting your gaze. You draw in a shaky breath as you look into his hazel eyes — the hollowness is back, and our heart aches as you realize you’re now the reason behind that sadness.

“Didn’t feel right not closing out last time.”

You almost laugh at his words — the free glass of whiskey was the last thing on your mind. He rolls his shoulders back nervously, his muscles flexing under his black t-shirt. You reach out and grab his hand before he can pull it away from the counter. His eyes instantly widen, but the physical contact seems to make him relax ever so slightly.

“Can we talk, please?”

Your hand tightens around his, physically begging him to just stay. Logan nods in silent agreement. You pull your hand away from his and try to push down the sudden disappointment caused by the loss of his touch. You move toward the back door, and Logan follows you into the alley from a safe distance. For a moment, you’re lost in a bout of deja vu as you lean against the brick wall, and Logan stands before you. Your hands nervously find Logan’s lighter in your pocket, looking for something to occupy yourself with. The movement catches Logan’s eyes, and you swear the corners of his lips twitch up into a small smile at the sight of his lighter in your hands.

“I’m sorry.”

The words tumble out of you clumsily. Logan’s brow furrows, and you watch as his head tilts slightly to the side.

“What?”

“I’m so sorry, Logan.”

Logan’s lips pull into a small frown as he considers your apology. He takes a cautious step forward, watching you intently. He’s waiting for you to pull away, but you stand your ground.

“Why are you apologizing, sweetheart?”

You can’t help the small smile that spreads across your face. Hearing him say that name — the word that’s been keeping you up at night — you realize just how much you missed the sound of his voice.

“I made you think I’m afraid of you.”

Logan takes another step forward, testing you. You know what he’s trying to do — he’s giving you an out. Pull away, and he’ll stop, but you lock eyes with the man before you. His movements might be cautious, but his eyes are wild with unspoken emotion.

“Well, are you?”

“No.”

Another step forward. He’s now standing within arm’s length. You could reach out and touch him. God, you want to reach out and touch him. Logan looks down at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. No man has ever looked at you like this, but then again, Logan certainly isn’t like any other man.

“You should be.”

That voice from the first day you met him appears yet again, telling you to run. But you stay put. You don’t need to run from him. You don’t need to fear him. He protected you from those men. He was prepared to fight for you. He revealed his true identity to keep you safe. And once again, you’re like a moth to his flame — gravitating towards him.

“I’m not afraid of you, Logan. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s a breath away, so close you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding in your chest as his gaze moves from your eyes to your lips. His hand covers yours, stopping your anxious fidgeting with his lighter. You watch in awe as he takes it from your grasp and places it into your jacket pocket. He moves his hand out of your pocket; his fingers leave a scorching sensation behind in their absence as they slide across your skin until they reach your waist. His other hand comes up and tenderly caresses the side of your face.

“Say it again.”

Your breath hitches at his request, but you do what he asks — hell, you’d do anything for him.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Logan shakes his head. His hand moves to take hold of the other side of your waist. The grip he has on you is secure but gentle.

“No, sweetheart. Not that part.”

Oh. Oh.

You could cry at the realization — at his need to feel wanted and appreciated. You move your hands to either side of his face. He melts into your touch before meeting your eyes again. A part of you wonders if anyone has ever touched Logan like this — if he’s ever known what physical contact feels like outside of a fight.

“I’m not afraid of you, Logan. I trust you.”

And suddenly, Logan is pulling you into him. His lips desperately find yours. Your fingers thread through his hair as his body pushes you into the brick wall. His movements are rooted in a deep hunger — not driven by lust, but in a need to be known and loved and touched. So that’s just what you do. Your hands move through his hair, down his neck, across his chest, over his back. You attempt to touch every bit of Logan to prove that you want this — that you want him.

A low growl reverberates in his chest as he pulls away from your lips. Unlike the night before, this growl isn’t rooted in anger but, instead, the result of a deep desire. His hands move away from your body and find the wall behind you. Your brow furrows at the loss of his touch until you hear a familiar sound on either side of you — a sharp, metallic snikt. He leans down, forehead resting against yours as his short, rapid breaths fan over your face.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t control it sometimes.”

You shake your head at his admission. He did control himself — he purposely removed his hands from your body before his claws extended. He protects you as if it’s just his second nature — something he doesn’t even need to take the time to consider. You run your hands up his chest, feeling the tense muscles under his t-shirt, before gently grabbing his face.

“Hey. Hey.”

You pull away slightly so you can look him in the eye. Your words grab his attention, grounding him.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I trust you.”

His breaths gradually even out, and eventually, you hear his claws retract and feel the familiar warmth of his touch against your skin again. As Logan maintains eye contact, looking at you as if you’re the answer to some unspoken prayer, you begin to think you’ve gotten this all wrong: maybe you’re not the moth, but the flame.

#logan howlett #james logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfiction #hugh jackman #x men #x men fanfiction #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine x reader #wolverine x deadpool #marvel #marvel fanfiction

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parfaitblogs · 10 days ago

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snow on the beach ❀ s. reid x reader

in which your boyfriend takes you to see the snow in the oddest of places.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff tags: established relationship. mention of a past fling (between spencer and r). snow on a beach? word count: >1k a/n: summer fling!spencer reid/reader is a dynamic ive been cooking up with margot... here is them as an actual couple for liamas. we'll give you their origin story one day.

❄︎ advent calendar masterlist

"Do you want to see the snow?"

When your boyfriend had asked you that nine hours ago, you did not expect to be stuck inside a car for eight hours straight. With one singular pit stop for the bathroom and some dinner. You could've cussed him out on the spot.

You didn't.

Instead, as you stepped out of the car at an awfully familiar location, you whipped your head around to Spencer Reid, and asked, as calmly as you could, "Were there no closer beaches?"

"None that have forecasted snow like this," he answers, and you had to give him credit, for it was probably true.

There were flurries of snow surrounding your bodies, catching in your hair and on your mitten clad hands, and you could see a few flakes of snow fall on Spencer's own skin. You smile.

"Besides," he says, taking your hand within his and tugging you along the path down to the beach. "None have sentimental value like this one."

"You hate it here," you comment, your feet dragging along in the sand as he pulls you closer to the crashing waves on the shore.

"I hate the water here. Bad memories."

"Same thing."

"And you love it here," he murmurs, barely audible over the wind rushing past your ears, and so he tugs you closer to him, arms looped around your waist.

"I do love it here," you nod, hands tracing up his arms. "I've never seen snow on a beach."

"Do you like it?"

"It's so pretty," you mumble, turning your head to the side, staring out at the water, vision clouded by the falling snowflakes. "C'mon."

You pull on his arm suddenly, and he's shocked into stumbling after you, before he realises the direction you're headed, and he's stammering out a mess of denials.

"Hey, no. No, no. The water is ice cold. That can shock our hearts and cause panic, or spike our blood pressure and that can cause heart failure and—"

"—Are you eighty and vulnerable?" you muse.

"Eighty, no. Vulnerable, maybe. I'm not in the business of discovering if I am. You shouldn't be either."

"Spencer, our feet in the water won't kill us," you say, slipping your shoes off your feet, grimacing at the mix of cold sand and snow beneath them.

He seems to give up trying to fight your decision. Perhaps keenly aware that you're not backing down, and instead follows suite in taking his shoes off.

"I'll put you on my cause of death," he grumbles.

"No. You're gonna live forever, boy genius," you deny, dragging him closer to the water.

Icicles prickle your skin as you step into the freezing water, and you almost sorely regret your decision. Spencer's in the same boat, and you feel his hand around yours squeeze your palm at the feeling. The sight's enough for you to relax a little, and laugh at him.

Once your blood circulates better — or your feet go numb — you lean into Spencer, staring out at the moon.

"At least I'm not throwing you into the water this time," you chirp after a few moments of quiet.

It was the middle of the previous summer, before you and Spencer had even told each other about the feelings you had for the other. Feelings that were, frankly, quite obvious, now looking back on it. You blame your obliviousness on attraction hidden under the guise of never being more than a summer thing.

If only you knew then.

You had taken him to this very Falmouth beach at night, begging him to go for a night swim with you. It took a whole lot of convincing before he had even agreed to put his feet in the water, claiming he hates how unpredictable the ocean can be, even in the shallowest of shores.

Though, rushing water around your ankles meant his already less-than-perfect balance was thrown off incredibly, and you were able to tug him down into the water. Evidently, soaking both himself, and you.

You're pretty sure the way he reacted is what solidified your feelings for him.

Instead of freaking out on you and being angry, he had laughed, spluttered the salt water and sand out of his mouth, and simply splashed you with the ocean.

You weren't going to do the same thing tonight, though. As much as you'd hate to admit it, the water was freezing cold, and you really weren't interested in submerging yourself within it.

"That's true," he agrees. "Though, I think losing my feet to hypothermia might rival being as bad as you soaking me."

"You'll be fine," you shrug, waving him off.

More minutes pass, as you stand there, the only sounds coming from the rushing water and the wind blowing snowflakes around your two bodies. The sky is painted with the snow that falls, white on black.

"I love this beach," you say, decidedly, the beauty of it all making you oddly sentimental.

"We've established that," he teases.

You shove him with your shoulder. He shoves you back.

"Personally, I hate this beach."

"I hate you," you huff, turning around to face him, and he's steadying his hands on your waist, pulling you closer.

"Okay. Now say that without a smile on your face," he challenges, head ducking down closer to yours, eyebrows risen.

You couldn't wipe the lovesick grin off your face even if you tried.

your reblogs and replies are always welcome ♡

#lia's advent calendar ♡#lia’s fics ♡#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff

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moonlight-prose · 4 months ago

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RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

�� 03. BRIDGE OVER TROUBLED WATER

a/n: we are getting down to the nitty and gritty of this man's pain. and he's finally starting to the accept the fact that he has to talk about what happened to him. honestly out of all the chapters this one might be my favorite. solely for the soft vibes i tried to shove into what is already a very angsty story. also somehow wade weaseled his way further into this chapter than i intended him to. so enjoy the humor i've tried to add throughout. (i am reposting this since it didn't show up in the tags yesterday.)

summary: to open up was like taking a knife to a steel door. he never saw the use in letting someone in. but dinner spent in your company and conversations over wine and whiskey is where things begin to take a turn.

word count: 8.3k+ (i don't even know how tf that happened.)

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: partially explicit scene, angst by the bucket load, vulnerable and emotional logan, grief, trauma, heartache, fluff, domestic vibes, alcohol consumption, wade breaking the fourth wall, wade being a shit wingman, the beginnings of something more.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

Blood poured over his hands and soaked into the ground below. The warmth of it coated his senses, dug into the grooves and lines of his palms. He swore he felt it down to his bones. Now permanently mixed with a version of him long forgotten—the man who used to smile.

Their shouts of pain rendered him immobile. Useless to help them, useless to save their lives. Useless. Useless. Useless. He fought against the restraints, the invisible shackles put there by his own hands. Whether to stop him from going or to keep him from harm—he'd never know—but he battled regardless. With a snarl, he felt them snap, his claws sliding free in all their familiarity. A weapon of destruction unable to be used for salvation.

When he began to run he felt it. The piercing echo of her. The power she emanated as they took her life, brought her to the brink of death. He felt her voice punch through his chest—puncturing him in his heart. She screamed his name with her final breath. Called out for his help; for him to save them all.

He could almost see her in his mind, the horror that befell a school of such powerful people. And he loathed himself for breathing. For living after they were taken so quickly from him.

His family. His home.

What once existed would no longer return. That alone broke him further than their deaths. The knowledge that his world—his universe—would be without their heroes. So much of their worth had been given to humanity. Only to be stripped of their lives within the blink of an eye.

And he couldn't save them. He could barely stand on his own two feet without stumbling.

"Logan!" The scream split along his skull, rupturing veins that healed far too quickly for his liking.

What the fuck was the point of his abilities if he couldn't put them to use? If he couldn't do the one thing they counted on him for.

Their blood stuck to him, burrowing into skin that would never scar. He'd never have proof of the wounds that rested along his heart. Forever damned to carry the weight of his own failure—the guilt that ate him alive. For what? To tell the story he could barely stomach himself? What was his life to the lives of those who meant so much more?

Why did he have to fucking live?

He stood on the doorstep. Death stained the walls, pierced the air with its pungent copper tang. He keeled over at the bushes, all the alcohol he'd consumed expelling itself from his body at the sight. His family was dead. His family was dead and he couldn't join them. He couldn't fucking die.

What once felt like a gift—eternity to find these people who loved him—now rang true with the only word that could make sense. Curse. His curse.

"No," he gasped, eyes bleary with tears as he scrambled to his feet and sprinted through the broken down door.

His claws came free, expecting a fight. Only to be met with silence. An eerie echo of nothing.

No laughter, no life, no chatter of students.

Nothing.

The breath ripped from his lungs as a blaring horn spilled in through the apartment's open window. In an attempt to get some cool air, he pushed the couch closer to what airflow there was. The only downside was hearing everything as he slept. Each little noise and loud mouthed fucker as they wandered the rather empty street. He wanted to leave—move to a better spot where humanity was sparse—but the pull of you across the street kept him there.

"Fuck," he grunted, eyes blinking away the nightmare that tore at his psyche.

The bottle of whiskey underneath the kitchen cabinet called his name. Offering a respite against the horrors he couldn't run from. And with a pained groan, he stumbled towards it—grabbing his coffee mug from the counter. The amber liquid felt bitter against the back of his throat. A familiar burn he welcomed.

He may not be able to stay injured, but this he could have. The darkness at the end of the bottle. The silence he found in collapsing drunk against the couch.

The streetlight outside lit the area filled with trash and the few people sleeping in darkened alleys. If he listened hard enough he could hear their heartbeats. Smell the pungent scent of the city as it seeped through the window. He could feel the thrum of New York beneath his feet—unfamiliar in its nature but home nonetheless.

The sight of a light flicking on grasped his attention—a glimpse of you staggering to the kitchen for a glass of water clear through your window. You should really get curtains, or blinds. He'd help install them for you. But then he'd never get this again. A small insight into your life, a peek into what he left behind a day ago.

Your lips against his still seared through his body—your moans and want for more left him breathless. And he had to go and fuck it up. Just as he did with everything in his life. He ruined the good. Corrupted the innocent.

Doing the same to you felt unfathomable—painful.

But how could he stop?

When you were catching his gaze in the window. Your glass of water was forgotten and the blanket dropped to the leather chair behind you. He left the bottle on the floor by the couch, his empty mug beside it as you grabbed for something. Logan yearned to hear your voice. To apologize for how he left things. But saying sorry never came easy and he found that keeping you at a distance was much safer than what he actually wanted.

The ringing on his phone broke his penetrating gaze. He reached for it quickly, pressing it to his ear as you brought your phone to yours. A breath was all that echoed through the small speaker—soft and warm. He swore he could feel it against his cheek. Hear the echo of your heart pounding beneath his.

"Can't sleep?" you uttered, finally putting his mind at ease. He exhaled a deep breath—hearing it fill your ears as warmth trailed down your spine.

"Nightmares."

You watched him stand still as stone. His fingers gripped the phone for assurance. A sense of stability from a past that had already cracked him in half. The sorrow in his eyes practically bled through the streets. Lapping at your feet like the waves on a shore. And in an act so unlike yourself, you took a step forward. You stood in his grief and offered to drag him to the sand—gave him hope that this world might treat him differently.

Logan wouldn't save himself because he believed he deserved it.

He'd save himself because he knew you deserved a better man.

"Do they happen often?"

The soft echo of your voice tinged with sleep set his mind at ease. For the first time that night he felt himself breathe properly. He could taste the sweetness in the air, the heat that clung to his skin held traces of you when you started to open your window.

Leaving you at your door suddenly felt like the stupidest decision he'd ever made. But the fear is what kept him at a safe distance. He couldn't hurt you here in this shitty apartment. He couldn't destroy what good you held in your heart standing here at an open window.

"Every night," he rasped. His hand clenched, the bones of his knuckles shifting as silver began to peek through the pierced skin.

He knew you could see it. He heard your heart speed up through the phone. And with a ragged sigh, he retracted them forcefully—hiding the beast within to present you with the man beyond.

"You don't have to hide them from me." If you turned, you'd see the punctures in your door you tried to hide with duct tape. The claws that came free because of your touch—your kiss.

They should have scared you.

Logan almost wished they had.

"You don't want to see that part of me honey," he muttered, watching as you stood closer to the ledge—your hand pressed to the chipped wood. "It's not all sunshine and rainbows."

You laughed and he felt it down his spine. "No. I think that's only in Wade's mind."

"Don't say that fucker's name please," he groaned. "Not while I have you here."

"Did I touch a nerve? Wolverine?"

Your smile deepened, mischief practically dripping from your words. Yet Logan couldn't help fixating on the way his title sounded off your tongue. The hero name he loathed for so long suddenly made his heart flip. He gripped the phone tight enough until he heard a faint crackling sound—his body going taut at the thought of you saying it under different circumstances.

Moving past the subject was all he could do. All he wanted to do.

"Why are you up bub?"

You sighed, leaning against the window frame. "Restless. Too much energy from the day."

"Not too much moving in the archives huh?"

"I'll have you know I walk constantly. It's a very demanding job."

He snorted. "Down to the end of the bookshelves and back?"

"Shut up." Your laughter echoed across the street and it nearly startled him how normal he felt. How human. "I can guarantee my job is a lot more work than yours."

"You're right. Saving the universe is nothin' when it comes to books."

"I'm going to hang up."

"Don't. I'll stop." Despite his serious tone, he didn't try to stop the chuckle you felt strike against your heart. The husk of its deep nature.

The memory of his touch still rang clear in your mind. How his lips molded against yours, his body firm and hot beneath your touch. You weren't restless because of work. In fact you felt the pain in your feet begin to spread up your calves the longer you stood there. You couldn't sleep because of him. Too busy replaying that moment to find time in your schedule to sleep.

"Logan." His gaze fell serious at the soft murmur of his name. "Tell me about your dream."

He bit back the urge to push you away, to claim he was fine. That nothing happened and acknowledging it wouldn't save him from himself. But that's not what you were trying to accomplish, and he knew that. He could see it clearly in front of his face. But he was a man hardened by the nature of silence—of ignoring his pain until it eventually withered and died inside him.

Changing that wasn't a battle he'd win tonight. Nor tomorrow.

He sighed, seeing how you fought back a yawn. "Not tonight honey."

"Why–"

"I will." Your breath echoed loudly in his head. He wished he could feel it. "I'll tell you everything. Just not tonight."

Your finger traced the silhouette of him against the glass. "When?"

"I don't know." He imagined your touch was against his skin, pictured how you'd trace the lines of his muscles. How you'd lick along his veins for a taste of him on your tongue. "Tell me about your day."

"That's boring," you groaned.

"Not to me bub. I like history." He smiled. "I used to teach it."

"Fuck off. Did you really?" You perked up within seconds, eyes alight as they were the other night. And Logan felt himself get dragged in a bit deeper. He knew he was fucked the second he saw you, but now...there was no stopping the inevitability of you. "I guess I learn something new every day. James."

He growled, low and hungry—pleasure filling his stomach. "Don't start somethin' you can't finish honey."

Silence filled the air and Logan felt the doubt pull at his nerves. He watched you lean into the glass, your scent filtering through the warm air. Sharp and heady. Darker than your usual honeyed sweetness; the taste of it spread along his tongue—shivers rolling down his back. You wanted him. No fuck that.

You needed him.

"And if I want to," you breathed, trepidation and hope overlapping in your words. "Finish this."

He bared his teeth in a grin that felt feral—as if he could taste your flesh. "We will," he stated with such severity. A promise lined in truth for once. "Now go on. Tell me about your day."

He awoke to the sounds of clashing pots and pans being tossed on the stove—the incessant beep of the coffee machine blaring off every thin wall. And Wade singing loudly—and horribly—to some fucking pop song from the eighties Logan would learn the name of against his will. He groaned, slamming his head back against the couch in the hopes that this was all a dream.

If he wished hard enough maybe he'd wake up to silence.

Or to you.

"Good morning peanut!" Wade's voice shouted, another bang sounding off behind him. "I've got coffee, Canadian bacon, and the final answer for what came first—the chicken or the egg."

Logan longed to stab himself in the skull. This quick healing factor became a fucking pain in the ass at the worst of times. He staggered into the kitchen, immediately wishing he'd drank the entire bottle of whiskey last night at the sight of Wade in a pair of white underwear and nothing else.

"What the fuck." He shut his eyes, reaching blindly for a mug and the coffee pot.

"Yeah..." Wade slammed the pan on the stove, a now broken yolk spilling over the edge. "Laundry day and Al called dibs on the top load. Just call me Risky Business."

Logan's sigh was ragged, beyond exhausted as he gulped down the first dose of searing coffee. "He wore a shirt in that fucking movie."

