#It a got away from me

[medusagorgongirl1]

Picture this, Tim drake in his robin era. He's on the young justice team (he is their fantastic and mysterious leader thank you very much), he's batman's protege (and sure that began rocky but it's improving), and his parents are alive (he's gotta one up his predecessors in some way), and you know what, life is good.

Until of course his parents are coming planning to come to town, and he's looking at his grades because they're not that fantastic and everyone wants their parents to see good grades so he's (frantically) picking up the slack

And yeah he probably shouldn't be working on his math notes and homework in the common area, but, well tough shit, logarithmic aren't going to wait

And that's where kon find him, half bent over a notebook scribbling away with his nose inches from his laptop... this is typical Rob behavior in Kon's eyes, though a tad more stressed than usual

"What kinda report has the bat got you writing now" kon questions, looking at the bird who seems enraptured by the wonders of his laptop.

But Rob looks up blinks owlishly and states 'logarithmics'

'Is that a rouges name or some kinda gang, who the hell is logarithmics?' Kon replies mildly baffled cause whom the fuck is calling themselves logarithmics

Rob continues to state at kon, doing that whole analysis stare that makes kon question if he's the only one on the team with x ray vision. "It's 11th grade math" the bird finally states

Kon stares blankly at the Robin, because what?

"I'm doing my math homework... it's logarithmics" The bird clarifies

And that how Robin and Super boy end up smashed together in a chair debating over logarithmic, and maybe just maybe that's when Robin starts to realize that (even more maybes) maybe he likes to hear Kon talk and maybe logarithmics will not ever seem necessary, but hey at least they make him grin a bit

[eupheme]

— sugar, sugar

[part ii] | [part iii] | [masterlist]

wolverine/logan howlett x neighbor!f!reader

rated e - 6.5k

tags: asshole friend!wade, (sorta soft) roommate!logan, baker!neighbor!reader, flirting, mutual yearning, immature humor, a reference to while you were sleeping, wingman!wade and the worse way to meet someone, light angst, oral sex, swallowing, fingering, v. light ass play, unprotected PiV, appearance of The Claws, what’s a refractory period, sorta audible voyeurism (brief/humorous)

a/n: includes spoilers for deadpool & wolverine (which omg I loved - what was your fave cameo?)

Your eccentric neighbor Wade may drive you a little up the wall… but, you’re willing to put up with him if it means he’ll introduce you to his new, grumpy-looking roommate.

“You gonna introduce me?”

You’ve cornered Wade in the apartment’s laundry room - the door to the front-loading washer hanging open as he holds a bundle of red fabric up to his chest.

“You think this will wash out?” 

The suit in question looks like it had been run over by a truck and then set on fire, with the rips criss-crossed in the leather and the numerous charred holes scattered across the chest.

“Definitely.” Your eyes flicker down, and then back up, “So, will you?”

He bundles the suit up - flinging into the back of the washer, the laundry basket still tucked under an arm.

“Really? Not even ‘hello, Wade’? ‘Looking good, Wade’?” His voice pitches up, imitating yours, “Does our friendship really mean nothing to you?”

You wouldn’t necessarily call Wade Wilson a friend.

In fact, he’s honestly the worst neighbor you’ve ever had. 

Loud, obnoxious. Persuasive - the first night you met you had been banging on his door at three in the morning, yelling at him to shut up as music and a caterwauling voice blared through the shared wall.

Ten minutes later you were playing the drums on his late night session of Rock Band, using a banana and a wooden spoon in place of sticks. Only for Althea to stomp out of her room and shut everything down, scaring both of you out of your skins.  

But sometimes, you think - remembering the times he came through for you, a shoulder to cry on, helping him this slump he’s been digging himself out of - he might just be the best, as well.

And maybe that was friendship, after all. 

You sigh, leaning against the row of washers. Eyes flicking over him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“You do look good, Wade,” There’s a tilt of your head, the smile widening, “Glad you lost the toupee, that really wasn’t your color.”

“Ah, ah. Repurposed,” He chides, cupping his crotch, “You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve missed-”

“Ew, stop.” Your face scrunches, a hand covering your eyes as you shield your vision, “Will you please just answer my question?”

He throws a handful of shirts in the washer, “Which was...?”

Your head shakes - a hand on his arm as you reach for a glint of gold in the pile of clothes. Cringing as a handgun appears, held gingerly between thumb and forefinger as you set it on the side table.

“Good call,” He nods, “Dry clean only.”

You can't help a laugh then, even as your hands brace on your hips, “I want to meet your roommate.”

He frowns, “You’ve met Blind Al.”

“Jesus, Wade. Not Al." A hand waves, " I mean Mister Tall, Dark, and Brooding.”

You’ve seen the stranger in the hallways a few times in the month since he’s moved in. Scruffy and scowling the first time, a silent shadow behind Wade’s endless chatter. 

But in the weeks following, that look had softened. You’d stopped by twice with cookies to welcome him, but every time you’ve just gotten Al.

Not that you dislike Al, that’s not it at all. She’s sweet enough to you when it’s not 3 a.m. or if Wade doesn’t have her annoyed half to death.

But you certainly weren’t harboring a crush on her. Maybe even secretly hoping that maybe the new neighbor will get a little lost and end up at your door, instead of his new place.  

“Ooh,” The syllables draw out - detergent flung in, before he’s leaning against the washer too, facing you. “Yeah, Logan. He's great, got a mean ‘Hugh Jackman’ vibe, just without the singing. You’d like him.”

Something like hope flutters in your belly, but then he’s raising a finger - wiggling it at you, “Just one question though. What’s in it for me?”

That has you scowling, “What do you mean? You owe me. I covered for you when you had that barqueue in the stairwell.”

“God, that was great sausage.” Wade groans, thinking back, “Mmm, but I think Peter covered for me.”

“Who do you think got Peter?”

“Well, I don’t remember seeing you.” He shrugs.

“I was right-,” You pinch the bridge of your nose between thumb and forefinger, a sharp exhale of breath, “Fine. If you do this for me, I’ll do that thing you keep asking me to do.”

Wade gasps gleefully, “You mean you’ll make the triple decker-”

“-chocolate caramel cheesecake chimichangas. Yes.” You finish with him, arms crossing over your chest, “You’re lucky you heal fast because that should put you right into a food coma.”

“Right. Lucky me,” He smirks. A second as he thinks, before he snaps his fingers, “I’m having a little get-together tonight! You should come. Was gonna invite you anyway.”

The pounding in your head ratchets up at the thought that all this could’ve been avoided.

“Logan sleeps on the couch, though,” He adds, sagely, “So just letting you know that if the two of you decide to get your fuck on in my bed, according to the state of New York I am legally allowed to join you.”