"Lookie here! Someone is up to date on their Tom Cruise movies. Don't tell me you're a Top Gun fan honey badger because I have some fucking news for you. We topped them for highest grossing movie of all time." Wade smiled as the destroyed egg slid onto a chipped plate. "Financially topped. Personally, I don't think scientology allows Tom Cruise to fuck anymore."

"I'm not listenin' to your fuckin' bullshit," he grunted, pouring another cup.

The charred egg was slid his way. "Aren't you gonna ask me?"

"Ask you what?"

Talking this early in the morning made the veins in his throat strain—his grip on the mug nearly cracking the porcelain. In times like this Logan felt the overwhelming need to throw his roommate out the fucking window.

If only to get thirty seconds of hearing him scream on the way down.

"What came first."

He moved to make another pot of coffee, ignoring the chatter that fell from Wade's mouth. In order to even feel coherent enough to make sense of it, he'd need four more cups. Or enough to bathe in if the morning didn't calm down. The sun blinded him as he turned to glance out the window; the air stale and hot choked his senses. He'd never felt this overstimulated before—this out of place.

"You look like you've seen better days in a horror movie. Up having late night phone sex?" Wade grinned and leaned across the counter—his head in his hand and love in his eyes. "Tell me about it, stud? Tell me more, tell me more. Did you get very far?"

"Oh god," Logan groaned, slamming the coffee pot back into place. "Can you shut the fuck up for once? I'm begging you."

"Did you beg her?"

His claws pressed to Wade's smug face—blood spilling against his cheek. "I will cut your fuckin' mouth off."

"I just wanna know why you're waiting so long to give her the Hugh Jackman."

"The what?" he growled, heat blistering against his face.

"Ya know." The crude gesture to his groin had him digging his claws directly into Wade's cheek. But even then he mumbled around the metal piercing his skin. "The package. The full shebang. Rock her like a hurricane—or whatever the fuck that German band was talking about. Cause I sure know she's aching for it."

"Don't fucking talk about her like that."

Wade smiled until his cheek sliced down to his mouth. The sight was disgusting enough for Logan to forgo wanting breakfast. And lunch. And dinner at that.

"You don't believe me! HA! Let me tell you, you're pretty but there's nothing going on up there." A tap on Logan's forehead forced the claws to sink just a bit deeper. "That sweet angel across the street is ready to save that horse and ride you instead cowboy. All. Night. Long."

"You don't know what you're talking about." Yet even as he said the words he felt the lie stick to the back of his throat.

Last night's conversation was proof enough that Wade was telling the truth. Even Logan could fucking see what was right in front of him. Someone beautiful, someone smart. Someone...he wasn't worthy of. If he combined all those factors he only came up with one conclusion. The longer he stayed away from you, the better you'd wind up being.

The safer you'd stay if he wasn't constantly shoving his way into your life.

The loud sigh from Wade's healing mouth shoved another wave of guilt into Logan's stomach. "Look. Ignore it all you want, but sooner or later you're gonna wind up with only your hand for some company and she'll find someone who actually wants to be with her."

Wade was right. For once.

What Logan didn't expect was the anger he felt at the visual of you finding someone else. The rage that nearly overwhelmed him. That's how it should be. You with someone better, a man who actually gave you a chance at a relationship. One that wasn't doomed from the very start. He let the thought simmer, chewed on it for as long as he could.

And not a minute later came to the answer he'd been looking for.

Logan would rip apart any other man without hesitation if they came into your life.

This wasn't a fling. He'd known that on his Earth and knew it now. He clawed his way out of a grave once to get back to you. And he would do it again and again and again. As many times as it took to make sure he got a glimpse of your smile, felt the love in your touch.

"Grab your shit we've got somewhere to be," he grumbled, shoving the burned egg in his mouth and washing it down with fresh black coffee to kill the taste.

"Yes! Now there's the Wolverine I know." Wade shouted, pumping his fist in the air. Logan couldn't tell if he was being vulgar or not.

"Let's go bang your girl!" A snarl ripped through his throat, blood splattering on his bare chest as he pinned Wade to the wall—his claws embedded in the man's heart. "Or you bang her and I quietly stay at home with the window open to serenade you two with the sensual sounds of Marvin Gaye."

He grinned, eyes flashing over Logan's shoulder. "Directly from Sam Wilson's playlist if you know what I'm getting at Marvel fuckers."

On days where people were stuck at work and students infiltrated the library above, you found the solace of the archives to be everything you needed. For an hour you'd been placing books in their correct spots, labeling boxes to be housed somewhere new, and theorizing where you went wrong the other night when Logan left.

You didn't want to let the disappointment get to you. Nor should you. The phone conversation last night clarified enough for you to know him leaving wasn't your fault. It wasn't due to your kiss or even because he didn't want to be there. He simply hadn't healed from what his world did to him. Whatever Wade mentioned to you in a ramble of semi-seriousness gave you enough of a picture to know what that might have been.

No matter how much you wanted to help him; to make him see that you weren't scared of what he had to give. This wasn't your war.

Logan made sure you understood that.

That still didn't stop the swell of dismay at his actions. The belief that you weren't good enough to hear his story began to eat you alive the longer he pushed it off. Each comment came tinged with pain you'd never be privy to. Agony he wanted to endure alone.

You would give him the space he needed—the time that was required in order to heal from wounds you couldn't see. They were there. Dug into the shape of his heart—carved into the metal of his bones—but Logan wouldn't allow you to bear witness to that. To a broken side of a man who wanted to be better. If only he knew he didn't have to be for you to ache for him.

The thought of him alone left your heart twisting in your chest and stomach fluttering.

You slid another book into the correct spot, silence echoing like a void that went on for miles. Only for the ring of your phone to shatter it like glass. You scrambled for the device in your purse, breath filling your lungs at the sight of his name as it flashed across your screen.

Maybe this made you seem desperate—a type of clingy that would make any other man run. You couldn't find it in yourself to give a shit.

"Logan," you said—his name leaving your mouth in a breathy manner you regret within moments.

"Oh shit girl you've got it bad."

The pounding of your heart jumped at the loud echo of Wade's voice blasting through the small speaker. "Wade?"

"The one and holy." To say you were perplexed felt like an understatement. But before you could spill the millions of questions on your tongue, Wade kept going. "Hey! What kind of wood do you prefer?"

A loud rumble of an engine blared in the background—killing your ears. "What?"

"Oh right fuck me. Silly question. There's twelve thousand words already written about what type of wood you prefer." He laughed as the sound came again. "I'm talking the tree kind. Got a preference for scents?"

"She's not gonna be able to smell it you dumb fuck!" Logan shouted. You heard an audible screech before a loud rustle had you pulling the phone from your ear with a groan. "Honey?"

You smiled, walking towards the part of the room that didn't echo with your voice. "I'm scared to ask what you guys are doing today."

"Oh," he chuckled. You wished he'd bought a better phone, longing to see each expression that crossed his face. "I owe you a door."

That kiss reemerged in your memory once more. Burning through your body in quick rapid strokes. As if Logan was fanning the flames of something stronger—a fire that you wouldn't be able to control. You imagined what he looked like at this moment, if he still wore the exhausted look of grief from last night. Or if he'd covered it with a mask of annoyance due to Wade.

"I can just call the building manager to fix it." You put it on your list of things to do today already, but the idea of seeing Logan again was too tempting to pass up.

He huffed, falling silent. Wade's voice shouting about the Lorax became all you heard for a brief moment—Logan no doubt figuring out what he could say to fix this. The glimpse of him last night had set your teeth on edge in a way you'd never experienced before. You felt you could sink your canines into the tension and rip it to shreds with ease.

"Where I come from it's only right to fix what I broke."

What he broke.

This wasn't about the door. You could see it clearly in the pained way he spoke his words—each one more clear than the last. Leaving you in a rush with no fucking explanation left him worried that you weren't going to be around if he kept pushing you away. You were something good—a light he sought in the darkness he found himself in—and messing up this chance wasn't going to happen twice.

He'd done this before. He pushed those he loved away.

Doing the same with you only made his chest echo with the hollow emptiness that he'd grown tired of feeling.

"You can fix my door under one condition," you said, effectively breaking the silence.

"Anythin'."

The flutter in your chest felt lethal when he spoke to you like this; open and willing to bend where you wanted him to go. A man had never given you this before. The attention, the knowledge that he wanted all of you. Not just sex, or meaningless conversations. He wanted every piece you were open to sharing—every dark crevice and thought you felt embarrassed about.

You only wished he'd understand you wanted the exact same thing from him.

"Dinner. My place. Seven p.m."

Fuck what you wouldn't give to see his smile as he let out a sigh of relief. "I won't be late."

You smiled, worrying your lip between your teeth—that familiar gooey warmth now back in your chest. "You better not be."

"I've got great timing honey. Got nothin' to worry about."

Bullshit. You nearly said it, but a loud shuffle and a few bitten off curse words—mainly growled on Logan's end—cut your conversation short. A triumphant laugh you could only figure to be Wade's pierced your eardrum as the phone was unwillingly handed off once again.

"I just want to let you know I've got money on whether or not he nails you tonight. So don't let me down cupcake."

"You're betting on this?" you exclaimed, loud enough to hear your voice bounce off the walls and echo back to where your supervisor was no doubt sitting.

"Of course. I'm not one to turn down the sleazy art of gambling." He sighed wistfully. You'd never wanted to punch someone more in this moment; suddenly aware that this is how Logan must feel every day of his life. "Besides if you heard the sounds that came out of our shower this afternoon. Oh ho ho. Something tells me that he was letting off some Steam Boat Willy to the thought of his late night phone buddy."

Disgust at Wade's words was rapidly overshadowed by the thought of Logan in the shower. Naked and desperate to find some release after your conversation last night. To say you hadn't pictured what he'd look like hard and aching from your touch would be a lie. But actually knowing that's what happened left you winded.

Your chest heaved as your body grew warm—the image of him with his hand around his cock, his head thrown back in pleasure, almost made your knees give out.

"Your thinkin' about it huh?" The overconfidence in Wade's voice snapped you back to reality within seconds.

"Shut up."

"Got ya red handed angel."

With a roll of your eyes, you made to head back to your work—Wade's words only served to fluster you more than you wanted. "Don't piss him off too much okay Wilson?"

His laughter nearly appeased you as the piercing sound of a saw went off again. The both of them must have ventured to a warehouse to find materials. You wanted to confirm your thoughts when Wade did it for you. As if he could hear you loud and clear.

"Who knew our man had lumberjack experience?" He sighed dreamily, a shout of what you guessed was Logan saying fuck off filtering through. "God it's like watching X-Men Origins Wolverine. Back when his hair screamed Staying Alive and I went by the name Billy Butcherson."

A cough from behind you gave enough notice that you had in fact been caught by your boss—her glare burning through the back of your skull. The short break you were allotted passed five minutes ago. Normally you'd be fighting your way to the end of the day. Today though...you felt that delicious bite of excitement at knowing you'd be spending tonight with Logan.

"I've got to go. But Wade..."

"Yeah?"

"Take a picture for me will you?"

"Already done. Got my phone set to burst. Which is what Logan's gonna do tonight instead of tainting our shower walls–" Logan's roar of I'll fuckin' kill you came seconds before you heard a thwack overlapped with Wade's high shriek.

The line went dead instantly.

The elevator wasn't moving fast enough for your liking—each flash of a floor passed sent another wave of nerves through your body. Work dragged on longer than you expected. And the groceries you picked up on the way didn't feel like enough to make a meal grand enough for a night like tonight. You tried to destress by saying he wasn't expecting much. This wasn't even a date.

That is until you realized...that's exactly what this was.

A date that felt long overdue.

You hadn't known Logan long enough to pursue a relationship as deep as this, but that's where things got fuzzy. He knew you. Or a version of you that felt entirely different to the person you were now. And maybe that's where the security that this would last came through. The knowledge that no matter what happened, Logan was in this for the long haul.

This wasn't temporary.

A creak of the doors opening didn't deter you from digging through your mountain of thoughts. Each one more worrisome than the last. You should be terrified that this was it. The future had already been written and Logan was at the end of the road. That alone would be reason enough to turn tail and run.

Then you turned the corner leading directly down your hallway.

Logan stood leaning against the wall, a lit cigar in his mouth, smoke trailing past his lips, and a heavy wooden door placed directly beside him. A toolbox that looked to have seen better days sat by his feet. A bouquet of honeysuckle and peonies placed directly on top—wrapped in brown paper with a yellow and blue bow.

Whatever fear might have lingered in your body dissipated when his gaze found yours and his lips pulled into a smile.

"You're early," you said—desperate to catch your breath. The scent of his cigar lingered on your senses, mixing with the leather of his jacket.

Suddenly Wade's words from earlier felt a lot more real than you expected. He showed up dressed casually. Jeans, flannel, the familiar dog tags strung around his neck. Yet whatever transpired the night before came rushing back with the promise of more.

This was a date. But whether it would lead to something else you'd leave entirely up to him.

"I told ya I had great timing honey."

Heat trailed down your body where his eyes followed. "I didn't believe you."

"I know."

The claw marks on your door brought a flustered smile to your face. As if to say you were okay with them staying. You wanted them to stay. Logan's eyes darkened at the sight, a flash of something worse taking hold of his mind as you pushed it open.

You longed for him to tell you the truth. He wouldn't either way. But the hope still remained—lingering on the edges of your heart.

"Easy enough to fix," he muttered, reaching for his tools—the bouquet of flowers gripped tightly in his large palm.

"I didn't know what exactly to get." He stood in your living room, eyes trained on the window. Finally he was on the other side—in your home—and yet he found he didn't belong here. "Do you have a preference?"

He sucked in another drag from the cigar before pulling it free—stamping it out on his palm as you watched. A heady wanton look crossed your features. You doused it quickly in favor of unpacking the groceries. He made sure to store it away for a later time. One that didn't feel dragged by the weight of his own thoughts.

"I'm not picky."

You nodded. "Feel free to use whatever's useful. I don't have tools though."

"I came prepared bub." He lifted the box with a smile and suddenly recalled that he bought you flowers. Much to Wade's annoying comments about this being a first date. Logan wouldn't push you in any direction you felt uncomfortable going towards. But in an irritating turn of events, Wade was right. Twice. "These are for you."

The smile on your face was worth every dollar and excruciating minute spent picking out what went with what. He reminded himself to thank Wade. Even if it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"They're beautiful." The delicate white lay atop pink flowers that filled your senses. An aroma you'd never known could work so well together. "Why these?"

A touch of crimson began to tint the tops of his ears as he let out a breath. "They're uh..." He coughed. "The day we met I said somethin' kinda awkward."

"I smelled different."

"Yeah." Logan wanted to bury himself six feet under at the teasing glint in your eyes. "That's how you smell. To me. Like honey and flowers."

There had to be an explanation for the way your heart split down the center—as if to offer him one half. To give him a part of yourself that once didn't belong to him. But that's where you were wrong. Even in a different universe, he would find you. You were once everything to him; the person he'd go through hell for. That fact never changed. Even if you did.

You wanted to spill every emotion, every truth about how your heart already longed for him in ways that left you reeling. But Logan wasn't a man to speak longer than he had to. And before you finally gained the courage to open your mouth, he was stepping back into the hallway. His hands busy with a project and mind eons away.

Dinner was simple to cook knowing he'd eat whatever you made. Pasta, some wine, and an old bottle of whiskey a friend of yours bought sat on the table as he put the final touches on the door. You'd spent the time at the stove combing over every word spoken. Every minute touch and fleeting look. As he worked effortlessly on setting your new door in place.

A dark honeyed wood with grooves throughout that almost resembled the small panes of a window. The quality was stunning. Beyond anything you'd seen before.

You wanted to prod and ask where he learned to do this. But the sight of him slightly sweaty, flannel tossed into his toolbox, and arms on display when he carried the door to its spot, left you dazed. Each movement caused the muscles beneath his skin to ripple—face screwed in a look of concentration while the sound of the drill echoed off the hallway walls.

For a moment you forgot dinner was cooking as you practically ogled his form. That familiar flame burned through your body when his gaze met yours and a smile crossed his lips.

Logan could feel your eyes on him—the aching burn of your gaze now seared into the bare skin of his arms and shoulders. And he fought himself to keep going. To ignore your now heady scent—the way your heart sped up with each shift of his body—and finish what he started. If he was being honest, which he rarely was with himself, he put on a show for you.

You liked him.

He just wanted to reaffirm that fact once in a while.

The smell of slightly burnt garlic had him biting back a smile as you rushed to fix what his distraction caused. His ego swelled. Heart pumping with a sense of pride the second he caught you flustered with your head bowed in the kitchen.

"Smells delicious honey," he said, testing the lock on the door a few times until he felt satisfied with his work.

"It's not much." You popped open the two types of alcohol, pouring a generous helping of wine in your glass. He fixed himself his own whiskey. "Something my sister taught me when I was in college. She believed if there was nothing else to cook, pasta was always the correct answer."

"Smart woman."

You pushed the plate his way and caught the grin he hid at the small act of domesticity. What began as a nerve-wracking date became an insight into what your future with him might look like. Dinner at a tiny kitchen table, his jacket draped over one chair, the scent of flowers twining together with the faint traces of his cigar.

A life that felt perfect enough to keep forever.

"I hope you know Wade's betting on tonight," you said, pouring another glass of wine.

You were settled next to him on the couch, dinner resting full and warm in your stomachs. The alcohol tasted sweeter on your tongue compared to an hour ago. He lounged with his legs spread, glass balanced in one hand. A lazy look of satisfaction in his hazel eyes.

Logan had never felt this comfortable. Soothed by the scent of you beside him, the whiskey on his tongue, and the sight of you with your legs curled beneath you. The red wine made you smile more, laugh easier. He noticed how you bloomed before him, light shimmering between small jokes and half assed teases.

All his life he wondered what home would truly feel like. What would having a place be? And this...you beside him with an endless night stretched before you, gave him the answer.

Home felt like you.

He groaned, head falling against the back of your couch. "He's a lucky fucker with that can't die bullshit. What's the bet?"

Your eyes dragged to the door—tracing the carved marks as his hand hesitated to settle on your thigh. "That you'd and I quote nail me."

"What?" he spit.

The laugh that bubbled to the surface echoed with the heady effects of too much wine. "I hate to break it to Wade. But I don't have sex on the first date."

Logan's lips turned up, hand finally against the bare skin of your leg. Your skirt fanned around your lap, covering your soft skin that lay beneath. "So this is a date huh?"

"Yeah." He tugged you closer. "At least I think it is."

"I think so too."

Unconsciously, you toyed with the chain of his dog tags, catching a glimpse of the worn letters of his name. Any other time you'd push the questions away. You would claim that tonight wasn't the right time. After all this felt good, right in ways nothing had before. But the wine made you loose lipped. Braver than the other times you pushed past the line he drew deep in the sand.

Except this time...he started the conversation.

"You asked about my nightmares last night."

Your eyes caught his, fingers stilling against his chest. "I know you don't want to talk about it."

He shook his head with a deep exhale he felt down to his stomach. "If this is what I think it is. What we're startin' here. Then you should know what you're getting into honey."

"I know what I'm getting into–"

"No. You don't." He sat up straighter, tugging you close until your legs lay over his lap. "You don't know what happened to me. What I did..." He sucked in air as his heart began to twist. The cold wash of anxiety suddenly brighter than a few minutes earlier. "What I couldn't do."

The pain in his eyes chipped off a piece of your heart. Oh how you longed to give it to him.

Cupping his cheek, you felt the scratch of his beard against your skin. "Logan. You're not a bad man."

"Yeah bub. I am," he barked in a half laugh meant to discourage you from seeing his grief.

That's what this was. The full spectrum of his emotions scared the shit out of him more than any villain he fought. More than the thought of dying alone one day. The moment you saw them for yourself, he knew you'd run. He almost expected it. Which is why he'd taken so long—put it off each time the curiosity lingered in your gaze longer than he liked.

He told himself you didn't need to know.

It was better this way.

Tonight proved that all those reasons—all those excuses—stood no chance when it came to you.

"I don't believe that," you whispered, your other hand curling around his dog tags.

"Gotta remember I'm not him. I'm not the hero and never have been." When you looked at him like that—eyes wide and lips turned down—he felt the full weight of the words he was about to say out loud. Words he hadn't spoken since Laura met him by the fire way back in the Void.

Somehow saying it to the other Logan's daughter felt easier. As if he couldn't disappoint her anymore than he had. She'd been there at his death, watched him struggle to protect her, and loved him in spite of all that. She called him Dad and spoke over his grave with a smile. Knowing full well he'd never come back to life, he'd never find his way back to her.

Laura wasn't his kid and yet...he knew she'd understand.

But saying it all to you…

He wasn't sure he'd survive it if you never understood.

"The X-Men in my world weren't as respected as the ones in yours. We were heroes, but the humans. God they fuckin' hated us." His eyes burned with each memory that came rushing back. A river that threatened to drown him. "And I always had to be an asshole. I didn't know what home felt like—what...family felt like. So when I got it, I pushed it away."

"Oh, Logan–"

"No, let me...let me finish honey." He gripped the glass until he heard a crack—his eyes dazed and mind lost to a different time. The night that would later become his ghost. "So I left and did the only thing I was fuckin' good at. I drank until I couldn't feel anythin' anymore. And the humans decided they'd had enough of the X-Men."

Grief struck your heart straight down the center. Tears spilled down your cheeks at the sight of him so broken—so raw from a time that would never leave him. You finally knew why Wade never explained it to you.

This wasn't his story to tell. Not his past to share.

"I came home and they were–" His fingers dug into the skin of your thigh in an attempt to ground himself. Claws slipping free as he struggled to get the final words out—the truth of why he pushed you away. Why he should keep pushing you away. "They were dead."

You pressed yourself against his side, lips against his temple as he silently bit back the emotions he refused to set free. What would become of him once they were finally out? He couldn't risk hurting you because of it.

"They called for me." His breath was ragged, voice thick with tears that never fell. "Jean. Charles. I heard them die in my head. But I was too fuckin' drunk to save them. I got home and all of them were...Jesus. The humans called us mutants vicious, but I'd never seen anythin' like this."

The worst part crawled up his spine with a chill that had his claws coming free. "And you. You survived due to your gifts. Apparently you hid in the future—snapped there without even realizing it. But by the time you returned they were dead and no matter how many times you tried to go back, you couldn't." He raised his head, eyes red and glassy. "You tried to kill me that night. I couldn't blame you for it cause I wanted to die."

"That's not me."

He shook his head. "I know, but you have to know why it happened. I couldn't protect you honey. I couldn't protect any of them."

"The humans did this. Not you." You dragged his face to yours, forcing him to see the sincerity in your eyes—the fire that burned no matter the variant. "You did not kill your family Logan. Don't take their shame."

"It's easy for you to say that bub. You weren't there." He felt your touch mark against his skin and fuck how he wished it would leave a scar. "I'm not the fuckin' hero. I'm the man who fucked it all up because he was too proud for his own good. I need you to see that."

Your gaze hardened. "Why?"

"So you know what you're gettin–"

"Bullshit," you demanded. "I know exactly what I'm getting into Logan. I knew the second I met you. So don't do that. Don't push me away." The press of his forehead to yours leveled the pain and allowed him to breathe. "I'm here to stay. Whether you want me or not."

He grinned, tears finally falling as your lips found his. You breathed life back into his chest, made his heart worth beating again. For all that time he damned himself, loathed the reflection in the mirror, he never thought he'd get this. The soft press of your kiss, the bitter tang of wine on your tongue as his hand gripped your hip—his claws retreating back into his body.

"Trust me. I want you," he mumbled against salt stained lips and broken smiles. "I'll always want you."

"Then it's a good thing I want you too."

That familiar flicker of sparks still existed in the air, begging for more. But you were content to stay here. Kissing him over and over again in order to embed the sensation in your mind.

"Thank you for telling me," you sighed, fingers curling into his hair to drag his lips back to yours.

The thud of his heart ran through his whole body. "Can I show you somethin'?"

You nodded, pulling away as he dug into his pocket. As much as he longed to keep kissing you, to spend all night right there on that couch. He knew there'd be time for that. A night where you were both unburdened by the weight of a past that defined who you were. Tonight was not that night.

The picture was old, burned slightly at the edges and crinkled, but he handed it over with a grin. A group photo like the one stored in the archives at your job. Only this time you recognized two faces among the small team of people in yellow suits. You were smiling with an arm around Logan's waist, your face pressed against his chest.

The sight of his smile—wide and unfiltered—made your heart leap. But the blue aura that seemed to wrap around your body is what gave you pause.

"The blue..."

"Your powers." He pointed to the way it ended at your hands, seeming to stem directly from your chest. "Turning them off wasn't really a thing you could do. Somethin' about time being a constant flow of energy. Charles always explained it better."

Thousands of questions came to mind. All of them pertaining to the powers and the team and more specifically him. He sunk into the couch with a sigh, his eyes hazy with a different kind of need. An ache that no doubt begged him each night. Sleep. Rest without any nightmares, free of the shackles he'd placed on himself.

So you stood, nearly startling him when you did. Nothing had to be said about your intentions, or why you held out your hand for him to take. He simply followed. Each step heavier than the last. The kitchen could be cleaned tomorrow, the bottles put away later. You couldn't find it in yourself to care when his hand was in yours and he smiled at you as if you'd hung the moon in the sky.

"Thought you said Wade was losin' tonight honey?"

You laughed, pushing the flannel from his shoulders as you led him to your bed. "He is. We're just sleeping."

There was no mistaking the doubt in his eyes, the trepidation of his nightmares. "I might hurt you."

"No you won't." Drawing his hand up to your mouth, you lay a kiss along his knuckles. "I trust you Logan."

"You shouldn't." His breath was a shuddered exhale at the sight of you pulling your dress up and over your body.

"Well too bad," you replied, tugging the covers back while he pulled off his shirt—leaving his boots by the door. "You don't scare me Wolverine."

"Wolverine huh?" Crawling into bed with you was easy. Though the mattress sunk under the weight of his bones, you still let him tug you closer—his arms wrapped around your bare waist. "It was James the other night."

"Careful," you said. "Or I'll start calling you Howlett."

A growl rumbled in his chest, his teeth nipping at the bare skin of your shoulder as you laughed. And suddenly he remembered what it was like to live. To want more than just the bottom of a bottle and a peaceful night's sleep. He could recall nights like this in the past. A different you curled up against his body—the love resonating in how you clung to him.

It all slammed into him at once.

Although tonight he didn't push it away. He kept you close, his nose burrowed in your hair, and welcomed the gentle tug of a few hours rest.

Tonight—for the first time—he slept.

Without nightmares.

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

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dyaz-stories · 1 year ago

Text

an indentation in the shape of you || Cha Hyun-Su x f!Reader

summary: Hyun-Su wants to learn how to make you feel good. The two of you experiment some more.

word count: 2.8k

warnings & tags: fluff, smut, reader is afab, explicit consent, pwp, porn with feelings, fingering, dry-humping i guess?, they're both virgins and pretty awkward but they're getting better at this, all very vanilla.

first one-shot · previous one-shot

This one-shot can be read independently as there is nothing intense plot-wise that requires having read the other parts, but I do recommend reading them for context.

A/N: this is my first hyun-su one-shot without angst lol (...don't get too used to it). anyway, this is more smut, and i think it's more intense than the previous one. hyun-su is more confident in this one, and he takes charge a little more (but in other ways he's pretty subby, so do with that what you want). hope you enjoy!

There is something about watching Hyun-Su moving around in your house that warms your heart in a way you can’t quite explain. He’s seemed more confident there lately, no longer tiptoeing or stiffening around you like you could kick him out any second. It reminds you of days forever gone, when your mom used to sit at the table while doing her crosswords and your dad put music on the second he walked in through the door.

It reminds you of when this house was a home.

Right now, Hyun-Su’s fixing up a spear he’s brought here with some of your dad’s tools. It’s not his, you know that much. ‘Yi-Kyeong asked me to take care of it’, he’d said when he had set to fix it. There was something to his tone that had stopped you from asking for more, even if you think he’d have told you. He’d said her name respectfully, but with deep sadness, and you had known that there was a lot more to this story. You’d get there some day, you were sure, but not tonight.

Hyun-Su glances up at you, and you almost whip your head away to pretend you weren’t looking at him, like you’re a highschooler with a crush. Instead, you don’t even try to make it look like the long forgotten book in your lap is of any interest to you, and you give him a smile.

He stills his movements.

“Is something wrong?”

His voice is calm and deep. He sure has come a long way.

“Just like looking at you,” you answer, because it’s true, and even with all that progress, you’re not surprised when Hyun-Su looks away from you, cheeks turning red.

When he gets the courage to look back at you, though, a bashful smile illuminates his features, and you don’t think that would have happened even as recently as a few weeks ago.

“You do?”

There’s just something in the air. Something fresh and sweet and new, something that makes you bite your lower lip while you nod, suppressing the giggle that’s forming in the back of your throat. Hyun-Su’s eyes on you feel intense, and you’re not used to getting that kind of look from him. After a few seconds of that, he abandons the spear behind him to stand up and walk towards you, eyes not leaving yours for a second.

A long, intense shiver runs down your back. Under his hoodie, you can see the muscles of his shoulders moving as he walks, and fleetingly, you wonder if you’d have had a chance with him, in a world without the Apocalypse, but even that is quickly swallowed by the fact that you have him now.

He puts a hand on the back of the couch as he leans close to you to kiss you, the other coming to rest on your waist and oh, if he keeps doing things like that, you think you’ll just turn into a puddle. Your heart is fluttering, and when his hand sneaks under your t-shirt, long, cold fingers carefully caressing your skin, you think it just might fly out of your chest.

His lips move slowly against yours, and you tilt your head back as he towers over you. You feel like you’re going into overdrive from how sensual he’s being, how his tongue dances with yours as the soft sounds of the kiss fill the room. It’s not long before he’s gently pushing you onto your back on the couch, and he goes down with you, putting one knee between your legs to support himself.

And it’s all just so much. Hyun-Su’s lips, his taste on your tongue, his warm body half-covering yours, his fingers running over your ribs, and, fuck, now his knee just almost, almost pressing right where you need him to.

But this feels nice, too, and you’re not trying to initiate anything sexual just yet, so you do your best to be patient. You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer, and find some satisfaction in the way Hyun-Su loses his rhythm at that. Knowing that you still have that kind of effect on him, even as you’re unraveling completely under his touch, makes you just a little more confident in what you’re doing.

It isn’t long before Hyun-Su’s gotten his bearings back though, and then he kisses you with renewed passion. The kiss turns less controlled, mouth crashing against yours harder, his hand tightens on your waist— before he pulls away, panting.

“Sorry,” he says before he can catch himself, cheeks flushed.

“I didn’t mind,” you answer, but your voice is squeakier than you had intended.

“I didn’t mean to— I wanted to ask you something.”

His black eyes are wide, and as much as the blue eyes are like an electric shock running through you, you love them so much. You love how you drown in them, you love how kind they are, love that they are, truly, a window to his soul.

“What is it?” you whisper, not trusting your voice anymore.

“Just— What we did. Last time.”

No need to be a rocket scientist to figure that one out, so, even if you feel blood rushing to your face, you nod.

“I wanted to, uh, return the favor. If you don’t mind.”

It’s your eyes’ turn to widen, and you push yourself onto your elbows to better read his expression. The skin of your face tingles with how burning hot it is.

“I mean I— Sure but you don’t— You don’t have to do anything—”

“I know,” he says, shaking his head. His voice is soft. “But I want to.”

You swallow, but you lay back down. You’re more nervous in this situation than you would have expected, feel vulnerable, exposed, even if you’re all clothed for now. But you trust Hyun-Su, you do, with all of your heart, and you cannot imagine a better person to have this experience with. So, slowly, you nod.

“Are you sure?”

“Very sure,” you whisper.

“Then can I…?”

He pulls on your shirt, but without putting any force into it. His eyes are on you, waiting for your approval — or whatever you decide to answer with.

You swallow.

“Um, yes, but could you— could you also…?”

He understands your meaning without you having finished, and acts on it faster than you would have expected, almost immediately pulling his own hoodie over his head and letting it fall to the floor. You’d noticed before that, for all his shyness over other things, he doesn’t seem to care about nudity all that much, but you’re not sure what to do with it.

For now, you can at least admire the work of art that is his body, his well-defined muscles and hard pectorals, and since he’s out in the open now, you give him a nod.

“Go ahead.”

He takes off your shirt like you’re made of porcelain, pulling it slowly and softly over your head, and taking his time so it doesn’t get caught in your hair. It is such a sweet sight, how focused he gets on the task, on making sure he’s doing right, so that he doesn’t hurt you in any way. It’s only once he’s done that his gaze lands on your body. He stills, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and you can’t help but stiffen.

It might be silly, at this point in your relationship — and when the world has literally ended outside your window — but you’re feeling self-conscious. You want to fold your arms in front of your breasts, hide your stomach and any imperfection.

“You’re beautiful,” Hyun-Su says, so obviously in awe, and the weight on your stomach is replaced by sweet, sweet butterflies. “Is it— is it okay to—”

“Touch me,” you ask instead of letting him stutter through the rest of his sentence, and he almost gasps at that, pants suddenly feeling a lot tighter.

“You shouldn’t say things like that to me,” he mumbles, bright red once again, stealing a kiss from you when you open your mouth to tease.

Then he’s kissing down your neck, and you can tell that he’s mimicking the things you did to him the last time something like this happened between the two of you. You barely have time to find that sweet, though, because soon the only thing on your mind are the open-mouthed kisses he’s pressing against your skin, and how they make you so desperate to buck your hips against he’s oh so well placed thigh.

He doesn’t linger on your neck, though, soon moving down to your chest, sneaking a hand behind your back to try and unclasp your bra — something he ends up struggling you with so much that you’re the one that eventually reaches back to get it done. He’ll have all the time to learn that kind of things later. For now, there’s something on your mind, and you don’t want to have to wait any longer.

You let him slide it down your arms, then discard it, letting it fall with the rest of your clothes.

“Can I…?”

“You still don’t have to ask.”

He hesitates for a second, before going back down to press a shy kiss under your collarbone, right where your breast starts to form. He keeps kissing his way down, hands for now cautiously staying away. Finally, he reaches your nipple, and you cannot hold back a distinct gasp when he carefully wraps his mouth around it. It turns into a full moan when he flicks his tongue against it — and you could swear you feel his mouth stretching into a grin right after that.

It’s then that he cups your other breast with his hand, and you shiver. His body may be radiating heat, but his hands are cold. They don’t stay that way for long though, not with how hot you’re running right now yourself. He starts off shy over there too, at first massaging your breast gently, before his fingers dare brush against that nipple. It’s hard already, and with his mouth on the other side, all you can do is arch into his touch, moans still falling freely from your lips.

Pleasure’s running wild in your body, each and every sensation going straight down to your core, more so when his fingers experimentally pull on your nipple. You’re dripping wet already, desperate for relief, and it’s not long before you can no longer hold yourself back and buck your hips up against his leg.

He lets go of you almost immediately, glancing down at your lower body as if he doesn’t understand what’s happening. When he looks back at you, his eyes are impossibly wide, his pupils dilated.

“Did you— Did you just—”

“Hyun-Su,” you call out in a sigh, running your fingers over the nape of his neck. “Touch me.”

For a second, his whole body tenses and he just stares at you. Then he exhales.

“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath. “Fuck. Um. Then I’ll— I’ll just—” He starts fiddling with the button of your jeans, and just the anticipation of his touch where you need it the most sends pleasure rushing through you once more. This time, he manages to get them off of you without your help, and there’s another slow exhale. “You’re so— You’re so—”

Wet is the word you think he’s searching for, and he’s not wrong about that. The urge to reach down between your leg to take care of the ache you’re feeling is strong, but the desire to feel him down there is all-consuming, and so you wait for him, your breathing loud and ragged.

“Tell me, okay? Tell me what feels good to you.”

He doesn’t take off your panties, probably because he hasn’t gotten your jeans fully off, and instead just pushes them to the side. He’s cautious here too, at first barely brushing against the lips, which still makes the muscles of your thighs tense. It feels like you’ve been waiting for it for centuries when he finally inserts a long finger inside you, sliding in so easily from how dripping wet you are. Your hold on his shoulders tighten, fingers digging into his skin, and even with your lips pressed tightly together, your moan reverberates through your body.

“Good?” Hyun-Su asks, and his low voice in your ears does absolute wonders to you right now.

“You can add another one,” you say, except it’s probably more of a whine, but you can’t tell for sure, not with how much your head is buzzing right now.

Hyun-Su obeys almost immediately, and you bury your head in his neck to muffle the groan that follows. You feel so good, so full, and he hasn’t even moved yet. You let yourself adjust, before giving him more instructions.

“You can— You can spread them open and— ah!— m-move them in and— Ah!”

Hyun-Su follows your advice diligently, and soon you no longer even have the strength to hold on to him, falling down onto your back with your whole body arching into his touch, following after him if he pulls out. It’s so, so fucking good, nothing you’ve ever done on your own can compare to this and you don’t know how you’ll be able to go back after that.

You’re gasping and writhing underneath him for you don’t know how long, and you’re so, so close to the edge, but you need— You just need something more, so you push yourself back up on your elbows, something harder than you’d think, when your muscles feel like jelly, and that’s when you realize that his hips are bucking against your leg. You hadn’t paid any attention to it, but now you see how obviously hard he is, and the small, almost shy movements of his hips as he ruts against you.

“Hyun-Su,” you call — you’re no longer paying attention to how your voice is coming out —, “here—”

You grab his wrist, and even if it means he pulls his hand out, something that immediately has your walls clenching around nothing at the loss, guide him so his fingers brush against your clit.

“There,” you whisper. “You can keep, uh, keep your fingers inside and— and touch me there, too.”

He nods, pushes the fingers back inside. There are a few seconds as he figures out how to best put his hand, and then when he strokes your clit with his thumb, you almost immediately lose it. You only have the presence of mind to lift your leg up, just a little, so it presses against his hard cock.

It’s his turn to freeze and to let out a moan then, one obviously surprised out of him.

“You should feel good too,” you manage to mumble through the haze of pleasure.

“But I— I want to make you feel—”

“We can both feel good,” you answer, and Hyun-Su just cannot resist kissing you again. It’s messy, tongues clashing together without much control, but fuck, he cannot explain or control the way he feels about you.

You come just a few moments later, waves of pleasure crashing through you all at once as his thumb circles your clit, fingers deep inside you, moving at a tranquil pace that lets you feel all of his movements inside you.

When you open your eyes again, he’s above you, staring at you lovingly.

“Good?” he asks.

Better than that.

“That was incredible,” you tell him though even that feels like an understatement. You love the way he obviously preens under your compliment. “But— But what about you? Didn’t you—”

You reach out, but he grabs your wrist before you can touch him.

“I, um, I’ve already—”

He’s turning bright red again, but you understand without another word. His jeans are still on, and you haven’t even actually touched him, and yet he still came in his pants, against your thigh, while fingering you.

Blood rushes to your face so fast you feel light-headed.

“Oh,” is all you can truly think to say. Then, shyly, “Want to go get cleaned up?”

“Together?” His voice is soft, questioning, but his eyes are in yours, comfortable instead of avoiding. You nod.

Later, you’re still in his arms, your back pressed against his chest, his face buried in your neck. And you, too, are comfortable.

There’s just something in the air, something fresh and sweet and familiar, and you think something you haven’t let yourself explore all that much, even if you’ve known, deep down, for a long time.

It just might be love.

and here we are! this one felt a lot smuttier to me than the previous part, but it was fun to write about this relationship in a less angsty way, too. maybe i should let them be happy a little more lol. anyway, i hope you liked it! next part probably won't be smut, but i don't know when it will be out. i have a new, time consuming internship that doesn't give me a lot of free time, so i don't know how much/when i'll have time to write. but i definitely have more stuff i want to write for this couple! so don't hesitate to comment and/or reblog to give me the motivation to write after work lol, and i'll also be answering my asks when i have time!

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yoditopascal · 4 months ago

Text

Like A Prayer (Part 3)

summary: best friends with wade you’re always being dragged into something even when he’s not trying to, what are you to do when you find the fate of your timeline in the hands of yourself, your chaotic merc and an angry wolverine who’s hellbent on drinking himself to death?

content warnings: romance, some angst, a little fluff, character deaths, canon-typical violence, smut, lots of cussing, mutual pining, found family, drug and alcohol use, reader insert but with no use of y/n cuz I hate that shit, deadpool being deadpool, mentions of poor mental health (depression anxiety and ptsd mostly), scent marking, the honda odyssey scene needs a warning all on its own MINORS DNI

a/n: slightly shorter but hopefully worth it! Comments and criticisms are welcome!

tag list: sorry if you weren’t tagged I tried tagging everyone that asked but some usernames didn’t work! @allmyn1ghts @blooket-scares-me @amararosesblog @talanyra @spideybv28

Previous Chapter//Next Chapter

Are You That Somebody?

The two of you stepped through portal after portal in search of the perfect Logan who was willing to help you save your timeline. The first one was a little too short for Wade’s liking, the next one too 80’s he had said, the one after that was too busy fighting the Hulk, the one after that too old, and the one after him…you couldn’t really think of anything to say about the one called Patch except that you found him the most attractive with his eyepatch out of all of them, unfortunately though he seemed to hate Wade the most.

Wade stopped as a portal closed behind you both, as he approached a different Wolverine from behind, this one was alone in a garage and was working on his motorcycle with his back turned to you smoking a cigar.