“Thanks for the warning,” You grimace - even if you’re certain that cannot possibly be true, “But I do have my own apartment.”

“Oh, right.” There’s the faintest edge of disappointment in his tone, paired with a sigh.

You give him a sideways look, then.

“I saw Vanessa leaving yesterday. Things getting better?”

He sobers at that, eyes moving towards the sliver of a window. The glimpse of the street outside.

“Yeah.” Wade manages, “Yeah, I think so.”

There had once been a flicker of something. In-between your annoyance and exasperation, there were tendrils of tenderness. Long snuffed out, when you had seen just how banged up his heart was. How it’s always belonged to another. 

You had gotten over it. Gotten to a place where seeing him now, like this, makes you smile.

“I’m really glad to hear that.” 

He smiles, then.

“Thanks. Me too.”

“Hey, hold on.” Wade darts in front of his roommate, a leg kicked up high to block the doorway, “Where are you going? You can’t go out.”

Logan scowls, an arm already shoved into his leather jacket, “Sure I can.”

The blow against his shoulder might move a lesser man, but Wade’s fingers just grip the frame even tighter, “But I promised-, I got a friend that wants to meet you. There is some really important shit at stake here. I can’t let you go.”

An eyebrow cocks, “Can’t? I think we both know how that would go if you tried to stop me.”

It would be easy to get into this right here and now, but his suit is still in the dryer and he’s not about to spend another hour cleaning up blood.

“Wait, wait, wait,” He throws a hand up, “Aren’t you listening to me? A girl wants to meet you. She’s hot, she has a job, and she has an apartment. You’re only one outta three there. Can’t you see what a good opportunity this is? This is totally in your favor!”

Logan scoffs, his tongue tucking against his teeth. Hesitating for just a second, but it's enough that Wade knows he’s got him.

“I’ve met your friends,” He eventually acknowledges, “They’re good folk and all, but there isn’t anyone there I’d like to ‘get to know better’, yeah?”

“You haven’t met this one. She lives next door.”

The pause stretches longer this time. Dark eyes dart out into the hallway, and Wade can practically hear those rusted gears turning.

“Apartment 16 or 18?” Logan finally rasps, his arms crossing. 

Oh, he’s definitely got him. Just call him Wade Wilson, New York’s own personal Cupid. New life goal - get his friends laid. 

He nocks a mental arrow - aiming, and then firing with his answer. 

“18.” 

Another beat passes, and then a sigh. 

“Alright.” The leather sleeve slips from his arm, drooping in his fist.

“Five minutes. That’s all I’m staying.”

Wade’s fist pumps. 

Bullseye, motherfucker. 

The apartment is packed and it’s been well past the allotted five minutes. Logan’s been nursing a beer for the last fifteen, eyes flicking over the people he’s grown to know well.

Offering a tight, half-smile when the big man claps him on the back, followed by Opposites Attract. Almost tempted to find that damn dog, just to have something to do. 

Or maybe, just bail all-together.

Starting to think this was all an elaborate prank. Some fucked up aspect of this Earth, unknown to him until now.

He’s too old for this shit. If he heads for the bedroom now, he might make it out the fire escape before anyone notices.

Logan is still entertaining this new thread of thought until he hears his name - called out over whatever fuck-face bullshit boy-band music Wade’s been playing. 

Ambiance, his ass.

The muscles of his crossed arms flex. Catching the way his roommate hauls a girl across the floor - the look of panic on her face as she tosses a container onto the nearest surface.

Wade hadn’t been lying, after all. It was Apartment 18 - that was about as much as he knew about you.

Other than the color of your eyes. The smell of your perfume in the hall. Your hair, your schedule - waking in the mornings to hear your door opening at 5 a.m., five days a week.

A baker. A damn good one, from the bits of cookie he’s snuck when no one was home. 

Had never thought to introduce himself, because he’s been through all this before. Knows better than to reach out in the first place - still nursing the old wound of heartache, one that still flares to life in his chest.

Better not to hope, or even think, at all. 

You stumble when he lets go, and Logan’s hands only curl tighter. Afraid to touch, now that you’re so close. 

A pretty young thing compared to him. This was a fucking stupid idea, his eyes darting away as Wade claps, his hands spreading wide. 

“Logan,” Wade’s tone is cordial, as if discussing the weather, “This is our neighbor, Sugar. She bakes a mean penis cake and likes emotionally unavailable men.”

A dejected sigh as he regards you, “Which is why it’s never worked out between us. I am just too available.”

Penis cake?

Logan shoots you a sideways look, an eyebrow cocked. Caught off guard by this unexpected intro, and it seems you are the same - gauging by the way your mouth drops open. 

Your face swimming with regret, as you hiss, “Oh my god. Wade. It was one time. Why do you have to put it like that?”

Wade’s smile widens, his tone still innocent, “Just skipping over the ‘getting-to-know-you’s, so you can know if you’re compatible.”

Already pivoting to face Logan with a little wink, his own scowl already deepening. Something like nerves flickering to life - as he wonders if this will all be over before it ever begins.

“And this is Logan. He’s from another Earth, is two-hundred years old, and has a metal dong.”

Jesus Christ. 

Logan’s teeth grit, before he snarls, “It’s not made of metal-”

Out of the corner of his eye, catches the curious dip of your gaze. Past the folded twist of his arms, the flannel, down to his thick belt buckle.

A knock rings out then, interrupting him from any further clarification.

“Ooh! Door,” Wade thumbs over his shoulder, “Go on now, we’ve got some good energy going here. Sugar and spice, I love it.”

A spin on his heel, and he’s leaving them alone. Silence a lingering companion for a long moment, before Logan turns.

“Nice to meet you.” He seethes, jaw working as he shoots daggers at Wade’s back. A hand extended - he’d manage that much at least.

Waiting for you to make an excuse and run, but all you do is fit your hand into his. Soft and strong and a near perfect fit.

Logan doesn’t touch people much anymore unless it’s a hand around a throat, or claws buried deep into a chest. Had almost forgotten what it was like, even if this meeting is close to his own personal version of hell.

“Nice to finally meet you, too.” Your smile is wry. Hands still clasped a moment longer, until he’s withdrawing. 

Your hands shove into your back pockets. The tilt of a head as you regard him, and he lets his eyes meet yours. 

They’re pretty, like the rest of you. Captivating even, if he could use such a word, and Wade’s words ring out in his head. 

She wants to meet you.

He’s wondering if that’s still true. Maybe you’re wondering the same, with the way you look at him. 

“So,” You begin, awkwardly - another unconscious flick of your eyes,“How does-”

“Uh-uh.” Logan’s head shakes. He’s picked up a couple things living with Wade. Never used to be a bargaining man, but he has to admit it has its uses. 