“Now we’re talking.” He said rubbing his hands together like he was warming up. Every Wolverine so far has tried to kill him on the spot but had spared you for some odd reason, so he probably was preparing himself. “That’s the whole goddamn package right there.” He sounded like he was licking his lips under the mask.

This Wolverine was different, his build looked bigger than the other ones you had met, bulkier and he stood differently too as if he had more confidence in himself.

When he turns to get a good look at you both Wade lets out a girlish squeal as he covers his mouth with his hands.

“Oh, my fuck!” He shouts excitedly smacking you in the arm. “The Cavillrine! The legends are true.”

Now that this one was facing you, you could clearly see his face, he looked completely different from the others, still rugged but not as attractive to you. He looks you dead in the eyes and like all the others before him froze in place when he finally saw you, eyes unreadable as his nose flared.

It shocked you both when this Wolverine calls out your name, clear as day as Wade looks back and forth comically between you two incredulously. He steps forward towards you and you take a step back behind Wade, seeing first hand how violent Wolverine’s can be.

“Sorry to interrupt whatever the fuck that was but may I say, sir, on behalf of all humanity, this just feels right!” Wade says stepping in between you two, breaking the intense eye contact. “We will treat you so much better than those shit fucks down the street.”

“You were just leaving.” This Wolverine snaps calmly as he flicks his wrist, reloading his arms and drawing his claws. With a hard smack of his arm he miscalculates and sends Wade flying into you, through another portal he had opened up at the last minute behind you.

The impact of his body sent you barreling into a pool table as you both flew out of the portal. Messing up whatever game they had going on, a few patrons of the dingy bar you were now in glared at the two of you angrily, one being so bold as to step up to you before Wade stands up grabbing the irate man by his neck, almost instantly putting him to sleep.

Pulling you to your feet, you dusted yourself off from being on the grimy floor and readjusted your clothes. It was getting late, you had no idea how many hours you guys had left but you still hadn’t found a suitable Wolverine to replace your own yet and your chest was starting to tighten up in desperation and fear.

Looking to say something to Wade you realize while you were lost in yourself he had walked off, and instead was going up to a man at the bar. This one you could instantly recognize from behind from his hair tufts alone.

He had found another Wolverine and by the looks of his slouched shoulders this one was neck deep in an alcohol induced pity party.

You followed behind Wade just reaching the bar when the bartender came and took the cup from Wolverine looking equal parts annoyed and scared of the man in front of him. “I told you, you’re not welcome here, you’re not welcome anywhere. Now get the fuck out of my bar.” He said calmly not wanting to cause a big scene but still wanting to get his point across sternly.

“Just give me one more drink and I’ll leave.” The Wolverine answered as he looked down at where his cup had been, he looked the part of a kicked puppy.

“That’s not how this works.” The bartender started again but was interrupted when Wade leaned on the counter beside Wolverine “It does now, leave the bottle thanks.” He says shooing the man away. The bartender stares at the three of you oddly before going off to wipe down another part of the bar, leaving you to it.

This Wolverine’s nose flares as he audibly inhales and snaps his head to look past Wade at you. Unlike with the others before him the emotions in his eyes were clear as day as he looked at you, or more like through you.

Shock, fear, guilt and then ultimately hate welled up in his hazel eyes as he snatched up the bottle of jack the bartender had left beside him talking a few gulps.

“I know you, bub?” He asked you with a hard voice, clearly he did or at least he knew some version of you from this timeline. “Cause you got a lot of fucking nerve wearing the face of a dead girl ‘round me.”

Dead? Were you dead in this timeline?

You open your mouth to speak but Wade cuts you off as he holds up a gloved finger to your lips shushing you.

“Look peanut, I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about, a lot of emotional turmoil to get out and eventually a heartfelt confession gets thrown into the mix followed by, judging from the sex eyes you’re giving each other, a whole lot of fucky fucky time but we’re kinda on a time crunch here so I’m gonna need you to come with us right now.” He said, nodding towards the door. You felt your cheeks heat up at his words, you loved Wade to pieces but sometimes you wish he’d keep his mouth shut.

“Look, lady, I’m not interested.” Wolverine said, tearing his glare away from you to stare down Wade, he thought his outfit looked absolutely ridiculous and that was saying something, then he felt his gaze drift back to you, taking in your scent again.

Not only did you look like her, only a little younger, but you even smelled like her too, albeit just a little bit different. That was something he knew deep in his gut that couldn’t be replicated no matter what copying powers you had, so how the fuck were you standing here in front of him when he himself had buried your dead body almost a year ago?

Snapping his attention back to the conversation, he hadn’t heard a word red had said to him.

“Why would I go with you?” He asked cutting Wade off as he took another sip from the bottle before drunkenly poking him in the forehead

“Because, unfortunately, I need you. We,” he emphasizes gesturing between the two of you, “Need you, our entire world needs you.”

“You guys gonna fuck or fight?” The bartender comes back looking between Wade and Wolverine, clearly tired of having you all in his establishment. Wade looks at the man like he had sprouted a second head before slowly turning back to Wolverine.

“You gonna take that from him?”

“Yup.” The Wolverine says, sounding defeated, like he was tired of even putting up a fight.

“I can tell you sort of have this ‘don’t get too close, I’ll only break your heart’ vibe going here, but every other Wolverine would have really hurt me by now and we’re sort of on the tic-tic, so upsy-daisy.” Wade said standing to his feet pulling Wolverine up from his barstool. He shoves Wade back away from him and you rush behind Wade to pull him away from him at the tell tale snikt sound of his claws coming out, only when you looked down at his balled fists you could only see just the tip of them peeking through his tanned skin, as if he had stopped himself midway from fully pulling them out.

“Whiskey dick with the claws huh? It’s quite common in Wolverines over 40.” Wade jokes half heartedly trying to diffuse the situation or make it worse, you weren’t quite sure.

“Trust me pal, you don’t want this.” The Wolverine said his voice husky as he stared you two down silently pleading for you to leave before he hurt you like he hurt the others.

Sighing heavily Wade pulls out a gun and presses it to Wolverine’s head “Unless you want to take a deep breath through your fucking forehead, I suggest you reconsider.” He gestured to the door with it. “Let’s go, Peanut.”

With a laugh the Wolverine leans into the gun’s muzzle staring right at Wade.

You had had enough. Walking around Wade you stand in between the two men, placing one arm on Wolverine's shoulder and the other on Wade’s arm silently asking him to lower his gun, which he did just ever so slightly, before turning your attention back to Wolverine.

“Look, Wade isn’t always the best at articulating what he needs without making it a joke, but we really do need your help.”

With a snort Wolverine shrugs off your burning touch from his shoulder, you were making him hot, too hot for the stuffy bar, so he reaches back over the bar to grab the bottle of jack again. God you even sounded just like her.

“We’ve been looking for you for a long time, Wolverine!”

“Don’t call me that.”

He hated it when you called him Wolverine.

“Please! Just please!” You cried out grabbing him by his sleeve, he turned to look at you again, his eyes searching your face.

“We really need you! You’re the only one who can fix this! Trust me I would take literally anybody other than you if I could,” you said, growing increasingly frustrated and irritated with the man in front of you.

Ouch.

“But it has to be you! So are you gonna be that somebody or not?”

The Wolverine gets closer to you, you can practically smell the alcohol and his natural musk radiating off of him at his close proximity. He looks at you for a long while as if mulling over what you had just said to him before answering with a “Not.”

“Oh you motherf-!”

You were cut off as Wolverine stands to his full height, towering over you. He grabs at the barrel of Wade’s gun, drunkenly to steady himself as he chuckles. He holds up a finger telling you both to wait as he proceeds to chug down the rest of the nearly full bottle of jack.

“Good God. Thirsty little honey badger, aren’t ya?” Wade looks at him in shock, just as Wolverine pulls the now empty bottle away and goes to reply he hiccups before stumbling and dropping to the ground completely dead to the world.

“I guess you’ll have to do.” Wade groans holstering his gun and going to grab the now passed out Wolverine by his shirt, just as he goes to lift he spots something yellow peeking from underneath.

“Ooh. Look at those jammies.” He said as he starts to unbutton the Wolverine’s shirt. “That only took 20 fucking years!”

Heaving him up on his shoulder Wade groans at the weight of his limp adamantium skeleton, and starts to drag him outside with you following close behind.

“Quick help me get his clothes off, Nugget!” He said dropping the man unceremoniously to the ground as he continued to unbutton his clothes.

“Wade what the fuck are you doing?!” You snap at his hands as he strips him down to his superhero costume underneath.

It was bright yellow with blue accents with light scuffs and scratches on it, it was tight to him, almost like a second skin, his gloved hands adorned with special slots for his claws to pop out, just like in your old comic books, you almost couldn’t tear your eyes away from him as they dragged down his body.

“Eye fuck him some more why don’t you.” Wade said suggestively and if he wasn’t wearing the mask you know he’d be wiggling his eyebrows at you.

You stutter trying to defend yourself as you feel your cheeks heat up. Ignoring you Wade stands back to his feet, slinging one of Wolverine’s arms over his shoulders as he shoulders his weight. Opening up the TVA device he stole, Wade types something in and opens up a new portal. “Save your lady boner for later Nugget we got a timeline to save!”

You wanted to stop him and tell him that the man he was carrying was insufferable even after only knowing him for a solid 10 minutes and that there was no way he’d have you hot in the pants with the way he was acting but your gut was overcome with a feeling of uncertainty.

A feeling that told you that going back to the TVA would be a trap, but knowing that like always once Wade had his mind set on something that was it, you simply tucked your much smaller self under Wolverine’s other shoulder and helped Wade through the portal.

#logan howlett imagine #logan howlett x reader #wolverine imagine #wolverine x reader #logan howlett #wolverine #platonic deadpool x reader #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool 3 #hugh jackman #SoundCloud #like a prayer

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golden-ebony · 2 months ago

Text

Man Eater (3) 𓆩♡𓆪

♡ series masterlist ♡ previous part ♡

♡ Pairing: Logan Howlett/Fem!Vigilante!Reader

♡ Word Count: 3.0k

♡ Rating: Mature (but any additional parts may be explicit)

♡ Warning/Tags: fighting but by no means violent

♡ Summary: Leaving your past behind is never easy; teasing Logan makes it tolerable

♡ Note: i FINALLY have a proper vision for the series and i'm so so so excited!

It didn’t take you long to move into the X-mansion. You typically kept most of your things in storage, preferring to live out of a suitcase as you traveled from place to place. It always made it easier to leave on short notice if needed.

But you promised yourself you’d try to make it work at the school, hence moving all your belongings in. Leaving in the cover of night would be significantly harder now—unless you were willing to part with more than a few possessions.

In just a month, you’d settled into a permanent room and reacquainted yourself with your newfound teammates. Like Charles, they treated you with kindness and respect whenever your paths crossed. Occasionally, you even assisted them if it aligned with your own self-interest.

You had more interactions with Logan than anyone else. Despite knowing him for only a few weeks, you two were definitely getting closer. Friends? Maybe. True friendships were rare for you. Most of your relationships were transactional, impersonal. But with Logan, words weren’t always necessary to convey what the other was thinking or feeling. There was a mutual understanding between you.

Still, he loved finding new ways to get under your skin. And you were more than happy to return the favor. It was a brazen, tenacious dance that raised the tension in any room you were in, even when others were around.

Bantering with him was the only exciting part of your days. You itched to do something—anything besides train. The thrill of a mission was what you craved. Waiting for that “something good” Charles and Logan had mentioned felt like torture.

You saw the others come and go on missions a few times over the month. They’d be gone for only a few hours or a day, but that was exactly what you wanted. Your requests, however, were falling on deaf ears.

“I think I’m ready,” you reaffirmed to Storm as you finished a set in the gym. “I did great in the Danger Room, I train on my own, I’ve read some rather boring files. I’m ready!”

“You survived the Danger Room,” Storm corrected. “You’d do better if you actually worked with us instead of next to us.”

You huffed, hands on your hips. “I’m trying, alright? And I have been doing better!”

“You have,” Storm nodded. She glanced over, noticing Logan entering the gym with a group of students, and a sly smile crossed her face. “If bickering and flirting with Logan were a measure of improvement, I’d say you’re more than ready for a mission.”

Looking over your shoulder, you saw Logan talking with some students. You’d bet his training shirt was a size too small, hugging every ridge of his toned physique. You quickly turned away, not wanting to give him any ammunition for later teasing.

You shook your head, a smile creeping onto your lips. “Well, he’s annoying, and it’s something to do until I can actually go on a mission.”

Storm noticed Logan catching sight of the two of you and saw the tension between you thicken. Around the students, you both were more restrained, but that didn’t stop Logan from eyeing you across the room.

“Patience is a virtue,” Storm remarked as she passed you, knowing it was best to leave you and Logan to your own devices.

Turning, you watched as Storm said something to Logan before leaving the gym. An idea sparked in your mind as Logan’s gaze settled on you. You gave him a nod toward the wall, signaling for him to follow. He obliged, moving out of the students’ earshot.

Noticing the sweat-soaked collar of your shirt, Logan couldn’t help himself. “Already hot and bothered just by me being here, sweetheart?”

Your face remained serious, ignoring his comment. “Can you do me a favor?” You crossed your arms, your tone sincere.

Logan huffed, realizing he wasn’t going to get a rise out of you. He nodded, mirroring your stance. “Yeah, what’s up?”

You felt silly about your request. “Can you talk to Charles for me? I want to start going on missions, but no one thinks I’m ready.”

Logan shook his head, surprised. “Probably because you’re not ready.” You’d heard it from Charles, Scott, and Storm, but hearing it from Logan felt like a betrayal, even personal.

“You know better than anyone I can handle myself!” Your voice was louder than intended. “I’ve been doing this longer than any of you—well, except you.”

Logan raised a hand, signaling you to ease up. “Easy, sweetheart, you’ve only been here a month.”

“And it’s agonizing!” you snapped. “I know I’m still learning this whole team thing, but you said I could do something good here.”

“Then do something!” Logan shot back, as if it was obvious. Before you could retort, he continued, “Look, Charles has me teaching self-defense to these boys without their abilities. Offer to do the same for the girls.”

For the first time, Logan had managed to shut you up. You looked over his shoulder, watching the boys practice without his supervision.

“Yeah, we have missions, but this is a school. Helping these kids—that’s the original mission.”

You glanced back at him, huffing. “You sound like Charles.”

“Because he has to remind me of that sometimes.” He placed a hand on your shoulder. “And now I get to remind you.”

His firm grasp was oddly calming. Weeks ago, you would’ve swatted his hand away with a scold, but now his touch felt sincere.

You nodded. “Alright, I’ll talk to Charles about training some students. But will you talk to him for me?”

Logan playfully hummed as if he was weighing his options, “I’ll vouch for you when the time comes,” Logan decided, shooting you a smile. He turned back to the boys, seeing them get a bit more rowdy under no current supervision. “I’d invite you to watch, but I think you’d distract the boys” he teased as he squeezed your shoulder. The look in his eyes was more mischievous than anything.

You picked his arm off your shoulder, sensing the bait, “Distract them or distract you?”

Logan eyed your leggings and cropped shirt. Your partially exposed abdomen and arms were dried with sweat, but Logan couldn’t get your smell out of his head. It was almost dizzying. It had been getting worse over the last few weeks. Your smell was all over the mansion on every goddamn surface in every goddamn room. He only found refuge in his own room. However, Logan was nothing but honest.

“Mainly the boys, but…” Logan stepped a little closer, taking a proper deep breath to inhale your scent, “I ain’t above your charms either.”

You deeply inhaled, your exhale resulting in a chuckle, “For a man that’s seen my case files, you have to know where that charm can lead you.”

Logan shrugged at your point, “For a woman who claimed she couldn’t possibly be a part of a team, you’re sure itchin’ to go on a mission.”

“So?”

He shrugged again, taking a few steps back with a playful gleam in his eyes. “First impressions aren’t everything.”

You watched as Logan went back to the students, immediately getting their attention when he spoke up. As you walked past the group to leave the gym, you noticed how attentive the male students were actually being, focusing on every word Logan was saying. And whether Logan wanted to say Charles made him do this or not, you could tell that he enjoyed it. If he said no, it wasn’t sincere. You knew a liar when you saw one.

After your conversation with Logan, you spoke with Charles. He was excited to see you take initiative in assisting the children. You didn’t have the heart to tell him it was Logan’s idea, but if Charles really wanted to know, he had his ways of figuring that out. You didn’t push the idea of going on missions to him again. That was your idea.

It only took Charles a day to find groupings of female students that were interested in your lessons. At this point, you didn’t interact with the students much. You were more of a lingering figure in the hallways. This was the students’ opportunity to size you up as well.

As you stood there in the gym with 12 girls staring at you with their judgemental eyes, you felt a bit exposed, a little vulnerable. You had grabbed their attention, and now you were slightly regretting it.

“Uhm, so, self-defense is important…your abilities won’t always save you. It may not be safe to use your abilities.” You nodded as if you were convincing yourself. Some of the girls nodded as well, giving you some semblance of confidence.

“I’m not…” a curly haired girl began as she looked at you. Her brown eyes were wide with hesitation, “I’m not a fighter.” A few of the other girls muttered in agreement.

“And you don’t have to be.” You tried to reassure them with a soft smile. “I’m not asking you guys to pick fights or…even like to fight. It’s just important to the Professor…important to me that you guys know how to protect yourselves. No matter where you go in life.”

Pride was a feeling you were familiar with. Usually that pride stemmed from your own work. And these girls were right; they definitely weren’t fighters. However, watching these girls take your advice, follow your movements, even laugh when they made a mistake, you felt pride outside of yourself. Even over the course of an hour, you saw the improvement. Their movements were more fluid as they learned to strike and block.

You could see that the hour was winding down. It flew by as you watched the paired up teens practice these simple moves on each other. Your mind was already racing with ideas on what to teach next. Sighing with contentment, you clapped to grab their attention.

“Alright, that’s gonna be all for today!” you told them, only holding some of the girls’ attention. The others were still playfully fighting at this point. “Same time next week? Yeah?”

A number of the girls nodded as they began to grab their things. When your eyes turned toward the door, you spotted Logan leaned against the doorframe with his large forearms crossed. You looked smitten with himself as he watched you interact with the students. You playfully narrowed your eyes with a soft smile.

You turned your attention back to the girls who were grabbing their bags, “And if you don’t remember anything from today, just remember to never pull your punches. What you lack in experience, you can make up for in ferocity, alright?”

The giddy girls all were quick to say their thank yous and goodbyes as they passed you. Some said bye to Logan, too, as he moved out of their way.

With hands shoved in his jean pockets, he approached, “They don’t look half-bad,” he remarked, referring to the students. “And you look pleased with yourself, sweetheart.”

You bit your lip to hold back a smile, knowing Logan was going to use this as ammunition on why he’s always right. But a part of you didn’t care. “You were right; these are good kids. And I may have had fun,” you admitted as you grabbed the spray bottle and pushed the mop to clean down the mats. Logan walked beside you with raised brows as you began to clean up.

“Oh, I was right? That sounds good coming off your lips,” Logan teased, lightly shoving your shoulder.

“Don’t get used to it, Wolvie.” You eyed him as you turned around with the mop around to toward the other end. Noticing his sweats and t-shirt–that damn tight t-shirt again–you motioned to the equipment toward the end of the gym. “Are you here to work out or bother me? Because the weights are down there, brute.”

Logan's mouth quirked into a wry smile at your question. Walking next to you, he could smell your scent, a mix of sweat and your own natural scent. It made him feel oddly relaxed yet infuriated. He let his eyes drift down to your body as you pushed the mop.

“I was, but,” His eyes lingered on your form before taking the mop from you, tossing it against the wall, “now I wanna see if what you’re teaching these girls are any good.”

Logan backed up, giving ample space between the two of you. You cocked your head, interested in the dare but still hesitant. The tension was already stiff in the gym with anticipation at the mere mention of a fight.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” you shot back, already beginning to stretch your arms, “but if you wanted a personal lesson, all you had to do was ask, Wolvie.” Your tone teased him, bringing a gleam of challenge in his features.

In the empty gym, you both took your stances across from each other, sizing the other up. The thrill of anticipation and adrenaline began to flood your bloodstream as you mentally refamiliarized with how Logan fought during the Danger Room. Brutish is how you’d described it.

“You gonna keep your claws to yourself?”

“Gonna keep your knives to yourself?”

You dramatically rolled your eyes. You unsheathed your knives, darting them to a nearby board in a show of faith.

Logan cracked his knuckles, a smirk playing on his lips. “You sure you want to do this? I wouldn’t want to hurt you, princess.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting into a defensive stance. “The only thing delicate around here is your ego.”

With a sudden burst, Logan lunged forward, aiming for your midsection. You ducked, the rush of air from his punch sending a thrill down your spine. You pivoted swiftly, landing a sharp kick to his side. Logan staggered but quickly regained his stance, admiration creeping on his lips.

“Not bad,” he admitted, his tone teasing, “but you’ll need to do better than that to impress me.”

You couldn’t help but grin, “I already know I impress you.”

You darted in again, your movements a blur. A quick jab here, a feint there—Logan parried some strikes but let one slip through, catching him right on the cheek. The surprise on his face was priceless, and you took a moment to bask in it. If Logan could bruise, he was sure he would have.

You winced, a playful lilt in your voice, “I don’t pull my punches, Wolvie.”

Logan dryly chuckled, rubbing his cheek, “Alright, sweetheart.”

With a mock glare, he lunged again, relying on his size and strength. You ducked low, narrowly avoiding his grasp, and then executed a spinning kick that nearly knocked him off balance. He stumbled, caught between frustration and admiration.

“Gotta say, I like the way you move for me,” he remarked, genuine awe shining through.

“You wanted an up close show,” you shot back, grinning as you moved in again, launching a series of rapid jabs. Logan blocked a few but let one slip, landing solidly on his jaw again. He staggered, a laugh escaping his lips. “And I aim to please.”

As they exchanged blows, the gym echoed with their banter and laughter. You weren’t even exclusively on the mats anymore. You were moving around the equipment, against the wall. Logan tried to pin you against the wall, but you slipped out of his grasp, executing a swift spin that brought you behind him once more.

With a burst of speed, you locked him in a tight hold, your bodies inches apart. Logan struggled, muscles flexing beneath their grip, but you had the upper hand. “You’re not getting away that easily,” you teased, leaning closer, their breath brushing against his ear. You felt Logan ease up.

“Don’t know if I want to,” Logan shot back, breathless yet exhilarated.

Feeling your cheeks reddened, you pushed Logan down, pinning him to the padded floor in a swift maneuver with knee and forearm. You positioned yourself over him, yours faces inches apart. Logan didn’t appear defeated; he looked pleased with himself despite the pressure on his abdomen and chest.

You were pleased with yourself, too…for more reasons than one.

“I won,” you breathlessly stated, a small smile on your lips.

Logan’s eyes darted between your eyes and your lips. He unconsciously licked his lips before another smile grew on his face, “Then why do I feel so damn lucky?”

You would’ve expected your heart to slow at this point, yet it stayed elevated as you looked down at Logan. His hazel eyes were now a dark green. It was over. You could release him, but you didn’t. Against your better judgment, you nuzzled yourself close to his ear, hearing his breath hitch.

“Because most men barely make it out with their lives when I get ‘em like this.”

It took everything in Logan not to groan as lips grazed against his ear. Yet, he couldn’t help the hand that partially gripped your waist, feeling the warmth radiating from your body.

“Not the worst view to take in before the slaughter.”

Your mind was fuzzy being this close to Logan. It only worsened when Logan gripped you. Your entire body was buzzing, screaming to pull away. Still, you stayed, only slightly shifting your weight off his chest. The competitive gleam in Logan’s eyes was replaced with something softer, sensual even. Your breathing slowed, but your heart was racing a mile a minute.

Even Logan couldn’t seem to piece together another quip, a retort. All his thoughts had been stripped away, replaced with only you. You were consuming every ounce of his senses except the very one he craved the most. As close as you were, it wouldn’t be difficult to obtain. Yet, Logan was reluctant because even in the tenderness of your eyes, he saw a flash of something–he almost missed it—that he hadn’t seen in you before.

Fear.

“I gotta talk to Charles,” you quickly stammered as you lifted yourself off of Logan, not even thinking about facing him again. As quick as you said it, you were heading for the door. Logan could only muster the faint call of your name from the floor. He wasn’t surprised when it didn’t stop you.

After slowly standing, Logan noticed your knives still jammed into the wall. Your favorites, no less. Pulling them from the wall, Logan took the knives with him.

You’d be looking for them eventually.

He couldn’t wait until you did.

note: love hearing y'all's thoughts or if you wanna be tagged ♡

🏷️ list: @absxntmxnded @sarcazzzum @cashmerephalaenopsis @m1cky-y-y @wowitsafemale @kneelforloki @hello-lemons @devoetee @montyrokz @qxuanii @steviebbboi @mooneyloveydovey @yourworstgf @needz1nk @ayamenimthiriel @lulawantmula

#logan howlett #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #hugh jackman #x men #x men fic #logan howlett fic #britt fics #logan smut #wolverine x reader #the wolverine #wolverine smut #wolverine x female reader #logan howlett x mutant reader #man eater #man eater series

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alikuarso · 1 month ago

Note

To answer your question about Fresh: Fresh is actually a parasite! He dresses in his 90's-themed clothes and speaks in a silly way so that others underestimate him. His main and utmost goal is to Survive, and the way he does that is by infecting other people with his parasites and draining the life from their souls. Being seen as harmless lets him get closer to them and gives him easier access for possession. He hopes to eventually take over the multiverse, spreading his parasites in every corner of it and having absolute control.

He also has no emotions. He is capable of them, but for whatever reason he is unable to feel much, besides the rare instance of anger. He does frequently feel fear, though.

He is a bit sadistic, and he likes seeing others suffer. This is because when he takes over someone he drains their soul of life, which causes them pain. And to him, taking someone's body means safety, it means he can survive a bit longer as long as he's snatched their body. So he's come to associate the pain of others as something good.

And he's also aware of the creators/viewers, thanks to an event called the Loveball, which is canon to his character.

Going to copy and paste my own words for this [I was talking to a friend about Loveball]:

"So, like seven years ago there was a fandom-wide event called the Loveball, where people gathered their OCs and had them all attend an UTMV dancing ball. Fresh went, of course. There, he met a Frisk called Pacifrisk. Even knowing who he really was [90's parasite], they still believed he could be good. Before this, he hadn't ever really felt a connection to anyone, or even positive emotions in general. But Pacifrisk's faith in him made him feel positively towards them. This freaked him out. [No Fr@ns though, don't worry. That wasn't the intention for this plot.]

As a result, not only did he try to kill them, but he also went through with his plans: the Fresh Takeover [I forget what it's actually called]. His true reason for attending the ball. OCs were either possessed by the parasites or tried to fight against them. Apparently, some people used alcohol to ward the virus off, as Fresh hates substances such as that.

Fresh wanted to take over the multiverse, with this Loveball being the first step for his total domination.

But then right in the middle of things, a Sans AU [which I totally forget the name of X,D] grabbed Fresh and basically yeeted him into an alternate state of being. One where he could see the creators, all staring at him. An audience.

The Sans revealed the nature of Fresh's existence: That he was simply a character in a story. And if the creators got bored of him, he could easily be written aside and forgotten. Erased. His conquest didn't matter, in the end.

Predictably, this gave him an existential crisis. I'm not sure what happened after, but he stopped invading and went somewhere to contemplate his existence in a depressed state.

Afterwards, he had a new goal: To entertain. To convince the creators that he was worth keeping around. Similar to his previous goal of survival, but now with more dire stakes."

His creator @loverofpiggies has some posts about the Loveball, tagged under either the 'fresh sans' tag or the 'loveball' tag, which I recommend you check out! ^^

But yeah, to answer your question: The reason Fresh fought Ink was probably 1: because he saw it as a good way to keep himself alive and 2: So that he could be relevant and interesting to the viewers.

Hope this answered any questions you might have about him! ^w^

THANK YOU BECAUSE THERE'S NO WAY I WOULD HAVE FOUND ABOUT ANY OF THIS OTHERWISE😭😭😭 THAT'S A LOT

Now I want to draw fresh existential crisis mood, That's something I never would have imagined existed

Im still a bit confused about fresh not having emotions¿ but I think I got the idea, but still, why does he feel fear?

I think fresh is becoming my favorite now, help, error do something

(Thank you again for your time✨️)

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stsgluver · 1 year ago

Text

𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐓.𝟒 — gojo satoru

synopsis. nobara can’t find the dvd anywhere and gojo has a decision to make

wc. 4k

tags. fluff, angst (kinda), reader is described as fem, possibly ooc gojo (my bad), cliffhanger-ish, any spelling mistakes blame on my cats, possible plotholes

a/n. several things to address: firstly my description of dvds and how they work ARE SO FLAWED IK DON'T JUDGE. secondly, look I get how rct works so not everything I say is accurate but like this is also about 2d men so who's to judge. finally I'm not too sure about this chapter so if its shit lmk BUT I HOPE YOU ALL LOVE IT THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT <333 ily all but I do have upcoming exams so the ending(s), won't be posted till possibly early February as I have to get back to studying :(

previous part / final part / series masterlist

“guys we’ve lost it.” nobara pushed up her mattress, phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder as she peered beneath the wooden slats. all there was was her suitcase and a bag from an expensive shop she’d convinced gojo to buy for her. “it’s gone. poof. here once and now it’s not.” the ‘it’ in question being the dvd they’d treasured for the last few weeks (well, yuuji and nobara anyways).

after gojo had taken the dvd – unbeknownst to the first years – nobara had ended up sleeping for the next fourty eight hours, and then afterwards spending several days catching up on the classwork she’d missed. she hadn’t had the time or energy to force her classmates into another movie night so now here they were, almost a week since it was last touched, finally realising its disappearance.

“do you want me and megumi to come help?” yuuji asked tentatively as he heard her curse as she dropped the mattress back down. nobara sighed, glancing around at the chaos she’d created. her room was a mess – drawers half open and half her clothes and books on the floor in case the dvd had slipped into a pile by accident.

“it’s not in my room,” she said adamantly, pushing her hair back from her face in frustration as she struggled to piece together the final moments she had with the dvd. she could remember sending megumi away, beginning her little day of research and even some of the videos she watched (the arcade and the christmas reunion), but then she fell asleep and everything was hazy from there.

“when was the last time you had it?” megumi asked and nobara felt her eye twitch like she hadn't retraced her steps a million times already.

“the first day i was off sick. i was watching a few–”

“without us?” the pink haired sorcerer cut in with a gasp.

“what else was there to do?” nobara argued back with no bite but he quietened down nonetheless.

a moment of silence settled between the three as each tried to figure out where it could have been misplaced or who could’ve accidentally picked it up. if nobara had dropped it somewhere outside of her dorm, could one of the older years taken it?

nobara was brought out of deep thought by yuuji flippantly asking: “did you watch any after sensei came to see you?” she froze at the implication of his words. at no point could she recall their teacher ever coming in to check on her – it had always been either yuuji, megumi or maki.

“what?”

several hours later, the three first years found themselves huddled on the benches, nobara in the middle and the boys either side of her. in front of them were the second years and gojo – the latter having said something to annoy maki as yuuta held her back from making a swing at their laughing teacher. the second year teacher was off ill today so the larger class meant that the three had a distraction as they tried to figure out what their next step was – if they even had one at this point.

the assumed facts were as such: the first years were no longer in possession of the dvd, and gojo had it. though there was little doubt that this was true, it didn’t stop them questioning the possibility – after all, megumi had pointed out, there’d been no alter in his behaviour whatsoever since the minute he’d checked on nobara. surely, even the strongest would be noticeably affected by a disk that immortalised a happiness and innocence he’d never be able to return to.

but then again, maybe this was just another thing that separated gojo from the rest of society. being the strongest came before all else, he didn’t have the time to mourn resurfaced memories.

“maybe he just doesn’t have it,” yuuji suggested.

“he has to,” nobara reaffirmed. at this point they’d exhausted all other options about where it could possibly be and surely they would have heard if one of the older years found what they had. “would he tell you if he had it?” she asked megumi.

“no,” megumi said quickly, shaking his head and leaning back on the bench as he looked over at gojo, “we… he wouldn’t talk to me about that. about them.”

“could we steal it back?” yuuji offered and nobara debated duct taping his mouth closed.

megumi scoffed, shaking his head, “he has six eyes. even if we tried, he’d know for sure it was us.”

“he already knows it was us,” nobara countered, not that she agreed with yuuji’s solution by any means. “which is why i don’t get why he hasn’t said anyth–”

“oi, you three!” the first years jumped apart from their circle, hearts pounding as gojo appeared before them with a smirk toying at the corner of his lips and his hands clasped behind his back. “whoever beats maki in hand to hand combat gets the day off tomorrow!”

“yuuji if you win, i’m taking your day off,” nobara called out as she trailed behind the aforementioned boy running to the centre of the field.

“okay!”

unsurprisingly, all three first years lost against the second year. megumi came closest to winning but when he tried to use his cursed technique, gojo countered it, catching him off guard and giving maki the opportunity to sweep him off his feet with her staff.

gojo found himself still laughing over megumi’s shocked expression as he fell flat on his back as he stepped past the threshold of his office. even after all he’d taught the boy in combat, with no cursed technique it was hard to overcome the zenin girl’s strength and skill she’d mastered to take on her own clan.

he let out a small sigh as the door locked shut and, for the first time that day, he was alone with his own thoughts.

dropping down into his office chair, gojo crossed one leg over the other as he pulled open a drawer. on the top of a pile of unread paperwork for the higher ups was the dvd the first years were so fixated on.

he wasn’t stupid; he knew eventually they would figure out he had it and, unlike himself, they’d been way less subtle once they’d put two and two together. yuuji’s speech had tripled in speed, nobara was way too keen on being anywhere but where he was and megumi… gojo couldn’t forget the guilt and hurt in the teenage boy’s eyes after telling him you were gone. it was here again, had been for several weeks, and it was only after stumbling upon the disk in nobara’s room that he’d understood why.

gojo gritted his teeth together as he held the disk up between shaky fingers. it was pathetic, he scolded himself, it was just a bit of plastic with memories lasered into divots in a never ending spiral. it wasn’t worth the heartache.

if he looked closely enough, he could see shoko’s name written on the centrepiece in faded black sharpie. after gojo had stumbled upon the old camera several years after graduating from jujutsu high, shoko had taken back the camera to transfer all of the old clips onto dvds and given him, herself, nanami and you your own copies. he couldn’t even remember where his and yours were anymore, in fact he’d pretty much forgotten about their existence until a week ago.

he wasn’t sure where shoko had lost the dvd for the first years to get their hands on it but he hadn’t worked up the courage to speak to her about it. he hadn’t worked up the courage to do anything more than just spin the disk between his fingers, cry about it for a bit, and go back to pretending he didn’t have the last remnants of his youth in his drawer.

gojo glanced between the disk and the laptop on his desk. it was the last step he needed to take to hear your voice again. it had been on repeat for the last week in his mind; you uttering his name and that innocent question, would you last beyond your teenage years?

he missed it, missed you so bad.

raising megumi was a lot harder without you there; you were his favourite after all, bridging the gap between the two when they bumped heads with their contrasting personalities. gojo was all rainbows and giggles and megumi was everything but. you were a happy medium, creating a balance that maintained order in the home you shared. it was a peace that megumi deserved after losing his parents.

gojo clicked his tongue, reaching across to press a button that opened up a space for the disk. slotting it in place, he clicked the device shut and held his breath as he waited. it took several seconds for the files to load and then there he was again, back in those fields under the large weeping willow that was your spot.

the video was paused, exactly where it had been left, except this time gojo could actually see the screen.

your face wasn’t in it, just his. his glasses were off – balanced on your head if he remembered correctly – as he used your lap as a pillow. one of your hands was holding the camera while the other was held over his eyes to block any sort of light. the only thing he could make out was your cursed energy.

you were nearing the end of your first year and whilst gojo was growing more powerful, he was also growing more and more reliant on his glasses to stop himself from becoming so overwhelmed with the constant information he received with his six eyes. he’d overworked himself that day, as he so often did, hence why you’d dragged him away from the school to the seclusion of the tree.

your questions about the longevity of your relationship weren’t meant to hold deep meaning, you just wanted to take his mind off of the headaches. gojo would choose thinking about you over the searing pain in the back of his head any day. yaga said that once he had a better understanding of his reversed curse technique it wouldn’t be so bad but until then it was just about riding it out.

gojo snorted at the notion. his reversed curse technique only marginally helped. you were what got him through the days when he’d lock himself in his bedroom with blackout blinds pulled down, hiding under his covers till he felt like he could function in society again.

he didn’t unpause the video, however, instead clicking onto the main tab with all of the files stored.

lifting up his blindfold and dropping it down onto the desk, gojo took a deep breath before he began scrolling. unlike when the first years were simply searching for the ones with their favourite thumbnail, gojo was specifically searching for the ones he knew focused on you.

he needed to hear your voice again, to play it on repeat until it became so ingrained into his skin he could feel your touch.

gojo halted the cursor over the familiar date of your birthday, clicking on it without a second thought as the video filled the screen. it buffered for a moment, giving him a view of the dorm he’d practically spent three years in (despite yaga’s constant complaints and reminders that dorms were segregated on gender).

in the corner of your room was a stack of plushies that he’d won for you at arcades, and your walls were covered in photobooth photos and polaroids of your group of friends. his personal favourite was the polaroid you had pinned just above your desk. it was the two of you on new years eve sharing your first kiss of the year, sparklers in hand and the faint pink of a firework in the background. on the bottom of the polaroid was haibara’s handwriting as he’d scribbled on the date and a small smiley face.

“happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you!” seventeen year old gojo sung in the video, swaying the camera side to side above a pile of duvet and pillows. you were somewhere in the middle, half asleep and trying to push yourself deeper into the comfort of your bed and further from whatever the screeching was in your room.

you’d never been a morning person whereas he, on the other hand, had a reserve of energy that never depleted. it was what made getting up at the crack of dawn on your birthday so much more entertaining for him. even as an adult, when the two of you lived together in the comfort of your own apartment, he would either force you to stay up until midnight or gently nudge you awake at 4am to tell you he loved you.

“satoru,” you whispered groggily when you gave up trying to ignore his awful singing, lifting your head up just enough to meet his eyes. he would have done anything to see you physically before him instead of watching you through the lens of a camera. to be looked at with love as you did and not a mix of fear and respect. “if yaga catches you–”

“i’m just singing happy birthday to my girl,” his younger self dismissed, plopping down onto the bed next to you. he preferred your bed over his, a softer mattress he used to argue when shoko would complain about him showing up at your shared dorm several nights in a row. that particular birthday, he was pretty sure she’d been sent on a training mission over in kyoto. gojo’s hand came into frame as he ran a gentle hand through your hair, giving it a little pat when you quietly hummed at the contact. “he can’t hate on me for that.”

“yes he can,” you retorted, rolling your eyes with a tired smile. gojo felt his chest tighten – two years without waking up by that very same smile after almost a decade of having it everyday.

“i’ll blame shoko,” gojo shrugged with a grin, kicking his legs up onto your bed, despite your small protest that he was taking up all of your space. like you weren’t just as clingy as he was.

you huffed out a quiet laugh, your elbow digging into your pillow as you rested your head in your hand to stare incredulously at your boyfriend. “shoko forced the strongest sorcerer of the modern day to enter the girls’ dorms? uh huh.”

“woah woah, i’m the strongest of all time baby, i don’t do second best,” he corrected, leaning down to give you a peck on the forehead. you scrunched your nose up at the contact, but even through the viewpoint of the camera, he can see how your eyes dropped down to his lips.

“i know you don’t,” you smiled and gojo dropped the camera down as he moved to give you your first real kiss of seventeen. present day gojo sucked in a breath, willing for himself to get through at least one several minute video of you until he started crying.

the kiss ended all too quickly as gojo shoved the camera back into your face, the flash causing you to squint and squeeze your eyes closed. “now smile and say cheese, you’re seventeen!”

“woo!” you cheered half heartedly, giving in to his infectious excitement. blowing the camera a tired kiss, you shuffled yourself back deep beneath your duvet. “now can i go back to sleep?”

“as long as i can stay.”

“fine,” you dragged out, though you both knew you wanted him to just as much. yaga be damned. the video ended several seconds later and an odd silence filled his office.

he’d only ever watched several of these videos once or twice – back when he still had you to curl up into his side and reminisce with him and laugh at nanami’s old haircut. if he was being honest, he didn’t even remember he’d recorded that (though he was glad he did).

gojo was more confident this time when he scrolled, his hands no longer shaking as much as they had been as he smiled at the life he once had. a life with you and geto.

this time he stopped at a thumbnail with the three of you; gojo holding up the camera high as the three of you posed like it was a photo. it was at one of only a handful clan events you had attended together, with both you and geto as gojo’s plus ones. he and geto were in matching suits and you were in a floor length dress that he’d spent way too much money on (but you looked so pretty when you tried it on he couldn’t not get it for you).

“hi this is mtv,” you clapped your hands together, “and welcome to my crib.” his younger self waved his hands around in the background (geto was recording), showing off the spiralling architecture that cost more money than fathomable.

gojo quietly laughed in his office. the politics of clans and these events were the last reason he’d ever chosen to attend them. seeing you all dressed up and running around buildings with a million rooms were right at the top. his favourite had to be when both the first years, shoko and utahime had also been in attendance, but after haibara’s death, hanging around with the clans that upheld the institution that killed their friend seemed distasteful.