“If you wanna know, you gotta go first.” 

He hates you.

He must, with the way he’s scowling. Thighs spread wide as he sits on the couch you had gestured to, fingers in a vice grip around the bottle. No doubt plotting a dozen ways to ditch you the second he can.

Who wouldn’t, with a meeting like this? You could kill Wade, cheeks burning as you sink into the worn cushions next to him.

That is, until your knee knocks against his. The muscles in his thigh flexing - but Logan lets it rest, instead of pulling away. 

“You gonna-?” His voice is gruff, a low rasp that makes goosebumps raise across your skin. 

“Uh, sure.” Your fingers twist, “Which part did you want to hear about?”

His eyebrows lift. Those dark eyes beneath, almost a hint of amusement in them.

“Right,” The little laugh that bubbles from you is self-conscious, “Well, I don’t really like emotionally unavailable men, they just have a habit of finding me.”

His voice is low, “How would Wade know that?”

“Mm, how would he know about your-?” Your eyes flicker down for the third time, and he shifts. 

“You first.”

“Alright.” You huff, but you’re smiling now. Some of your discomfort easing. 

Logan is even more handsome than you had thought. You like the way his eyes dart away, only to come back and linger. 

It’s starting to make you think that maybe it’s not dislike that has so much of him hidden away. Maybe it’s just been a long time since someone tried to peel any of him back. 

Maybe he’s as nervous as you are.

“Well, he’s had to scare an ex or two away.” You shrug, “He only knows because I told him. And the cake, oh-, that was him, too.”

You turn then, to face him. A shoulder brushing the arm he has thrown across the back of the couch, a flicker in his eyes as you get comfortable beside him.

“Well, Wade had gotten ripped in half a couple years ago,” You nose wrinkles, a wave of your hand, “And it all like, has to grow back, right? It’s so creepy.”

Logan grimaces at your explanation, and you wonder if he understands. You think he must - you had thought he was like Wade, in some ways. 

Different. Special.

“Well, he uh, finished growing everything in,” You make a sweeping gesture over your lower half, “And the next year to celebrate his dickiversary, he ordered a penis cake from my shop.”

“His… dickiversary.” Logan repeats slowly.

The heat is back in your cheeks, but you nod, “Yeah, because it like, it came back and all. And he paid in cash, I couldn’t say no.”

There’s the smallest twitch of Logan’s lips, and it feels like a victory.

“Right. What flavor was it?”

Your smile widens with relief, “Strawberries and cream. It was so good. I’ll have to make it for you sometime.”

A second before you cringe, adding, “I mean, a normal one. Not…”

He hums then, close to a laugh.  

“Sure. You do that.”

You smile, letting your shoulder bump his, “And with that… I think it’s your turn.”

The bit of humor in his expression flattens. A searching look thrown your way, before he inhales a breath.

Setting it free. 

“I’m a mutant.”

Logan waits there, as if expecting something. You only nod, thinking of the ones you know. Colossus, Ellie, Yukio, Domino. Wade. 

“Wade said you were similar to him. I had assumed-” You encourage, waiting.

“Right,” He seems relieved, some of the tension ebbing, “My powers are regenerative, like his. But unlike him, I have these-”

There’s the jerk of his wrist, and three sharp metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. Your gasp is caught in your throat as you cling to his flannel shirt - the surprise bleeding into worry. 

They glint in the light, as his fingers flex. 

“Adamantium instead of bones. All of me is like this.”

The claws sheath themselves inside him again. His wounds smoothing over seconds later, as he scrubs his knuckles across his jeans, wiping away blood. 

Offering out his hand, after. Letting your grip unwind from his shirt, and press against his skin instead. Feeling the tendons in his hand, his wrist. The skeleton beneath utterly unyielding, a weight to his limb that is so unlike your own.

“Metal…” You trail off, as pieces click into place, “I get it now. So does Wade really think there’s like, an actual bone-?”

Logan huffs again, “Guess so.”

You laugh then. A thought sobering you after, as a fingertip drifts up to the dip between his fingers. 

“But doesn’t that hurt?” 

It makes you wince to even think about it. Much less how casually they sprung from him, no different than breathing. 

He shrugs, and it’s heartbreaking.

“Doesn’t even phase me anymore.”

“And, the two hundred years,” Another facet you put together out loud, “You’re still alive because you keep healing? Will it be that way forever?”

His hand flexes in your grip.

“Not forever. Apparently my powers will run out, at some point.” His eyes meet yours, “The Logan in this world is dead. Wade pulled me from another.”

Your brow furrows - always trying to keep up with the snippets that Wade has told you across the years - stories about time-traveling and mutants and even how he came to be. But this seems too deep. Surely Logan must be joking.

“Another world, huh?” You ask, head tilting - trying your best to roll with it, “Won’t they miss you in yours?”

Only now does his face falter. That sharp mask cracking, as his hand pulls from yours. Resting again on the back edge of the couch - his answer low and rough. 

“No. I don’t think so.”

Another jolt racks through your heart. You don’t know him know him yet, but you already can’t believe that could possibly be true. Your fingers fan out, hovering - before it folds into a fist.

“Well then, I’m glad you’re here.”

He doesn’t reply. 

The room is darker now, dim with the setting of the sun. Street lights outside pouring in a golden beam that cuts across his face. 

His eyes are hazel, you can see that now. A fading rim of green spilling into the brown, beneath the near-permanent furrow of his eyebrows. 

Yours caught in the glow of the flamingo string lights that curl out from the kitchen, stapled to the walls.

He breaks the silence, the words coming slowly. 

“Let me ask you one more thing.” 

“Sure. You know some of my worst secrets already.” You smile, a shoulder lifting.

His hand twitches, where it rests near your shoulder. The tip of a finger ghosting against skin.

Just the slightest brush but it feels like it radiates out, lingering after.

“Why’d you tell Wade you wanted to meet me?” 

His voice is still low, rough. But it’s lost that sharp edge. The combination has your stomach tied up in knots, suddenly more nervous that you’ve been the whole night.

Surely he must know? 

“Well…” You hedge. It’s your turn to look away, but then there’s the brush of his fingers again.

“Because I did want to meet you.” You admit, “You, you seemed like someone I wanted to get to know. In whatever capacity you’d like.”

“Is that right, Sugar?” Logan husks, and the nickname sounds even sweeter on his tongue, stealing your breath.

All you can do is nod, as his eyes darken. 

Voices rise behind you, ripping you out of this little bubble you’ve found yourself in. Nearly forgetting just how many people are here, how many eyes have been glancing your way since you’ve arrived.