“this is my in house art museum collection.” you led geto along one of the vast corridors, pointing into a room with dozens of framed canvases of art from all across the globe. “this is where i come in for inspiration and to truly just feel art you know?”

“i wasn’t aware you had skills beyond stickmen,” geto interjected and you raised both your middle fingers at him.

“art is subjective, di–”

“woah, i have standards to uphold here,” gojo cupped a hand over your mouth, stopping any expletive leaving you. you hummed in annoyance and the white haired sorcerer grinned, nodding his head over to a partially opened door. “we don’t need to argue when we have a whole cinema room to ourselves.” gojo remembered the stain of red lipstick you’d left on his hand when he let you go (you’d refused to kiss him all evening because of your makeup).

the cinema room was massive: rows and rows of sleek leather seats that looked out of place when compared to the aesthetic of the building. this was someone’s home, though it looked like anything but.

“this is my cinema room,” geto held onto the back of one of the chairs as he loosened his tie. he lowered his voice as he leant closer to the camera gojo was now holding. “we used to have two but daddy converted the smaller one into a sauna so now we only have this one,” he said with an upturned nose, and you could be heard giggling in the background at his faux disgust.

you nor geto were from the same wealthy background as gojo was and loved to poke fun at his high status background.

“oi!” an official that was supposed to be watching for any curses or curse users that tried to sneak into the event pointed a light into the cinema room. “you kids shouldn’t be back here!”

gojo laughed, throwing the camera to geto as he grabbed your hand and led you quickly down the stairs to another exit at the bottom of the stairs. geto turned off the recording once he’d grabbed a hold of the device in favour of focusing on not being caught. it wasn’t like there would be any real consequence – they were with gojo satoru after all.

the white hair sorcerer smiled as he thought back to the rest of the night. obviously, you’d all managed to get away – though he had suffered your wrath at the fact your legs weren’t as long as their’s were and you were running in heels. two strikes, but he’d made it up to you by taking you out for ice cream instead of going back to hear the speeches.

it wasn’t an exaggeration to say gojo would have done anything for you then.

gojo swallowed a lump in his throat as your last interaction came to mind. you were arguing, as you had been in the weeks up until megumi’s birthday as he inched closer and closer to being old enough to enrol in jujutsu high.

the only wish he’d ever refused to fulfil: keeping megumi away from jujutsu.

“he’s our responsibility.” you were yelling at him, desperate for him to understand your point of view and he was walking away. dodging your anger by going wherever his legs took him – anywhere but where you were. “we need to protect him. we can’t protect him if he becomes a sorcerer too.”

“i can,” he insisted, halting in his place to turn and look down at you. his cursed technique was activated, though there was no need for it to be, and all it did was frustrate you further.

“i nearly died today!” you countered, pointing to your neck with a faint scar. shoko’s reversed cursed technique was almost perfect, but not even that could fully erase the deep lacerations that had almost taken your life. “where were you? you can’t be everywhere and help everyone at the same time. it’s just not possible.”

“i can try.” his jaw was tight as he responded through gritted teeth.

“and if that’s not enough?” you didn’t need to see his eyes to know his were locked directly onto yours, daring you to continue. he wouldn’t hurt you, would never dream of it, angry or not, but how could you of all people doubt him? “what then gojo satoru?” you uttered his full name like it was an insult, “you may be the strongest but he’s not. i’m not. we’re mortals compared to you.”

“you’re my family,” his voice broke.

“yu and suguru were family once too.”

gojo clenched his fists at the memory, at the reminder he walked out after that. you were trying to get him to see your concerns, and he’d taken that as you blaming him for the outcome of your close friends. that was the last time he ever saw you; tears welling up in the corner of your eyes at his insensitivity, at his inability to admit that maybe, just maybe, he too was just a mortal.

everything you said was logical and made sense – he had almost lost you that day, having not initially received the message that you had needed backup as he was preoccupied with his own mission. by the time he had arrived, the curse had its claws dug deep into your skin and it had taken everything in him not to use hollow purple and bring the entire infrastructure down in seconds.

despite all he’d done to save you that day, he’d still lost you. he’d only delayed the seemingly inevitable by mere hours.

megumi sat up in bed at the sound of two knocks on the door. he highly doubted it would be yuuji since the pink haired sorcerer had only left several minutes prior, saying something about needing to meet panda.

to his surprise, gojo stood before him, hands in the pockets of his pants as he half smiled at the younger boy.

“is itadori here?” megumi hesitated before shaking his head. “good,” gojo held up the missing dvd, “we need to talk.”

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if ive missed anyone im so sorry send me a little reminder <3

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animeyanderelover · 2 months ago

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Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, manipulation, delusional mindset, threats, overprotective behavior, isolation, abduction

Tags: @jamayah @chxxz @leveyani @hyakki-yosai @shenryu-sama @maggiequinn59 @flaming-vulpix

S/o likes to tell stories of their childhood

Shaiapouf

🎻Shaiapouf lives to cater to the needs of yours as long as they align with his own beliefs of what is right for you. He enjoys listening to your childhood stories as it symbolises to him that you trust him, something he craves to be given from you. It keeps him from using his Nen abilities to influence and manipulate your emotions to make you more docile and submissive, more susceptile to let him serve you and protect you the way he believes that you have to be protected. As someone who never has had a childhood as he has been the same emotionally and physically ever since he hatched he also shows an increased interest to find out what a normal human's childhood from your memories would look like. Whatever you may have hoped his reaction to be though, I guarantee you that Shaiapouf will only be feeling petty jealousy and theatrical horror. Every person who made you happy before his arrival is a victim of his poisoned envy and every accident of yours nearly gives him a heart attack as he feels the need to still see if you have suffered any injuries even if years should have passed. You will have to relive those experiences only in your memories though as Pouf would never allow you to do it again.

Kaneki Ken

🔲Kaneki's childhood has been marked with hardships all over and despite the selfishness of his obsession he still genuinely hopes that at least someone as wonderful as his darling never had to suffer even half as much as he did. Initially he latches on very eagerly when you start telling stories of your childhood as the act of telling him despite having abducted you something about your past soothes his already smothering insecurities. He's an individual that loves listening to you as it is. You do set him up cruelly though, only telling him the nice and funny stories that warm his heart only to pour icy cold water over him as soon as you start bringing up stories that aren't so happy. His heart races, his breath stops and panics floods through him as stories of your near-death-encounters bring him more horror than actual horror films. His paranoia definitely has him spiraling down to be more pushy as his presence starts to be more pushy. He's afraid that you may suffer from nightmares in your sleep or that you carry with you a mental burden that he will gladly take if he can. If some of your stories should involve nearly being eaten by a ghoul though it is going to be a shot right through his fragile mentality.

Aizen Sosuke

🌫️Aizen is a man who knows everything, a man who never enters a room without a plan and who never starts a conversation without a purpose. You're constantly torn apart between gnawing frustration and obvious terror as this man who you have never met seems to know more about your own mind than you do yourself. It's those previous experiences with the true depths of his knowledge that make you very reluctant initially to share your past with him as you suspect that he probably already knows. In fact he does but still he values the aspect of you engaging with him in conversations and other interactions as he would have no interest in you if you were nothing more than a quiet and motionless doll. Even if he outsmarts you all the time, Aizen does enjoy listening to you and he finds that though he knows most of those stories anyways it is much more entertaining to hear them from your lips. The ones that amuse him by far the most are the ones where you almost ended up risking your own life as it only solidifies you even more as someone fascinating as he wonders how fate could have possibly gotten you into many of the events you went through in your past.

Sesshomaru

🐺Sesshomaru ususally shows very little emotion on his face and when he does reveal them they are normally always either ones of annoyance or anger. That's why you are intially very hesitant as you share stories of your past, your eyes constantly on the yokai as you are worried that he may give you a disapproving glare or coldly demand you to stop. None of that happens though and despite his lack of any reaction that makes it look like he simply doesn't care you take it. Every night when he stops his journey to give Rin and you rest as he understands that humans need sleep to replenish their energy you like to tell stories at the bonfire with Rin often your only listener who appears to actively listen and be interested. It is only once you start bringing up stories of your past that at that time could have easily cost you your life that finally elicit a reaction out of him, sharp eyes suddenly looking up. He usually asks you once Jaken and Rin are asleep if those stories were really true as if not wanting to believe that the one human he fell in love with happens to be the one who appears to be unbelievably stupid and unlucky. Hopefully you're less of an idiot now. Otherwise he may have to keep a closer eye on you.

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thecordelialetters · 10 months ago

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She's my Angel: Meet the Family Pt.2 I Five Hargreeves x Reader

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Post Apocalypse Au! pt.1 Pt2 Pt3

WC: ~2,709

Warnings/Tags: fluff, Allusions to sex, Mentions of Abuse, Agedup!Five, Mentions of previous trauma

Summary: The Umbrella Academy saved the world, the Commission is no longer after them, the moon is in one piece and everyone’s lives start to fall back into place. Five attempts to start his life over again when Klaus brings home a girl with unusual shadow powers.

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Five and you had fallen into a comfortable rhythm that one would think the two of you had known each other for years. You started sleeping in the same bed together, getting ready together, eating together, and spending time together. Your routine had started to fall into place.

Somedays Five would ask you to show him your abilities. He was always astounded at how powerful you were. You could use shadows to teleport, physically manifest, store objects, and create weapons. To the regular person, or to anyone like his deceased father, these powers would intimidate them, scare them. But Five wasn’t scared of you,. Slowly you had become his Angel. Five found comfort in you, someone who would stick with him while his family scattered after his sacrifices.

“Come on Angel, I’m taking you out today.”

“Out?” You tilted your head.

“Yes like…a date” he blushed. He was wearing a white button-up shirt and black slacks, the shirt was pressed clean with no wrinkles, and the top 3 buttons were undone.

“Go put on your prettiest dress and some nice shoes.” He kissed the top of your head and watched you run off. Anyone who could see the two of you could see his adoration for you. You lived up to your nickname being a small beacon of light in his dark mind.

Despite your growing "relationship" Five still had his worries. It had been 2 weeks since he met you and he wasn’t any closer to finding who had taken you or figuring out your true identity. He had only know a few things from what you told him.

You had grown up in a lab isolated from everyone. The only way of understanding the outside world was through tv and books that a kind doctor had let you before he met an unfortunate end, not that you knew about that. He also learned about the environment you grew up in by your reactions. You hated loud noises, didn’t understand cultural norms, and feared violence and abuse. Knowing this, Five learned to adjust to your needs. He wanted to take care of you and help you. You had become his new family. Maybe it was obsession but it was feeling like love.

You came bouncing down the steps of the academy in a light blue dress with puffy sleeves and a soft ballerina like skirt. The neckline was square and above your cleavage was a gold heart necklace that Five had bought you on your last outing to the mall.

“Beautiful?” You looked at him and twirled.

“Very beautiful amore.” He kissed your cheek and led you out. As the two of you were about to leave the door opened revealing Viktor.

Viktor was in town having just gotten back from a trip to Italy and decided to stop by the academy.

“Oh Five! Who’s this? I came to check on you since you didn’t answer any of my calls.”

Oops well he wasn’t wrong. Five had ignored all Vitkors calls. It wasn’t out of spite it just felt like every-time he talked to his family he had to put on a front. He didn’t need therapy, didn’t want help, and was fine without them. But talking to them felt almost condescending and a very small part of him still harbored a grudge for them all leaving.

“Uh this is Angel. Klaus brought here and left her here so I’ve been taking care of her. We were just about to go out.”

“Angel!” You pointed to yourself.

“Viktor… Five’s family?”

Five sighed when he looked at you. So innocent , unaware to the trauma in his heart. “Yes this is my brother.”

“Brother.” You tested the word out loud.

“Brother!” You pointed to Five.

“No no not I’m not your brother.” Five shot down. He could see the tears in your eyes forming. “I’m sorry Angel, yes we are… family but I am not your brother okay? I’m your friend.”

Your eyes lit up at that notion. You were aware of what friendship was, there was a nice doctor in the facility who had befriended you and taught you all you knew about human interaction until… he met an unfortunate end, not that you knew about that though.

You jumped into Five wrapping your arms around his neck and burrowing your face in his shoulder.

Brown eyes made contact with green and Five felt uneasy in his brother's judgmental gaze. Before Viktor could get out another word Five blinked the two of you to the car. Standing in the doorway Viktor turned to look back at you guys. He was happy his brother had found someone, but you seemed off. He walked into the parlor and whipped out his phone to send a text to the family group chat. Viktor: Did you know Five got a girlfriend? He said Klaus brought her one day and left her. They just went out all dressed up. Allison: No way Diego: Finally that old timer can get some Lila: Who would let that little gremlin near them? Viktor: @Klaus how did you meet Angel. Klaus: On the street. Everyone mentally cringed at the thought of Klaus picking up a girl "off the street" Klaus: She ran into me and was in bad shape, She's super cute though! I knew she and little Five would get along, I'm going to go visit them tonight. Allison: I want to see her! Im coming too Diego: Me and Lila are coming too. Luther: I guess I'm coming as well. Viktor closed out his phone and began walking around the academy. It hadn't been too long since the world was almost destroyed but this place was riddled with mixed memories of sadness but also happiness in which he and his family had finally come together.

His eyes ran over the painting of Five above the mantle. Over his travels, he often thought about Five, but not at first. Initially, he was overjoyed with traveling, meeting people, and developing a few relationships, but his thoughts began to wander back to Five. The boy who had leaped across time, and had worked his ass off to get back to his family only for them to all leave again. It made him feel guilty every time he talked to Five over the phone only to get short responses. His thoughts went back to reminiscing. Five and Vitkor were closest when they were younger, Viktor even remembers the small crush he had on the boy as a kid. Five was cocky, arrogant, and thought to be better than everyone. But the way he looked at Angel had a softness that could rival a field of flowers. The fact he had let her touch him had given Viktor enough information to assume that you had helped Five for the better. ————————-On your date———————— Five had taken you first to a cute little dinner a bit out of the city. You two sat in a booth on the same side. He was a little confused when you sat next to him but decided against saying anything when you grabbed his hand under the table. The waiter came to take your orders, his name was Alek. He looked at you mostly with a predatory glint in his eyes. "What can I get for the pretty lady here?" He winked at you. You laughed and blushed before saying "Pasta!" Pasta was a favorite of yours. Five and you had made pasta together from scratch one night and it was one of your favorite moments with him. You remembered making the sauce together, him flicking some onto your face before kissing it off with his lips. He had looked so good kneading the dough and showing you how to make the sauce and noodles. It ended happily with you in his bed. Five also knew this was your favorite dish and why. It only made his heart beat for you more. Breaking the waiter's attention off you Five stood up and pushed Aleks chest back. "And I'll have the steak, rare I like it a little bloody, and bring us back a milkshake to share, strawberry." Five sat back while glaring at the waiter. Who did this guy even think he was anyway, he literally saw Five walk in with you. Before he could think anything else, his attention was pulled away when your hand traced his jaw.

"Prickly. Ouch." You ran your finger back and forth over his cheek. Five had been growing some facial hair recently.

"What princess? You don't like?" Five rubbed his face against yours while listening to the melodic laughter erupt from your lips. Alek came back with your meals and milkshake avoiding eye contact with you and Five. Excited for your food you kissed Five's cheek as a way to thank him. The two of you ate your food in comfortable silence and shared the milkshake, occasionally laughing when both of you reached for the straw at the same time.

————————-After your date————————

You and Five had left the dinner with full bellies and even fuller hearts. Hand in hand he led you to the street. "let's talk a walk, we need to digest all that food and I know a park nearby that you'll enjoy." "Okay!" you agreed. You had begun to trust Five with... everything in this short time. He cared for you and showed you how to cook, clean, and use a phone. You were growing to love him, not that you knew what love was. As the two of you came closer to the park your eyes lit up seeing the families and children running around and enjoying the warm summer day. Your expression made Five's heart beat faster. Your innocence and kindness were a nice contrast to his years of killings and suffering. Five led the two of you to a bench that looked out to the grassy playground. You leaned your head on his shoulder and let out a sign. You finally felt at peace. No electric chair, no pointy syringes, just the warmth of Five's hand in yours and the smell of his cologne. Five looked down at you staring out into the park. He felt lucky, how could someone like you just fall into his lap when he needed it most. A thought crossed his mind, what would happen if you remembered who you were, would you leave him? The last time he was in a relationship was with a mannequin. But this was different, you needed him just as much as he needed you. He pushed those thoughts aside when he watched your eyes close. He nudged your side "Come on Angel its been a long day lets get you home." Lazily you both stood up and walked back to the car not dare letting go of each others hands.

————————-At the Academy————————

Five was on high alert as the two of you arrived back at the Academy. The lights were on in the den and he could hear hushed voices as he approached. Opening the door he was met with 3 people, backs turned towards him. He instantly recognized these figures as his siblings, Diego, Luther, and Allison. Peaking around them he saw three more, Viktor, Klaus, and Lila. "Well, this is an unexpected visit," Five stated breaking the uncomfortable silence. The trio looked at each other before Allison spoke up. "We wanted to check up on you, we haven't heard from you in a while." She looked at you behind Five, "Is this uh your girlfriend?" Five's eyes narrowed at Viktor in the corner before sighing. "She's not my girlfriend, this is Angel, I've been taking care of her since Klaus brought her here."

"I'm not Five's friend." You looked up at him, tears forming in your eyes. "No, shit I'm sorry Angel, yes you are my friend you are more than my friend." His expression softened when you wrapped his arms around his neck once again to kiss his cheek. The rest of the superpowered bunch looked in awe. Their normally cocky and arrogant brother hadn't snapped at you or yelled at you. He was gentle and reassuring. Lila was the one to speak up next to Viktor "Wow the old man finally found someone." Ignoring Lila's statement Allison continued, "Wait Klaus brought her here?" Klaus surprisingly not sober, stood up. "Yeah she ran into me all banged up so I brought her to the one place I knew could fix her up. She's got powers like us!" The family turned to you and Five once more expecting you to demonstrate. Hesitating Five looked at you "Okay Angel, show them what we have been practicing." You nodded to Five before raising your hands. In an instant, shadows rose from the ground to the ceiling of the room, suffocating any light that had been previously there. Your hands swirled causing the shadows to form a vortex. You thew your fists down bringing the shadows to your side. One arm lifted up across your chest as you threw it to the opposite area, effectively slicing a potted plant in half. Your eyes glistened with pride as you looked to Five. "I did it!" You jumped into his open arms as Five twirled you around with joy. "I knew you could do it princess!" Luther who was silent in the beginning spoke up next. "So you just found her on the street and she has powers? We don't even know her she could be dangerous then! She could be Commission!" Being number one and the head of the family was difficult for Luther. He was always overprotective of his siblings and made hasty rash decisions believing that he knew what was best for everyone. But Five remembers what happened when Viktor was discovered to have powers and he was hell-bent on not repeating it again. Five paused before turning to you and blinking you upstairs. He had tucked you in and helped you into bed before kissing the corner of your lips. "Good night darling, let me talk to my family for a bit, and I'll join you okay?" "Okay Five, good night" And with one last glance at you he blinked back downstairs. "Trust me Luther I would know if she was commission or not, when she got here she could barely talk and didn't even know her own name!" "I've spent the last 2 weeks trying to figure out where she came from. All I know is that she was brought up in a lab that focused on human experimentation to try to recreate the original 43." "You can't...You honestly can't possibly imagine, the pain she has gone through. And let's not forget what happened the last time you tried to "help" a person who had just gained their powers." Five looked over at Viktor. Viktor couldn't help but look at his lap. "Five is right, let's give her a chance. She is obviously doing well under Five's care and he cares for her back." Five looked appreciative at Viktor although he was the one who originally ratted him and you to the family. "I know you guys haven't heard from me in a while, but trust me I'm doing fine. Let's... go out for breakfast tomorrow. I know a place that we all would like. Meet back here at 9am. I'm going to check on Angel and head to bed." And with that, he disappeared in a flash of blue. The Hagreeves siblings looked at each other in shock. Never had their brother been the first to reach out to spend time, it must be important to him. Diego walked towards and grabbed Lila's hand "Well I'm happy for the guy, it was about time he got some. See you all tomorrow." He waved to his siblings and headed out. The others slowly followed suit each one of them that night laid in bed thinking about the events that had transpired and mentally prepared for a family breakfast the next day.

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Author's note: I had actually finished this before Tumblr decided to not save anything and I lost half the story T-T I was really good too. I tried to rewrite it the best I could.