“Not strip poker Wade, please.” The rough rumbling plea of Colossus’s voice rings out above the others, “You never wear anything under the suit-”

You didn’t even realize when he had changed, but he had - patches of bare skin on his ass showing through the holes. Your nose scrunches, before you turn back to realize that Logan’s eyes are still on you.

Dropping when your tongue peeks out to wet your lips - your words coming out in a soft hush. 

“You want to get out of here?”

You want him. You can only hope that he might just want you, too.

The corner of his lip twitches.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

It’s strange to have someone like Logan in your space. You can remember the last time you’ve wanted someone here.

His fingers still entwined with yours, from where you had reached back for him. Leading him through the dim corners of the room.

Thinking you had made it, only for the rousing cheers to rise when you had cracked the door open to slip through.

His grip tightening when you made to tug your hand free, in an urge to press it against burning cheeks. Letting you fumble with one hand, to open the lock next door.

It’s quieter here. A low echo of the music next door, as the darkness wraps around you again.

Here, his fingers move, but it’s only to skim up your wrist. To tug you between him and the front door, until your back presses against it. 

His nose brushes yours as he steps into your space, your lips already parting. Holding himself there for a moment, inhaling the scent of you as his arm braces above your head.

Leaving you to be the one that closes the gap. The tilt of your head and the press of your lips against his.

A rough hum when your arms wrap around his neck, fingers buried in his hair. His hand gripping at your waist, pulling your hips against his.

Tugging and pushing. A messy path from the front door through the small living room - a mirror-image of the apartment next door.

Through to the bedroom, wandering hands and the brush of his tongue against yours as he deepens the needy kiss. Until his knees are hitting the edge of your bed, and he’s letting you nudge him back onto the mattress.

He brings you with him - your hips cradling his as you settle yourself astride him. Hands flatten against his chest as you rock down - drawing a rough, mumbled “fuck”.

Grinding yourself down where he’s hard, the curve of his cock straining against his jeans. Letting your hands follow, as his own cup your ass. Squeezing, before slipping to press the heel of his hand against the seam at your clit.

You moan into his mouth, as your fingers curl around him. Eyes blown wide when you pull back, scooting your hips down. 

It’s here that he comes back to himself. 

Going tense as you fit yourself between his thighs, fingers at this belt as the other still cups him.

“You shouldn’t want this.” He rasps, those eyes glinting in the dark, “A man like me. You know that, right?”

Propping himself up on an elbow, so he can see your expression. So you can see the way his jaw grits, nostrils flaring. 

It’s a warning, wrapped up in silk. A last ditch effort to scare you away - knowing that once he has you, he won’t want to stop.

Your fingers slow - his zipper half-undone, baring skin and a dark shadow of hair beneath. 

The other pulling away, “You want me to stop?” 

He catches your wrist, jerking your hand back. His hips bucking into your palm, grinding himself into your touch. 

“The last thing I want to fucking do is stop.” It’s almost a growl, “But on my Earth, I-”

You sigh then, impatient, “Logan, this Earth isn’t all that great either. I lost five years of my life to the blip.”

He frowns, not understanding - but your head shakes as you continue, “I’m tired of being too scared to take chances. I’ve been trying to live each day to the fullest, and I’d like to end this one with you.”

And out of everyone - Logan knows a little something about second chances.

“Yeah,” He manages - the grip of his fist leaves you, “Yeah, okay.”

"Thank you,” You answer primly, just as you finish yanking the zipper down. 

His hand beats you in the race to ease himself out, fingers curling around the base. You can’t help it - you inhale a breath at the sight of him.

Heavy, with the way the flushed tip bobs in his grip. Thick enough that you’re already wondering if you’re going to be able to take him. 

The huff he makes turns into a groan as you start small - engulfing the leaking head with your lips. The first inch turns into another as his hips lift, feeding his cock into your waiting mouth. 

Only when he’s halfway inside you, bumping against your throat, does his hand drop. Letting you replace it with your own - squeezing, as drool slicks up his shaft. Your head bobbing in time with the twist of your fist.

That brief hesitance is quickly forgotten. Fingers brush at your cheek, curling around the base of your head as he guides you.

Leaving you eager for more. Another hissed groan when your mouth leaves him, your hand loosening as you strip your clothes away.

“Oh fuck yes,” He coaxes, when he realizes what you’re doing, “Let me see you, baby.” 

Your shirt and pants left to pool on the floor. A second of boldness as you unclasp your bra next, leaving you in your panties as you focus on his cock again. 

A bitten-back moan when your tongue slips across his swollen shaft - an low throb between your thighs as you rub them together, clenching around nothing. Resisting the urge to slip your hand beneath the hem to ease the ache. 

Instead, your keep your hands on him. Goosebumps raising as your nails scratch against the deep v of muscle at his hips. The others working him into your mouth, as he slowly comes more undone. 

His hips flex with each bob of your head, lips parted as he pants. The words a rough mumble, becoming almost desperate. 

“That’s it sweetheart.”

Another moan when you take him deep, hollowing your cheeks as you suck, “Oh fuck, gonna fill that pretty mouth.”

His hand cups your jaw, holding you steady as he bucks into your mouth. Those dark eyes fixed on you in wonder, all that pretty skin bared for him to touch, to taste. He’s mesmerizing like this - the weight of gaze. Jaw slack with pleasure, eyes aflame.

You did this to him. 

It sends something warm flooding through you, as his eyelashes flutter. The tipping back of his head, muscles ticking in his cheek as his teeth ground down. 

A sound still slips between them, as he floods your mouth with the next flex of his hips. Pulsing between your lips as you swallow him down, a choked sound ripping from his chest when you cup his sack to gently squeeze out every last drop. 

Logan melts into the mattress after, an arm thrown over his eyes as he catches his breath. His gaze focusing on you when he feels you squirm - dark, and hungry.

A lithe stretch of muscles as he moves - legs easing from beneath you. 

“Hands and knees,” He commands, head tipping towards the bed next to him, as he rolls off. Kicking off his jeans as you listen, watching over a shoulder as the flannel and white tank underneath joins your clothes on the floor.

Your eyes widen at how toned he is - muscles rippling, the bed dipping as he fits himself behind you.

His broad hand at the small of your back, pushing your torso down against the mattress. A pleased hum then, fingers trailing just along the elastic edge of your underwear.

“Could smell how much she needed this.” The tips of two press against the damp fabric between your thighs, making you gasp, “Even next door. You want it that bad?”

It should be embarrassing that he could tell how much you desired him, but at the moment all you can think about is him touching you more.

“Yes,” You agree, “Please, Logan.”

“So fuckin’ polite,” The fingers withdraw; but only so his nose can replace them. A ragged inhale, just before his tongue drags against your clothed slit.

A groan against your skin as you cry out, before a finger hooks around the fabric, baring you for him to taste.

The heat of his tongue flattens against you - lapping at where you drip with need, a rough rumble in his chest. 

“Sweet, too.” Another flick of his tongue, “Your name. ‘s fitting.”

You can’t manage words. Only his name, muffled against the sheets as your fists twist in them. Back arched as you resist the urge to grind yourself against his tongue, as it flicks against your clit.

It’s messy, how he eats you. You don’t think you’ve even had someone take you like this. Hungry, desperate even, as he devours you. The rumble of a groan against your cunt as his tongue delves inside you, stretching you open. Letting your slick smear into his beard, with how close he presses his mouth.

That need inside you thrumming. Winding tighter as he yanks your panties down your thighs. His palm flattening against your ass, holding you open as he licks you from clit to hole, then higher. Humming as you squeak, when his tongue flattens against your tight rim. 

A thick finger nudging against you then, as his tongue dips back to your clit. There’s no resistance as it slips deeper, into slick walls that clamp down around him.  It’s what you needed - that little bit more.

Unable to help rocking into the crook of his finger now. Whining when a second joins it, spearing deep and curling. Dragging against your walls, loud and wet and filthy with each plunge. 

Your whimpers only grow louder. Needier, as his lips wrap around your clit. Fingers pounding deep, stretching you out. Leaving you babbling, your words slipping together. 

“Don’t fucking stop.” Tears prick at your eyes, each breath a rattling gasp, “Oh my god you’re gonna make me come-”

He has you gushing, with the next flick of his tongue. A pleased groan as he feels your pussy tighten around his fingers, hearing the wail that is muffled into your pillows. That sharp pace slowing, his thumb replacing his tongue to draw your orgasm out until your legs are shaking. 

His fingers sticky when they pull from you, only to slip between his lips - tongue curling around his knuckles, sucking them clean.

It leaves you floating above yourself. You can’t remember ever coming this hard, even by yourself. Only the tintest thread of disappointment as you drift, and it’s only that you won’t get the pleasure of his cock filling you tonight.

You would’ve liked to see what he can do with the rest of him. 

Perhaps you can convince him to stay until morning.

But he moves behind you, instead. His knee pressing against yours, spreading your legs further. The rhythmic shuffle of skin against skin, as his hand slips from between his lips to fist around his cock. 

“Tell me I can fuck you.” It’s not a plea, not with the harsh rasp of his voice. But it’s as close as you’ve heard, as he swipes the tip against your leaking pussy.

Smearing your slick on him, teasing at your waiting hole.

You don’t know how he’s hard again, but at the moment you really don’t care. Not sure if you’ve ever felt a need like this, your back arching further as you present yourself to him. 

A twist of your neck, so your eyes can meet his. 

“Fuck me, Logan.” 

He groans, broad hands squeezing at your ass. Slipping up to sink his fingers into the flesh at your hips. Holding you steady as he lines himself up. 

Your breath held, when you feel his cock start to breach you - muscles stringing tight.

“Relax, sweetheart,” He grits out, though not unkindly, “You can take it.”

Trying to hold himself back from filling you with a single thrust, with the way you’re already gripping him.

Easing himself into your heat. Two inches forward and then one back, and with each one you think you’ll feel the press of his thighs against yours. A low whine as your cunt makes room for him, that sharp stretch as it feels like he’s reaching into your belly.

Feeling full when he finally is flush, the weight of his sack kissing against your clit. His shoulders following the curve of your back, as a hand slips up to plant next to your head.

“Feels fucking incredible,” It’s mumbled against your skin, almost as if it hadn’t meant to say it. 

“Mm,” You grin, your face tipping up to his, “Should’ve met you weeks ago.”

He smirks, a low sound in his throat as his mouth presses to yours. Starting a slow rhythm that drags his cock against your walls. Slipping until he’s halfway out, only to sheath himself again. Pushing the air from your lungs as he flattens himself, knees digging into the bed as your thigh spread wider - forcing him deeper.

It’s almost too much. 

You hand shoots out, reaching. Wrapping around his wrist, nails biting against his skin. 

It feels like he’s surrounding you. Each thrust a heavy weight that presses you into the bed. Splitting you open, until all you can do is squirm beneath him.

That pressure in your belly building again, as his hips pound. His breath, hot and panting in your ear as he chases his own end.

“Fuck, Logan.” You sob, “Harder-”

His tendons flex under your grip. Knuckles pressing flat against the sheets as he makes a rough sound in his throat. 

Those claws unsheathing with his next thrust. Punching down into your mattress. Anchoring as he loses himself to the feel of you beneath him.

How tight and wet and warm you are, your arousal still sweet on his tongue. Fighting the urge to sink his teeth into your throat, as everything tightens up inside him.

“Sweetheart.” It’s a warning, rasped out. 

“Come in me,” You whine, “Wanna feel you.”

He does growl then, at the thought of filling you to the brim, until he's leaking out of your pretty little pussy. Hips snapping faster, pinning you to the bed as he ruts into you. Each squeak of the bed paired with the sharp rip of fabric as his claws dig in. 

Feeling how your body strings tight beneath him, how you clench down in anticipation. Wanting to feel you once more, before he gives in to his own desires.

“Come on, baby,” It’s hushed, murmured against your skin, “Fuckin’ give it to me-”

The sharp point of a canine scraping against your skin, his groan rough and throaty in your ear. 

Your fingers work down to wedge themselves between your thighs. The tips brushing where you’re speared open, before circling your clit like his tongue had.

He has you mindless. Fucked out - that soft glow from your earlier orgasm shining bright as he tips you towards a second.

Burning at that tightly wound thread inside you, until the ends fray, and then snap. 

It has you coming with his next thrust. A wail ripped from you as he buries himself deep, feeling the way your pussy clenches down around him. 

Fingers still swirling, drawing out the deep pulses that fan out from your core as your toes curl, vision going hazy.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” He rasps, those sharp thrust slowing to a sloppy grind, “Make a fucking mess for me, there you go-”

Panting, as he groans. Another roll of his hips before he’s coming with you - teeth bruising skin as they sink into your shoulder. The sound he makes is broken as he spills into you, muscles clenching with each pulse that paints your walls.  

Marking you thoroughly with teeth and come, the saw of his hips slowing until you both finally go still. A breath finally caught. 

Blissed out, when he rolls you both to the side. His thighs still mapping yours, cock still notched deep. A thick arm thrown across your waist, his breath ragged in your ear as he catches his breath.

Your fingers drift, as you bask in your afterglow. Dipping into the rips in your mattress, knuckle deep.

There’s a grunt as you wiggle, the words low in your ear, “I’ll get you another, sweetheart. Just lost control for a moment.”

The thought doesn’t bother you as much as you’d think. In fact, you wouldn’t mind if happened again.