Author's note: 9/14 part 3 is on its way ! Taglist: @groovydazephantom

#five x reader #five hargeeves x reader #five hargreeves x you #tua five #tua #the umbrella academy #tua x reader #number five #five hargreaves #five hargreeves #aidan gallagher #tua fanfic #umbrella acedmy #five x you #five x y/n

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wheneverfeasible · 6 months ago

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Cheerleader!Eddie AU pt. 1

POV: Eddie

When Eddie found a sobbing Chrissy in the restrooms after school, where he had been about to tag some stupid shit about one of the football players who had left him with a bruised face a previous week, he hadn’t expected it to lead to them becoming friends, her breaking up with her shithead boyfriend, or him joining the cheer squad.

Yet here he is, wearing the stupid school colors and his long hair tied up in a ponytail to match Chrissy’s, even down to the identical green scrunchie. Chrissy was lucky he loved her. Platonically, of course. They’d kissed after everything, figuring that’s that the thing between them was, but it ended up being like kissing a sibling (or so Eddie guessed, not ever having had one before), but quickly discovered that whatever middle school crush might have existed was well and truly gone.

Everything else was just right, however, and if such a thing as platonic soulmates existed, then Chrissy was well and truly his. She had to be, to get him to agree to this stupid shit.

He wasn’t an official member of the cheer squad at first, nothing more than a glorified backup, but he helped her in all the practices and learned all the moves and somehow, without realizing when, he started performing at games and pep rallies. Which didn’t help the queer rumors from spreading, even when Chrissy acted like his beard at first. Because the rumors would have been galling if they hadn’t been true.

Don’t get him wrong; he liked chicks too. But there was something to be said about seeing a pretty boy on his knees.

He played it up, taunting the other team and his own with blown kisses and suggestive hand motions with his tongue in his cheek, but he had cheerleader privilege, and Chrissy’s best friend privileges, so he actually managed to avoid anything more than pointed words and threats, which he then always turned into a kink thing to make the jocks uncomfortable.

“Oh, you’re right, Princess, I look amazing on my knees,” he cooed with a wink when King Steve himself deigned to be one of the insulting masses. Of course, all Harrington had said was that he should stop messing around and get back under the pyramid during cheer practice instead of poking fun at the basketball players on the other side of the gym.

Harrington always flushed whenever Eddie got too weird, too freaky, too queer, and it was quickly becoming one of his favorite things. Chrissy teased him about it when he’d go out of his way to harass Harrington, telling him to stop pulling the king’s pigtails, which he vehemently denied doing.

No way. Nuh uh. Not King Steve. Gag him with a spoon, or whatever they said in the movies Chrissy always made him watch.

Soon Harrington started snapping back, however, but with an amused smile on his face. More than that, he’d snapped at Hagan to leave Gareth alone when he’d come to playfully jeer at Eddie until they could head to Hellfire together. (Chrissy had actually taken DnD up too eventually, much to everyone’s surprise, though it was less surprising than her Level 7 Chaotic Neutral homebrew half-Orc male Barbarian whose tragic backstory was only known to Eddie so far, seeing as he had helped her craft Uragoth the Undaunted.)

To say that Eddie was surprised when Harrington of all people protected a freak was an understatement. And then it kept happening. Harrington always stepped in if he saw any freak or nerd being bullied, he even used logic, pointing out that Eddie was both freak and cheerleader, so going after the freaks was going after him and the cheer squad, and did any jock really want to piss off the cheerleaders?

A jock using logic? Unheard of!

Eddie was a little flattered though to think that his freaks had best friend privileges as well because of him, that he could be the shield offering them protection simply by straddling the line between the two sects at school.

Harrington never stopped snarking with Eddie, however, always calling him a freak but always with that smile that almost spoke of something…fond.

And then it was the day of the big game, the championship, and Chrissy was giggling as she tried to pretend like she was having second thoughts, even as her hands never faltered getting him ready. They, and the rest of the squad who had slowly warmed up to Eddie, had scoured the rule book to make certain he could do it, smirking amongst themselves at the surprise they had in stock.

Eddie waited at the end of the line, waited for their introduction, and then he was running in with the rest of the cheer squad, his pale and hairy legs flashing beneath the short green skirt. Gareth and the rest of the freaks screamed, sending out wolf whistles and making enough noise to draw the attention of anyone who might not have noticed yet.

Eddie only had eyes for one person though.

Harrington’s gaze was fixed solely on him as he jogged out wearing the female cheerleading uniform, a bright pink high on cheekbones and his mouth agape, and Eddie thought he had even seen the guy swallow as his eyes took in Eddie in a skirt.

The game went exactly as the cheer squad had hoped, their secret routine putting Eddie front and center, and he took great enjoyment in rolling his hips suggestively and blowing his kisses and winks as he taunted the opposing team, resulting in more than one fumble when he distracted them. The fact that Harrington seemed equally distracted seemed something else entirely.

As well as the fact that Harrington roughly fouled the player from the other team that Eddie had pointedly flirted with during their halftime routine.

Hawkins Tigers won in the end, easily, with Harrington scoring the final winning points like the king he was, pointing at Eddie right before he took the shot with a wink. Eddie rolled his eyes, almost hoping Harrington would miss in retaliation for the tease. Instead, Harrington ended the game as the buzzer sounded with his last three-pointer and the crowd went wild.

Typical.

Less typical, however, was how Harrington strode through the crowd right after, bypassing the celebrating teammates and cheerleaders and fans that had streamed onto the court, to head straight for Eddie. Eddie was given just the barest moment to wonder if he was about to be hate crimed when Harrington’s hand landed on his back, the other cupping the back of his head, and he was spun into a dip as Harrington leaned in for a kiss.

Except Harrington didn’t immediately kiss him, he hovered above his lips, his eyes looking into Eddie’s asking for permission, and really…what more could Eddie do except wrap his arms around Harrington’s neck and close the distance?

If later that night Eddie was still wearing that skirt as he and Harrington came to an understanding, well, no one needed to know.

And if the next night it was Steve wearing the cheerleading skirt…that was between him and his king.

Part 2

#stranger things #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #steve harrington #pre steddie #steddie #king steve #cheerleader eddie munson #platonic hellcheer #hellcheer #no upside down au #fanfic #wheneverfeasible #ladyxdarcy #plot thots #feel free to use IF appropriate credit is made

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storiesfromafan · 4 months ago

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Look Who's Jealous Now - Benny x Reader

A/N: I was surprised by the amount of interest in the sneak peak I posted got. Thank you all!! Forgive any grammer or spelling mistakes 😅

Previous part: Jealousy Does Look Good On You 😊

Also, I posted this challenge. Feel free to check it out and make a request 😊😊

Tag list: @strayrockette @thegabbyh

Being Benny's girl meant being by his side, arm around you or his jacket. His stormy blue eyes seeking you out in the bar, sparkling when finding you sitting with Kathy or other Vandal women. Him picking you up after work. And taking you for rides on his bike.

Which led to today's Vandal ride. A group of you going to a car show. Those that didn't ride, gave the bikers looks of disgust or distaste. All the while, other biker clubs gave some sign of recognition. You found it all fascinating, how bike owners and car owners didn’t get along. But there were a few exceptions.

You were sitting on a blanket with a few other women, Benny was standing near by with Johnny in conversation. Both men drink in hand and laughing at something Johnny said. You smiled at your man, admiring the boyish smile on his face, or when he'd laugh. Then those eyes were looking at you, as if he'd felt your gaze on him. Benny gave you a soft warm smile, which had you melting.

“Give it a rest, will ya" jested Betty, pushing your shoulder.

Braking eye contact with Benny, you looked back to the older woman, as well as Kathy and Gale as they laughed at you. After that night a month ago, hearing what happened with Benny after you took off. The women had teased you on and off. And every time you and Benny gave each other the goo-goo eyes, one of them told you to give it a rest. You couldn't help it, you were in the early stages of this relationship.

“Sorry my happiness offends ya" you retorted sticking your tongue out.

Once more the women laughed, this time you joined in with them. You felt light and happy. From both the women around you, but also because of Benny. If someone had told you a month ago this was what was install for you, you wouldn’t have believed them. Right now you were happy, even if the road to get here was crazy.

Benny watched how you laughed with the other women. Smiling happily that you were having a good time. For him this month has felt like being on the open road, content and freeing. Finally making you his girl made him feel complete. But also, part of him still felt bad for upsetting you that night. It wasn’t his intentions when being around Angela. But he didn’t feel bad for using her to bait your outburst. He liked that you’d been jealous, made him feel good to know you wanted him, just as much as he wanted you.

“Stop it with the goo-goo eyes, will ya” Johnny said with a roll of his eyes, bringing Benny’s attention back to the older man. “Ya makin’ me sick, kid”. He joked with a laugh.

Benny laughed, sticking his free hand in his jeans pockets. “Whatever old man".

Johnny smile warmly at the younger Vandal. “Nuh, I’m happy for ya, both of ya. It was ‘bout time ya made her ya girl. You’d both been tippy-toein’ around it".

Benny felt embarrassed hearing those words. Because it was true. But you were different to all the other girls – women – for Benny didn’t want to show off and take you just on a ride of his bike. That would have been to easy. That’s why he spent the time with you, talking with you. He wanted to know you. And he did. But then he got nervous and somewhat shy to ask you out. He found himself second guessing himself.

Benny told you that, opening up to you as best her could. And since then you have done everything to reassure him that you wanted him. If you could tell Benny was starting to doubt or second guess himself, you’d be there, doing everything to show him he was good enough or right. Then when it came to you, Benny was pushing you out of your comfort zone also. The best example of that was when you’d ride with him. He’d go so fast on the open road that you would be cursing, telling him to slow down. But he’d always say you’ve got nothin' to worry about sweetheart, I won’t let anythin' happen to ya. And you would believe him. You always will.

“Yeah...she’s really somethin'" Benny said with pride, his eyes going back to you.

You got up from your spot on the blanket, along with Kathy. You both needed to use the restroom. The short walk was filled with conversation and laughter. Kathy being one of the women you were closest too. You thought she was nice and honest, no beating around the bush with her.

After doing what you both had too, you began to walk back to the others, only taking your time to look at the cars in passing. Neither of you knew much to do with cars, but you admired their looks.

“Such a nice colour" Kathy commented on the current car you were both looking at.

You nodded. “It really is, bet she sounds good too".

“You should see her on the road" came a familiar male voice from behind you.

You turned around in shock to see your old family friend Victor. You smiled brightly, taking in how he had changed since you had seen him last, which was before he went back to college. He looked fitter, and tanner. No doubt from playing football. He was the boy next door mixed with jock.

“Victor! My gosh!” You said with amazement, before moving to give him a quick hug. “How have ya been?”

Victor laughed as he hugged you back. You stepped back and looked at him with amazement. Remembering Kathy by your side, you apologized and introduced the two. Victor shook Kathy’s hand with a warm smile, as he said hello. Kathy looked between you too, finding it all to amusing to see you both reuniting.

Unfortunately for you, someone else had been watching. Benny had seen you and Kathy making your way back, but stopping to admire different cars. He smiled at how cute you were. He was making his way to you when he saw the athletic young man step up. And then watched the surprise on your face before you both shared a brief hug.

It left a sour taste in Benny’s mouth, seeing you smile and talk to this guy. And usually he’d find your sheepishness cute – when it’s aimed at him – but he strongly disliked it when it came to this guy. He asked himself who was this guy, anyways?

Slowly Benny crept forward, catching the end of whatever you’d been saying to Kathy.

“...our families have been so close, especially after Victor" – so that’s his name, Benny thought – “and my brother played together on the football team. Guess you went on to play college ball, huh?” You softly laughed, looking to Victor.

Yep, Benny didn’t like this guy. He did not like the preppy look of him. And he really didn’t like how you were all smiles and giddy. Dare he say, Benny Cross was jealous of the guy you were with? Yes, a hundred percent he was.

Stepping up to you, as your back was to him, Benny put his arm around you. Drawing you close before putting a kiss to your temple, all the while staring down Victor. “Hey sweetheart" he greeted with his deep voice.

You jumped before realising who it was. Relaxing, you turned to Benny with a bright smile. Leaning up to place a peck to the corner of his lips. “Hey".

Once you moved your head back you noticed that Benny’s gaze was focused on Victor, his eyes drawn in and sharp on the young male. Whom was standing there looking at Benny, with a smile upon his face, not a care in the world. You shot Kathy a confused look, which she shrugged at. Though you both could feel some kind of tension between the two males.

“Ah, I think I’ll head back” Kathy slowly said, deciding to remove herself from the situation.

You shot her a sour look before she took off. Leaving you with the two males from and in your life. Neither male looked away from the other. You guessed Benny was staking his claim to you, as he probably didn’t know who Victor was. And Victor, being like a big brother, was working out if Benny was good enough.

“Well...” you said clearing your voice. “Benny, this Victor, an old friend to my family. Victor, this Benny, my boyfriend".

You looked a little shock after calling Benny your boyfriend. That word never leaving your lips before. Sure, you’d called him it in your head. You felt a warmth rise in your chest after voicing what Benny was to you. As you were known as Benny’s girl. With a silly smile upon your face you turned to your boyfriend, placing a hand on his chest. Which seemed to get Benny’s attention.

Looking to you, he was greeted to the sight of you smiling up at him. Seeing that silly smile warmed his heart, almost making him forget the man who’d hugged you. He could see a twinkle in your eyes, like something perked you up more. Whatever it was, Benny liked it and always wanted you be like this.

Victor cleared his throat. “It’s nice to meet you".

Both you and Benny turned to face Victor. “Yeah, nice to meet ya". That pointed looked back on Benny's face as he looked to the man before him.

Victor nodded his head. “Well, as I mentioned before, this car" – he moved to stand by his car – “is amazing on the road. I’ll have to take you for a ride, hey cupcake".

You rolled your eyes at the old nickname, but bashfully smiled. “Vic...not that nickname. Let it die, please”.

Victor laughs at your words. “I will never let it go, cupcake”.

You moved forward and swatted Victor’s arm, making him laugh more. And then you laughed as well. All the while Benny watched the playfulness between you too, and not liking it one bit. Especially when Victor put his hand on your arm, holding firmly to stop you once and for all. The way this guy looked at you, the familiarity and warmth. It was off putting for Benny. This guy, even if he’s an old family friend, having his hand on you and looking at your warmly, ticked him off. That green eyed monster rising.

“How about that drive sometime?” Victor’s voice brought Benny back to the matter at hand, the male speaking.

“Ah, yeah. That would be” – you looked to Benny, but am surprised to see the unfriendly look directed to Victor – “...great". Great coming out unsure.

Your old friends face lit up when you agreed, not noticing the uncertainty in your voice. Going on about where you both should take a drive too. All the while you were unsure on how Benny was taking all this. Though with every passing moment that look seems to get darker, and getting annoyed.

That’s when it hit you. Benjamin Cross was jealous. Jealous of your old family friend Victor. Turning back to Victor, you couldn’t help the wicked little smile that crossed your lips. Now would be the best time to give your boyfriend a taste of his own medicine. Finally you could show him how you felt when he spent time with Angela.

“I don’t mind where we go" you replied, placing a hand on Victor’s arm. “As long as you can open that car up".

Benny’s gazed moved to you, not impressed with your reply.

“Of course! She’s made to go fast" Victor laughed.

You continued to smile, looking at Victor. You both talk about his car, you asking any and every question you can think of. All the while feeling the dark cloud that was Benny behind you.

And oh Benny was not enjoying the attention you were giving this guy. Nor did he like the way Victor was smiling at you. He knew he was an old family friend, friends with your brother. But a small part of him wondered if you had ever had a crush on him. If Victor had liked you. Did either of you act on it. Was there hand holding and cuddling. Or did you ever kiss. Every thought making the jealousy in him grown.

Then he did it. Victor held your hand as he led you around behind his car. Leaving Benny standing there seething. This guy had the audacity to take your hand and lead you away from him. Benny’s hands clenched for a moment, before he unclenched them, for he had to control this anger, to control the want to lay hands on this man. He wouldn’t – couldn’t do that, for you would not forgive him if he did.

Next minute he heard your loud giggle. That was it. Snapping out of it Benny made his way to you both. You were leaning against the back of the car, still in conversation with Victor, who stood too close to you with that charming smile. With a small growl, Benny walked over between the two of you. Victor taking a few steps back.

“Benny?” You asked confused and concerned at the annoyed look on your boyfriend’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything alright?” Asked Victor, which made Benny turn and glared at him.

Without a word Benny pulled you from your leaning position. And without an ounce of trouble, he picked you up so you were over his shoulder. You let out a surprised yelp. After realising what had just happened you started to hit at Benny’s back and saying for him to put me down. But it fell on deaf ears, as your boyfriend then stomped off, back towards his bike.

“Ah, sorry Vic!” You called, throwing him a slight wave.

The man you’d just called to looked at you with a shocked expression, returning your wave awkwardly. With every step you continued to hit Benny’s back and repeating your demand to be put down.

“What is ya problem!?” You practically yelled, now gaining an audience as you both moved on.

Benny huffed. “Had enough of him" was his gruff reply.

You blinked, taking a pause from hitting your boyfriend. “Come again?” You asked in confusion.

“I said, I had enough of him" Benny stated, like it was fact.

“Hmm" you hummed.

You took a moment to let his words sink in. As well as his actions. You smiled at your jealous boyfriend, before starting to laugh. Your plan looked to have worked. You got under his skin. You practically cackled, which had Benny questioning you on what’s up with ya?

You smiled brightly. “My, my, my. Looks who’s jealous now, huh?” And again you laughed.

Benny huffed, jostling you on his shoulder, silencing you. He smirked at that. Though it didn’t last for long. As you began to sing that he was jealous. Reaching his bike Benny planted you back on your feet, met with a big grin on your face.

“Admit it, you were jealous~” you sang.

Benny rolled his eyes, but feeling embarrassed by the weight of your attention on him. Yes, he was jealous. And a small part of him feared it could be the start of loosing you. You noticed how Benny looked away, his eyes looking worried. Your smile dropped. You stepped closer seeing how worried he was. You brought your hands up, cupping his face and turning his gaze back to you.

“Hey, you have nothin' to worry about" you said softly, eyes boring into his beautiful baby blues. “If ya think I’d want Vic, no chance. I want my bike riding Vandal any day".

Hearing those words, Benny let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. His eyes softening, the worry slowly leaving. Replaced with warmth and endearment for you, which is everything you had for him.

You pulled Benny’s face towards yours, the Vandal not putting up a fight. You brought his lips to yours in a soft, tender kiss. A reassurance he needed, and felt from you. Wrapping an arm around you, Benny drew you in close. You smiled at how needy he could be at times. But you wouldn’t push it away or say no.

Pulling back you looked at your man. “I still can’t believe ya got jealous" you giggled.

Benny groaned, hiding his face in your crook of your neck which only made your giggle turn into a laugh. Retaliating, Benny began to nip at your neck. Which earned him a small squeal from him, and a playful slap to his shoulder. You both laughing at it all.

“Yeah, I’ll admit I was jealous, happy?” Benny muttered against your skin.

Smiling triumphantly you said, “good...now ya know how I felt".

#benny cross x reader #benny cross x y/n #benny cross x you #austin butler x reader #the bikeriders x reader

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idkfitememate · 5 months ago

Note

I really like your stories, especially about the Creator otter. It would be great if when the truth is known, they take the Creator otter to the "true creator" and when he tries to hurt the otter, the attack returns on its own or something happens. to prevent him from harming the beautiful otter and so it is known that he is the true creator, I imagine he would have many more pamperings than before

The Otter Chronicles Pt.3

⋘ Previous Part » ♡︎

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : GN! Otter Reader x Fontaine

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 2.2k

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Angst, some fluff, many mental breakdowns

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : I. Am. So. Sorry. You have been waiting for months for this but I didn’t know how to continue and then I got writers block and UGH-

But I’m here now :). And your gonna get your wish :3

Future note, this will probably be split up into at least one more chapter because I know for a fact I won’t be able to write all the idea, plus, I have an idea on how to finish it!!~~

As you snoozed peacefully, the quiet seemed to seep into the room, suffocating everyone within it.

“So… the otter sat on your lap… sleeping… that’s the creator?” Finally, Wriothesley broke the silence that had consumed the room, making Furina jump and you chitter under your breath, snuggling into her stomach.

“Do we have any proof?- I mean, besides what happened with the Primordial Sea-“ “Do you need more evidence?” Neuvillette interrupted. His face was stern and cold, hands gripping at his pants.

“Well… it’d be nice to at least know for certain?” Wirothesley sighed out, a hand pressing to his forehead. He leans forward in his seat and took a breath before speaking again. “I mean, genuinely, can’t you see where I’m coming from? Sure, you might trust your gut or whatever magical power you’re keeping from us, but this is a little hard to believe for a guy like me. I mean, who knows! Maybe it was coincidence the Primordial Sea went back into the lock!! Because I’ve personally never seen a creature besides a human jump in there, have you? Maybe it’s all just one big joke I just-“ He stopped, huffing, hands shaking.