Only as your imagination runs wild, do you hear the muffled moan from the brick wall behind you.

“Fuck, that’s good.”

Dramatic and drawn out, paired with faint rhythmic noise. 

A beat - before you hear mumbled protesting. The voice of someone talking with their mouth full, “No. Back the fuck off Peter, I’m not going to share.” 

Eating. The fucker was eating his end of the bargain, ear pressed to the wall.

The next louder, “Alright, pay up everyone, Operation ‘Get Sugar Some Sugar’ was a success!”

You grimace, eyes rolling. Logan grunts behind you, the words mumbled out sleepily.

“Wish I could sew that goddamn mouth shut.”

There’s a faint “they already tried that!” before Logan’s fist bangs on the wall, shutting him up.

But you can’t help the smile. Your fingers fitting between the ones that rest just below your breasts, squeezing.

“He’s not so bad,” You admit, “Wade, I mean.”

Logan groans, “Don’t say his name while I’m fucking you.”

“You’re-” You start - but then you can feel him.

Still hard - as his hips cant slowly against yours. Your joined hands slip up to cup a breast - as his lips press against your neck, stubble scraping you skin.

“Again?” You breathe, disbelieving that he’d be up for a third time - your hips rocking back to meet his. The sound lewd with how he drips from you - but it only has him grinding himself deeper, “You sure you’re two hundred?”

“Regenerative powers, sweetheart.” Logan husks, the flash of teeth with a knowing smirk.

“Can’t say it doesn’t come with perks.”

I used to have the biggest fucking crush on wolverine, haha - so fun to watch a new movie with him!! 👀💕 thank you so much for reading! And please me know if you'd like to read any more for him! (like more one-shots,etc!)

[orionis13]

This moment brought to you by ice feast

[shotmrmiller]

ghost getting himself a cute, soft girl he doesn't talk about much but is clearly obsessed with and price just thinks it's nice he's finally settled down, approves of the home he's made for himself, definitely approves of the one he's taken for himself.

soap asks kyle if he's seen you and he says, "yep. lovely bird he's got tucked away in her little dollhouse. makes great food, too." soap swears there's a subtle shift in his tone when he says "lovely", a hint of something deeper that flickers in his eyes for just a moment. soap simply sucks on his teeth, letting it slide. (although he knows that kyle's always been one to appreciate the good things in life.)

interest gnaws at him, a persistent itch he can't scratch. price likes you just fine, as does kyle. well what about him? he decides to bite the bullet and goes to simon with a knot between his brows, the corners of his lips tugged downwards. they've shared clothes, bullets, beds. if the other two got to meet you, why can't he?

"ya can come over for dinner on tonight. she'd 'ave my neck if she didn't formally meet ya anyway."

soap then asks, out of genuine curiosity more than anything else, if simon would have kept you in the dark from him hadn't he brought you up himself.

"ya meet 'er when i want ya to, boy, and not a moment before." the tone he takes is unmistakeable. his words are a command, not a suggestion, and soap instantly knows to not push further.

soap nods. "ah'll be there."

"course ya will. she'd be terribly disappointed otherwise."

yeah, he'd hate to have that.

soap sits in the living room, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over the cozy place. with a full stomach and an unfastened belt, nursing a glass of kentucky. he can't remember the last time he ate that well or that much.

maybe it's the alcohol that loosens his tongue, or the fact that he wishes he also had a sweet little thing to keep at his side just like simon's doing with you now, but the thoughts he's been mulling over all evening since he first saw you tumble out of his mouth.

"while ah can attest to yer taste in sweethearts, can't say much about your alcohol. bourbon, LT?" he says, chest warm.

simon's arm tightens around your hips, fingers splayed possessively over your thigh. he shrugs, completely unbothered by the backhanded compliment. "can't be perfect in everythin', can we, sergeant?"

soap's cheeks burn furiously hot when you come to his defense with a smack of your palm onto simon's chest. "be nice to johnny. he's got a face that make up for some of his other flaws."

the teasing lilt in your voice unashamedly gets his southern blood pumping. he can't help it if certain things stir when someone as pretty as you look at him like that. soap swirls the amber liquid gently in the glass while keeping his limpid eyes on you, not even trying to hide the fact that his gaze hasn't wavered since your cheeky little comment.

you then whisper something in simon's ear, your cupped hand not even half the size of his head and soap has to rearrange himself from the outside when your teeth catch your bottom lip. simon looks up at you then, eyes heavy and half lidded, and a smirk plays at the corners of his mouth.

"'m not sure, love. you'll just 'ave to ask 'im yourself. go on."

you open that sweet mouth of yours, but simon cuts you off with a decisive wave of his hand. "no. you know how to ask for things."

your reaction to that is visceral, and you're on your knees faster than his alcohol-muddled brain can comprehend. don't look down 'er shirt, don't look down 'er shirt, don't-

"johnny, will you touch my pussy?"

he splutters at your question, completely taken aback, but it seems you're not done just yet.

"hands to yourself, sergeant. tha' not all."

you pout at simon, one that earns you a look that promises consequence, but do as he says.

"will you touch my pussy, johnny? pretty please?"

[coffeebanana]

some things i've been thinking about (this was supposed to be separate ideas but now i guess it's a rough fic outline in bullet points kasdbfksbjd):

marinette telling adrien the truth YEARS later, after everything's settled down and the butterfly's been recovered and their identities are revealed

maybe they live together. maybe he was getting ready to propose

after his initial shock, anger, time he needs to process, mostly he just wants to understand WHY she lied

when she tells him the she just couldn't bear to hurt him any more than she already had to by telling him his father died, and some part of adrien sees that as his own failing--surely if he'd been stronger, if he'd been the kind of person she thought could handle the truth, then she would have given it

maybe they go to couple's therapy. one of the exercises they're given is to practice honesty with each other and marinette goes... a little overboard

adrien thinks it's sweet, at first. until he realizes she's scared to leave a single second of her day unaccounted for. she's stressing out because she forgot to tell him something minor and he doesn't want him to think she just decided not to tell him something again

he realizes just how much she's been beating herself up about this all these years. just how much she's always loved him despite her mistakes

he remembers the ring he has stashed upstairs

and maybe it's not the time for proposals. but all he can think is that even at their worst, he still wants forever with her

of course, he's never been one for keeping his affections to himself. so he tells her.

it's not a question, it's not an offer. it's a fact: I want to spend the rest of my life with you. i want to marry you. she looks at him like he's crazy, so he pulls out his ultimatum. but i need you to forgive yourself first

all these years, marinette's been secretly awaiting her punishment. secretly awaiting having to pay for what she's done. forgiving herself was never on the table

do you forgive me, she asks in a quiet voice

i don't know, he says, and marinette's heart sinks until he adds, but i know i want to

and in the end, it's not so hard for him to get there. for him to forgive one decision she made under the worst possible circumstances. one mistake in the midst of all the ways she's made him feel safe and wanted and loved. all the times she's held his hand or helped wipe his tears, all the times she's let him do the same for her

when it comes time to exchange vows, for better or worse is already something they've agreed to

[bi-writes]

what you want you cannot find. so you let someone else find it for you. (18+, dark!simon x curvy!fem!reader, arranged marriage)

you don't really know what you were thinking when you answered the ad. it is many things, maybe, why you chose to apply. why you were grateful to be chosen.

the loneliness, it aches. you cannot find yourself in anyone else, you cannot find the thing that should move you and hold you. you cannot find what it is that should ignite what is asleep, the thing nestled between your ribs that feels like it beats to a rhythm that you cannot hear.

the bitterness, too. there is something sour that you taste. there is acid under your tongue, something rotten between your teeth, and you wish for anything that you would stop tasting it because it reminds you of how alone you are, how alone you'll remain, the inevitable thing that you wish you weren't but that you unfortunately are.

it is the thing you cannot die for because there isn't anything to die for. you live, and you breathe, and you exist, but there isn't anything there. this is nothing that makes you want to gnaw on your own flesh, there is no life you would take in sake of another, there is no purpose to your existence except the hope that perhaps there is still time to have what you want more than anything.

but you don't know what you want. you don't know because everything that you thought you wanted, you do not want any longer. you never feel anything with other men. they are beneath you. they maim what they shouldn't. they complain about things that they can fix. they stare at a problem head-on, with the solution at their back, and they chase their tails. they do not know their right from their left. you hate them. but you want it. you want something. you want one of them, but you don't know which, so maybe if you don't choose, you will find what it is that you don't know you're looking for.

you're alone in the room. they gave you a bouquet of white roses. you hold them nervously between clammy palms. you wear a silk white dress that skims the floor, fabric falling soft over the curve of your waist and gentle along the swell of your cleavage. your hair is loose, and there is a short veil over your head, covering your face.

you stare at your handler. he's dressed in his military fatigues, tactical vest still strapped with the Union Jack across his chest. he has introduced himself as captain john price, and he is the one who arranged for your arrival. he is the one who told you to wear white, and he is the one who gave you the roses.

captain john price is rugged. captain john price is kind. and captain john price is not what you want. you are grateful that you are not yet disappointed with your match.

the door opens behind you. you straighten your posture that extra inch when you hear his heavy gait. there is a pause as the door shuts behind him, and you see his captain nod to a figure that you cannot see. his boots hit the floor low, and you swallow when the sunlight that comes through the window is blocked entirely by the size of him as he stands at your side.

the vows are short. you say your i do first, soft voice that hits his ears in a way that makes him nearly purr. when it is his turn to say i do, your eyes sparkle. he speaks in such a low voice, a Manchester accent that makes your toes curl in the white kitten heels that you wear. a drawl that you can feel in your chest, an accent that ticks a corner of your brain you did not know was there.

"you may kiss your bride."

you turn away from the captain. you tilt your head to look up at him, and you let out a soft breath when you realize the sheer breadth of this man.

he is barely a man. he must be something else. he is dressed all in black, and he wears all of his gear. his tactical vest is stocked well, magazines tucked into their pockets, a grenade dangling from one strap, a handgun tucked into its holster on his chest and around his thick thigh. his belt is heavy with more, knives in sheathes, devices in their places. even without all of the weight, you know the size of him won't shrink.

you cannot see his face. he covers it with a mask, one that resembles the front face of a skull. it is dirty. you aren't certain if it is blood or soot or dirt. maybe it is all of that and more. you cannot see his eyes through the veil either, but they are dark, and they are intense.

you keep your eyes fixed on his as he lifts your veil. the delicate fabric settles over your head, and you see him without obstruction.

there he is.

it is like seeing a man for the first time. it is like being in the presence of the dream you've always had and could never remember.

he tilts his head to the side, curious. he is seeing your face for the first time, too. soft eyes. glossy lips. the curve of your mouth. the untouched skin of your cheeks, the unmarred flesh that you wear. he follows the line of your throat to the peek of your tits dressed in silk. you are a present wrapped in luxury. hand delivered goods, of the finest quality.

his bride. his wife. something he will have forever. he does not know if he has ever been able to say that about anything else. he's never had anything except for his life. nothing except for himself has ever belonged to him, but even now, not even his life is his own, it belongs to someone far away, someone in an office somewhere, who moves the chess pieces of his world around, where he cannot do anything but follow.

you stand on your toes to get closer to him. he thinks for just a second you will ask him to remove his mask, but you don't. you cant your head, and you kiss him over the mask, sticky gloss leaving a light imprint on the fabric. you settle back onto your heels, and your breath hitches when one of his gloved hands comes to settle at the dip of your waist.

"she's all mine now, eh, cap'n?"

you blink, your eyes still on his. you don't move, and you don't say anything. you wonder, if you could see his face, if he would smile.

"all yours, simon."

you let him drag you closer, shuffling on your feet until your hips press against his. your back arches gently as he uses both hands, gripping you around the middle and feeling the soft flesh underneath your silk dress. he is a rabid dog, his next meal at his fingertips. she is his, and he wants to take her home. if his captain was not standing at his back, he knows he would take you on this very floor.

she is mine. she is mine. she is mine.

he has studied your picture. he has memorized your name. he has been waiting for you. he is too awkward to leave base. he is too quiet to attract birds, birds that matter, birds that sing. he is too ravenous to be anything but permanent, he isn't capable of the mundane, of casual. it is everything or nothing at all, and at the sound of permanence, he foamed at the mouth.

at the thought of something to keep, he was blinded. when beasts lose control, they call their keeper, and he had none. this change could be good. this change would do him well. when he ignores the order of a commanding officer, he will bend to yours, because he is bound, wrapped, tied to you with something invisible that weaves between his bones.

you do not know what you were before, but you know what you are now.

you follow after him. he turns to leave, and you let him lead. your heels click as you walk, and when it is hard for you to keep up, you reach for his hand. he grunts when you do, but he doesn't push you away. you hold wilting roses in one hand, and you clutch him in the other. recruits and privates stop to salute or step out of your way, and they stare when they see a trailing angel behind their lieutenant, a pretty girl in a pretty white dress with a veil fluttering against the breeze as you try and keep up with your husband's long strides.

the door he stops in front of is plain and unmarked. he fits a key into the lock, turning it and opening it, and he invites you over a threshold that no one else has ever stepped over. you stand on the other side, holding the roses to your chest. he turns when you don't follow him inside. you get a glimpse of him as a whole, the man that he is, big and menacing and taken. you wonder if he will wear his ring under his glove or if he will put it on the chain that holds his dog tags.