“I… we gave our everything… to the Creator. And now I’m finding out it was all a lie? If it’s true, and they really are THE Creator… then I’ve just been lying to myself?? That everything I’ve went through, every trial I’ve faced, every man I’ve stared down as we sent him to his death, every challenged I’ve faced… that i convinced myself that I would get through for them… that it was just a test to prove my worth… my loyalty… would it be for nothing..? I’ve…” The man stood up, chair knocking back behind him as he rose, tears staining his cheeks. Neuvillette also stood, putting a hand in front of Furina. Chlorinde simply sat with hands drawn to her lap.

“I’ve devoted my LIFE to them!! I’ve given my EVERYTHING to THEM!! I thought… I THOUGHT… I THOUGHT THAT THEY WOULD SAVE ME FROM THIS DAMNNATION OF SOULS GRIPPPING TO MY CHEST, CRYING OUT THAT I COULDNT SAVE THEM!! MY SIBLINGS, MEN I KNEW COULDNT HAVE BEEN GUILTY AND AND- YOU WANT TO SAY ITS ALL BEEN FOR NOTHING?!?” “CALM YOURSELF WIROTHESLEY!-“ “NO! BECAUSE THIS IS FUCKING RIDICULOUS!”

A shouting match began between the two men, Chlorinde jumped up and wrapped herself around a now shaking Furina who was about to cry again, holding your form close to her chest. As the men screamed at each other - and teacups started being thrown - you finally stirred, opening bleary eyes at the scene unveiling before you.

Why were people screaming..? What… You looked up to see Furina shaking and silently sobbing over you, Chlorinde hushing her and whispering into her ear, though you couldn’t hear what she was saying. Wriggling around enough to face the shouting, your eyes widened at the sight of Neuvillette and Wirothesley screeching at each other, both Visions glowing wildly at the emotions of their wielders.

It was getting to a point where your ears were starting to hurt, so you leapt of Futuna’s lap, which led to her and Chlorinde whipping their heads to you, and ran over to the shouting men. You didn’t know what had come over you, seeing them both fight - something you never thought you would’ve witnessed honestly - and ran between them paws raised. Both paused for only a second, before Wirothesley started arguing again and Neuvillette followed. You tried to chitter and call over both of them, not getting anywhere with their raised voices.

You took a deep breath, focusing. This had been something you wanted to try since the beginning but just never had the time nor the energy to do so. But if there ever was a time, now was it. Your brows furrowed as you focused on any and all water in the current room, imagining the water following your command, as though alive and you its master. You grunted, catching Furina’s attention as she called for you to come back.

Cups suddenly started shaking in the room, only the Archon and Dualist taking note. It also didn’t help that the entire building was surrounded by water, though luckily you were able to mostly focus your attention on the small bits of water in the room. Neither Wriothesley or Neuvillette stopped to look at you as you raised your little paws to your head, the shouting mixed with your focus bringing on a headache.

Finally, it came to a close when Wriothesley shouted at the top of his lungs; teacups shattered and liquid swirled around the room, tea and water and otherwise swimming around the room like a raging typhoon, slamming into walls and knocking over objects. Finally the Duke and Sovereign stopped looking just as shocked as the Duelist and Archon. You pressed your paws forward, all the liquid slamming onto the arguing duo, pushing them into wall on opposite sides of the room.

Neuvillette looked remorseful while Wriothesley was shocked, eyes as wide as possible and jaw slacked. After a moment of silence you dropped your paws, allowing the two to fall to the floor drenched and standing in puddles.

“Holy… Holy Shit. They are the…” Wriothesley looked towards Neuvillette who nodded. Wriothesley fell to his knees, hands gripping at his hair and tears filling his eyes.

“All my life… was a lie?” You rushed to his side before he could spiral, rapidly chittering and crying, wishing you could speak so you could comfort him. In fear of another argument you began to cry. You sniffled and placed paws on his arm, practically begging him not to fall down that dark hole of spiraling thoughts.

Suddenly, you felt a hand on your head. Fingers gently carded through your fur, and you looked up, meeting Wriothesley’s eyes. They were still teary, filled with grief and sorrow, but there was something behind it, something bright.

“Mm… don’t cry little guy. I didn’t mean to uh… scare you?” His smile was shaky at best. You whined and climbed into his lap, paws pressed to his cheeks and small kitten-licks to the tears he evidently didn’t know about, rubbing away any others you couldn’t get. His eyes widened, quickly trying to rub away any stray tears he caught.

The others watched the scene, not daring to speak. Eventually Wriothesley picked you up to stare at you. All his life had been spent worshiping one person, they fell from the sky one day, and he figured that’d be it. He got live in the generation that saw the return of their blessed Creator. Never to have them look him in the eye or anything.

But here you were. An otter. And you had already done so much more for him than the Creator had in such a short amount of time.

It would take a while, he figured, till his mind really did say that you were, in fact, the real and true Creator, till his mind could finally let go of the notion that he’d never get to see them because here you were, in his arms, caring for him.

“… Y’know… you’re a pretty cute little otter.” Everyone’s eyes snapped over to him when he spoke, more tears falling from his eyes. You squirmed around, desperately trying to get close enough to wipe them but were caught off-guard when instead Wriothesley wiped tears out of your eyes.

You cried, squirming in his arms to wrap your own around his neck. Everyone was silent as this happened, watching as his arms gently curled around you, slowly breaking down.

Neuvillette turned away, ashamed that he had lost his cool, and watched as Furina got up from the couch and walked over to you and Wriothesley. She couched down and sat beside you both, laying a head on Wriothesley’s shoulder.

You chirped quietly into the mana chest, letting him silently sob into you.

Only the sound of moving water disrupted the calm.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍯🧁🥥୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

That meeting was weeks ago, and now your little group was coming up with a plan to bring this news to light before all the other nations.

It had been well established to them that creatures of Teyvat, from small bugs to the largest beast, would all listen to you under any and all circumstances.

Like now.

While they all spoke under the moonlight inside Wriothesley’s office - one of the most secretive places in all of Fontaine - you swam just outside the walls in a raft of otters, all in all just having a fun time until the inevitable.

The rebellion.

Naturally everyone in the room was pissed, especially since it had been years at this point that that false ‘Creator’ had sat on a throne that was rightfully yours. They could see the effect your presence had on Fontiane.

The sun shone brighter, the water seemed clearer, less Meka broke down, flower bloomed easier, crime even dropped. It was great.

Everyone and everything seemed and felt happier.

Much happier than with that fucking liar.

A map of the large, floating Sanctuary and Shrine that was supposed to house the Creator was laid out across a table, specific entry point circled in red.

“Next week marks the beginning of the *Creator’s Walk. Defenses will grow as this week passes but the first day of the walk, there will be no Acolytes.” Neuvillette broke the silence by pointing towards the circles on the map.

“But they’ll still be in the perimeter. I should know, I was apart of the last Creator’s Walk.” Chlorinde spoke up, adjusting her hat. “I can’t think of any entrance we may have left ungraded, even if from a distance.”

They were silent as they thought. The Creator’s walk was a Month Long holiday where the Creator would walk nation to nation - by themselves - in order to hand out blessings, push back monsters for a following month of no attacks and to retrace their original path between Nations, a show that they were all still connected.

The quiet was broken by the sounds of you chittering, the door opening and revealing you wrapped in a Melusine themed towel, Sigewinne trailing right behind you.

“Thank you Sigewinne for returning them to us, now if you would mind-“ Neuvillette started but was interrupted by the Melusine, “You’re talking about the plan right?” Everyone stared at her while you took it upon yourself to climb into Furina’s lap.

“How did-“ “Uh, duh. I’ve known all along? I would’ve figured you’d have guessed that by now, especially with all the other Melusine and Meka treating them so great? Come on Monsieur Neuvillette, you’re smarter than that!” The sentence was ended with a giggle as she skipped over to the still shocked older man.

Neuvillette shook himself from the sudden stupor, sighing and nodded, before his eyes lit up.

“That’s right. We have all the Meka of Fontaine on our side. They’d do anything for ma moitié. How in Archons name did we forget we have an entire army on our side?” Everyone stared at Neuvillette sheepishly, shrugs and mutters filling the room. Neuvillette sighs and hangs his head, but quickly rebounds.

“Well in that case, most Nations haven’t fought our Meka-“ “But they have fought Ruin Guards.” Chlorinde spoke again. Neuvillette bit his cheek, she had a point. While Meka were different, it wouldn’t take to much the Acolytes to find weaknesses due to said Ruin Guards.

Silence again.

“The Local Legends and beasts alike could be of use. I mean, I doubt anyone’s fought giant crabs before.” Furina mentioned, though most of her attention was on you, drying you off and petting you.

“That is true, Lady Furina.” Wriothesley agreed. Eyes drew back to the map, taking in every spot on the thing.

“There!” Sigewinne was the one to point to a point on the map, near the back to the left of the large estate.

“What’s the spot?” She asked, Wriothesley took one look and responded.

“That’s a window to their wine cellar. Pretty unused but still guarded, why?” Sigewinne looked up with a grin.

“Because it’s closest to a body of water.” Chlorinde looked closely at the spot, and her eyes widened a bit.

“She has a point, and on top of that, while it is still guarded it’s much more lax, especially considering it’s not to far from where the ‘Creator’ will be leaving but far enough where anyone would doubt an entry. On the other hand, it could only appear that way.”

“That’s where Meka and monsters could come in.” Wriothesley started. “When we’re protecting the place we more expect other people than monsters considering they’re all scared of the place.”

The plan started to come together, more pieces being added and who should go first and so on and so forth. Furina was too busy playing with you to really care, but looked up with a confused expression.

“When are we going to tell the others? Vision users, I mean. And… how?” Everyone looked towards her.

“…Fuck.” And a new can of worms now needed to be opened.

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : IM SO FUCKING SORRY I CANT DO IT!! I swear I will be keeping this idea in mind tho because I now have a plan to map out all of the creator stories I swear it I’m just tired omg I’m sorry but I hope this suffices for now-

… This is so disappointing I’m sorry-

#genshin impact sagau #sagau x reader #sagau #x reader #x gn reader #gn y/n #x gn y/n #yandere x reader #yandere x you #Otter!Creator #asks <3 #anon <3

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achilles-rage · 2 months ago

Text

thirteen crows: chapter four

summary: buck finally runs into grace, and then buck and eddie surprise you in your apartment.

word count: 2.4k

previous chapter

series masterlist

a/n: i purposely made this vague so you can choose who’s who when reader is blindfolded lol, but if you wanna know who i imagined them as just ask hehe<3 enjoy💋

warnings: smut, non-con (but reader enjoys it??idk how to tag this), buddie breaks into readers house<3, descriptions of violence/murder (nothing too graphic), no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

It was easy to get to this point. It didn’t take much to spike the not-so-secret drink Grace keeps under the bar counter during her shift. And it was easy to convince you to go over to Eddie’s for the night to hang out.

They kept away from you for weeks; patiently waiting for a night that Grace has to work with Isaac. Every time they work together, Isaac walks her part of the way home; just until he gets to his own apartment, and then she’s alone the rest of the way. They know if they see Grace being rude to their sweet girl one more time, they won’t want to wait, so not seeing your pretty face is something they have to endure. They can’t risk being taken away from you.

They have everything meticulously planned.

Grace is alone, at night, in a dangerous part of town. Check.

The cameras in the alley placed almost halfway between Grace and Isaac’s house have mysteriously stopped working a couple weeks ago. Check.

Their soft girl is safely at Eddie’s house with many pictures taken of them and Christopher doing crafts, acting as an airtight alibi. Just in case. Check.

Now, all that’s left to do is wait.

Once Grace passes by the alley, barely even paying attention to her surroundings, Buck emerges from the shadows and grabs her. She tries to scream, but a large hand covers her mouth quickly, pulling her against a broad chest as she’s pulled deep into the alley.

The last thing she sees is the mask.

The last thing she smells is the metallic scent of her own blood.

“What are you?” These words are the last thing she hears. The voice is dark, and almost comes out as a growl as he holds the phone in one hand and the knife in the other.

“I’m nothing. I deserve this.” she stutters out, tears streaming down her face and mascara smudged all over her cheeks. Her last words.

It took some coaching to finally get her to say the words; the proof is shown in the video, in the form of scrapes on her arms and legs, and the cuts littered across her pale skin, but it’s worth it.

Both Buck and Eddie know what she’s saying is true, even if she doesn’t quite believe it yet, and they want her to feel as worthless as she made you feel when she said those awful things to you.

As Buck is walking away, down the part of the street that he knows have no working security cameras facing the street, wiping the splatters of red off of his mask with his black sleeve, he thinks about you and Eddie.

He imagines you laughing and smiling with him and Chris, and he smiles to himself. He imagines himself there, slowly spreading you open for them after Chris goes to bed, everyone's bellies full from your wonderful cooking. Having to make sure you’re completely silent as they mark you, the crimson falling down your pretty skin.

His little family. Almost complete.

Now all they need is for you to accept their love. Which shouldn’t be difficult now. Grace made you insecure, and now that she’s taken care of, they’ll be able to convince you that they want you. They’ll make sure you accept them.

Buck is still running on pure adrenaline when he gets to Eddie’s house, waiting strategically in his jeep down the street until Eddie has driven you home and is back in his house. They sit on the couch, Buck’s phone held up between them as they listen to Grace's pleading and whimpering.

They know that they can’t wait any longer to have you, but they know they have to be careful. Again. They know they can’t do anything now; calling Eddie’s babysitter up so late and asking her to stay the night with Chris would be suspicious, especially when a body would turn up soon, killed around the same time.

So, the next night, when the body is found, they leave when Chris’s babysitter arrives. Their masks are already in Buck’s jeep, and they ride over to your house in silence, eagerly counting down the seconds until they can see their pretty girl.

You’re fast asleep when the front door to your apartment opens, but you don’t hear it; you’re sleeping soundly with alcohol coursing through your veins. You had found out about Grace today, and while she was rude to you, she had been your friend at one point. To self sooth, you poured a few too many shots, and are now sprawled out on your back on your bed, breathing heavily.

Your eyes shoot open when you feel a warm hand covering your mouth and cold metal held to your throat. Your body tenses as you stay completely still, barely able to make out the two masked men standing directly over you.

“You scream and I’ll slit your throat. You got that, sweetheart?” the smaller one hisses quietly into your ear. You nod quickly, keeping your mouth shut as you look up at them with bloodshot eyes. They almost feel bad; they knew you’d be upset about that bitch’s death, but not this upset.

The other man chuckles darkly at your submissive demeanor, then reaches down to your oversized t-shirt, lifting the hem of it with his knife. You shiver as you feel the cold metal moving up your skin. If he pressed any harder, you’re sure he’d draw blood, and in your dazed state, you’re still sound enough to understand that that’s probably what he wants.

“No panties? You were just waiting for us, weren’t you baby?” you hear the smaller one ask in a condescending tone. You let out a shaky breath, and although you know you should be terrified, that you should scream and hope someone calls the police, you can’t bring yourself to. You’re not even sure if this is real. You’re only half sure that someone is actually in your apartment right now. All you know that is real right now, is the pool forming between your legs.

You know you shouldn’t be turned on right now, but the way they’re looking down at you, their heads slightly tilted as they examine you has your heartbeat quickening. And not just because they could kill you at any time.

They both look at each other for a split second before one man is grabbing your wrists and tying them to the bed, and the other is fastening a blindfold around your eyes. It’s tight, almost too tight, and although you squirm in their grip in a mix of surprise and fear, you still don’t scream.

“What a good girl for us.” one of them speaks. You think it’s the larger man, but you’re really not sure.

“You gonna keep being good for us, sweet girl?” the other one asks, and you nod quickly. You feel your legs being yanked apart by large hands, and you let out a quiet yelp. You feel a hand on your neck as soon as the noise escapes your throat, and the familiar cold metal dragging across your plush tummy lightly. A string of apologies tumble out of your lips before they can even scold you, and they smirk at each other; their masks having been discarded immediately after they know you were securely fastened to the bed.

You gasp quietly again when your shirt is yanked up, now bunching above your chest. Your nipples harden as the cold air hits your skin, but two warm palms grab your tits quickly, protecting you from the cold as they begin to massage you. You let out a low moan as the man tweaks your nipples, and your breath catches in your throat as the other man’s mouth attaches to your dripping cunt.

The man that’s playing with your tits, you assume, as the other man is slowly moving his tongue through your glistening folds, shushes you quietly before his lips press searing kisses around your breasts. His hands are still squeezing and groping at your chest, as the other man’s tongue darts in and out of you desperately, nose nudging your clit in a way that has quiet whimpers threatening to escape your lips.

You’re trying so hard not to make a sound. Your fear is heightening your pleasure as you struggle against the restraints, desperate to touch them.

Even as they work you closer and closer to the edge, you can barely even make out what’s happening. You’re still drunk, you’re sure of it, and with all the emotions swarming around your head with Grace’s death, you think that maybe this is some weird dream.

But, dream or not, you feel fucking incredible. And the real-not-real tongue fucking your greedy cunt is making you see stars.

You’ve also never had this much attention focused on your tits, and with the way the man is tweaking and sucking on your nipples, you feel like you’d come just with his touch alone.

Your breathing is coming out in laboured pants, and you whimper quietly as you bite your lip, knowing what could happen if you make too much noise.

The man attached to your core moans when he feels your pussy clench, and he inserts two fingers into your core, curling his fingers as he sucks on your clit.

“You gonna come for us sweet girl?” You nod desperately, and both men chuckle. You gasp softly as you feel the knife against your throat, almost enough to slice your soft skin.

“You’re not gonna tell a single person about this, yeah? Promise us that, and we’ll let you come. How’s that sound, gorgeous?” one speaks.

“Yes, yes, yes. Promise. Please.” you plead, trying not to move your head. One wrong move, and you’re sure the knife will cut your throat.

You come not long after, the knife taken from your throat as the attention is focused back on your perfect tits. Your thighs squeeze the head between your thighs, and the man lets out a low growl, teeth grazing your clit and large hands holding your thighs apart as he works you through your orgasm.

Once he’s licked up all your juices, they both remove themselves from you and stand up with smirks. It’s obvious that one man wishes he could’ve tasted your sweet cunt, but by the sounds of your heaving chest and the sight of your quivering thighs, they know they should let you rest.

The other man is quick to bring their lips together, letting both of them taste your sweet release as their mouths collide in a sloppy kiss.

You feel on edge as you lay there completely bare, your cunt pulsing as the cold air offers a stark contrast to the fire under your skin. You swallow when you finally feel a hand on your throat and a knife moving down the valley of your breasts.

“You tell anyone, and we’ll gut you. You got that, sweet girl?” you nod quickly, holding your breath.

“Promise, I won’t.” you babble, mind reeling and confused.

The blindfold and restraints are yanked off of you, but not before two gentle kisses are placed on your lips. While one is sweeter, almost loving, the other is rough, and almost desperate, and you know that both men have just kissed you.

You open your eyes quickly, but you’re met with pitch black. They’ve obviously unplugged the little light you keep in your hallway, as it gave you just enough light to see them when you first woke up. Either way, you’re sure that seeing them would do you no good, and your legs are so weak that you can’t even begin to think about getting out of bed.

You fall asleep after a while, unsure of how to feel, and the next morning when you wake up, you’re not even sure that it happened.

Your head is pounding as you sit up, and as you look around your room. Everything is in place. The only thing that makes you think it could be real is the mess between your legs, but even then, it could’ve been a dream that made you very excited.

You continue on with your day, getting ready for work, and thinking deeply about it. You know that real or not, you can’t tell anyone. On one hand, if it was real, they’d “gut you.” And you’re sure they’d keep that promise. But on the other hand, if it wasn’t, you never think you’d live down telling anyone that you had a sex dream about the two masked men terrorizing LA.

You’re so emotional about everything from the last 24 hours that you convince yourself that you made it up. No need to be afraid, you tell yourself, it was just a dream, right?

The words from Grace are still in the back of your mind, anyway. If they were going to do this to someone, why you?

They watch you through a screen for most of the day, thankful that they have the day off and can spend the day taking care of their sweet girl.

They want to make sure you’re not too shaken up. You clearly enjoyed their touch, but they want to make sure that you’re not scared beyond return. They know they threatened you; they had to. But they’d never actually hurt you.

They’re pleased when you continue your day like normal, making no attempt to reach out to anyone. They think at this point, it may be easier to isolate you, just a little. Without anyone else, you’ll cling to them, and they can assure you that you’re not crazy. You’re gorgeous, and sweet, and smart, and if they get you all to themselves, they know you’ll realize how nice their attention is.

You’ll accept the protection that they’re giving you. The stability. They dream of the day when you know everything they’ve done, and like it. Maybe you’d even join them; telling them about who wronged you and beg them to do something about it.

They don’t think you’d ever actually take part in it; you’re far too sweet for it, but that’s okay. They’re more than willing to do all the work. Just for you.

next chapter

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