"is this where you live?" you ask. you stay on the other side, looking in, a little timid as you stand there.

he nods, silent. he crosses his arms over his chest, and you admire the bulge of them, the paint of skeleton bones along the fingers of his gloves. you look him up and down before smiling a little.

"is this where i will live, too?"

he shakes his head, a no.

"can't have a thing like y'here," he murmurs. "boys'll eat y'up."

you tilt your head to the side.

"i find that hard to believe," you quip. "do people often eat what's yours, lieutenant?"

he snarls, narrowing his eyes. "no one takes wot's mine."

"then what are you so afraid of?"

"that 'f y'r 'ere, i won't get any fuckin' work done."

you break out into a big smile, pearly white teeth flashing, and he clicks his tongue at your reaction. he reaches up and lifts his mask, pushing it up until it rests over his nose. his nose is crooked from being broken so many times. his face is scarred, as if someone took a blade and carved out the skin and muscle. a deep one stretches from somewhere under the mask to his lip, where it looks as if the skin was haphazardly stitched back together. another long jagged grey streak comes over the line of his cheek down his jaw, as if someone tried to peel his face off.

he grins. it's ugly and unsettling, as if he sees prey that he knows he will catch. your own smile does not fade. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and you want to taste him. beast, bear, killing machine, the boogeyman, a ghost that haunts, you do not know exactly what he is, but you know, immediately, that he is what you have been searching for.

you do not know him. you do not love him yet, but you will. you are sure of this. you are sure that he is missing piece. he will fill the spaces that you have always felt hollow. he will scratch a place in your head that has always itched. there is something in his eyes, you're not exactly sure what it is, but you can't wait to discover it. you can't wait to explore, to indulge, to lick the salt of his skin and know that everything he is has been waiting for something like you.

you did not choose him, but he chose you, and now you see it clearly. you see this thing, and you know the truth of what's been hiding from you all your life. the curtain has been taken down. the veil is off. the walls are invisible.

"come 'ere," he says lowly. "won't ask so nicely next time."

you drop the flowers onto the floor, crossing the doorway. you kick the door shut, hearing it click, and he comes closer, until you can feel his breath fanning your nose.

"will you love me?" you ask, wringing your hands together nervously. "do you think maybe...do you think maybe that's possible?"

he licks over his teeth, humming. he leans down, knocking your chin up, and your breath hitches when he licks up the side of your jaw, taking in a whiff of your perfume and the sweetness of his bride.

"what a stupid word," he mutters, biting at the curve of your bottom lip. "meaningless. love. bloody hell."

"w-what...what?"

"a meaningless fuckin' word for the things i would do for ya," he continues. "the things i would kill. the heads i would step on. the sorry fucks i would get rid of...just to see y'smile."

your eyes flutter. yes, yes, yes--the unconditional devotion. the terrifyingly beautiful reality of through sickness and in health, until death do us part.

"is it really that easy, simon?" you ask. his gloved hands slip over your throat, sliding low and skimming the silk of your dress before he cups both sides of your ass and squeezes, drawing you closer until you are uncomfortably pressed up against him. his gear digs into your softness, sharp edges cutting into you, but you ignore it as he begins to draw up the skirt of your dress. "is it really that easy to say you'll do all of that for me? isn't it...it's wrong, isn't it? to do those things for me?"

he laughs. humorless, condescending. as if that is the stupidest thing you could have ever said.

"'s olright, swee'eart. gonna take all those ideas outta y'r pretty lil' head."

you relax when you feel his gloved hand under the hem of your white lace panties. your eyes shut, and you reach forward and grip his vest for stability.

"christ..." he hisses. "y'r soaked..."

you are. you have been since you first laid eyes on him, on everything he is. you know why you are here, and he knows why he is here, and that is because there were two people so desperate to find one another, that they let someone else choose. the gods, fate, whatever they want to be called.

matched by design, together by choice.

you lean forward and kiss beside his lips, and you whine when his big fingers slide between your folds, soft on your clit before he fits two fingers inside of you. his gloves are warm, and you wet them easily.

"wot a good girl," he breathes. "knew y'were the right one."

"y-you did?"

"could see it in y'r eyes, dove. could see wot y'needed. could see it plain as fuckin' day. dyin' inside, just like me, aye?"

you shake your head.

"n-not anymore...not anymore..." you gasp, and he tsks as he steps backward, the weight of him heavy as he takes a seat on his perfectly made bed, bringing you with him. you fall into his lap, unafraid to because you know someone of his size can carry you easily, and he hums as you spread your thighs apart. you straddle him, pressed up against the gun holstered to his chest, and you moan softly against his scarred face as he fucks you open with three unforgiving fingers.

"not anymore," he echos, baring his teeth as he pumps his hand. the squelch of it is filthy, but it isn't enough. he wants you to soak his arm, his thighs, his bed, let the slick of you stain him from the outside in. "not anymore. not as my wife."

you scramble. you rip the veil out of your hair, untie the corset of your dress. there's a naked angel in his lap, perky tits and soft figure, giving way to the gorgeous place you keep hidden by white, wet lace. the place that is his, the place that belongs to him, a pretty pussy that will keep him satiated until he breathes no longer.

after he tears apart his enemy, he will have you. after he tastes the blood he desires to see run, he will have you. the adrenaline, the fire, the shout of every order and the sound of their cries, it won't exist anymore in this place, he knows it.

"y'll never want for anythin'," he mutters. "y'll never be lonely. always get wot y'want...wot y'need...wot y'deserve..."

you reach up and cup his cheeks gently, pressing your mouth to his as you ride his fingers eagerly. you want him, you want this, you want all of it, even if it isn't what's right. but something brought you here, right into his arms, and this is what you deserve.

he's not even human, you don't think. he must be something else. with how good he makes you feel, with the sheer precision that he rocks his fingers into you, the way he smiles, he must be made of only something synthetic, something not organic.

you feel so small underneath him. he tosses you onto the bed, your head hitting the pillow gently. you giggle, and his grin widens. he has a warm pink tongue, and it's between his teeth, and you giggle again when he moves his head from side to side, staring down at you. he's studying you. you assume he has seen photos of you, but this is his first time seeing his bride for all that she is. soft, pretty, unscathed by war. at least on the outside--but on the inside, you are not as you seem.

there's a parasite in you. something that slithers behind your eyes and settles in that corner of your brain that only he can touch. he knows that feeling well. he feels it every time he is in the field, and he feels it now, with you. he chases this tick when he works. it knocks his senses just right, makes him feel good and big, like the reaper that he really is. he can be this with a rifle in his hand, and he can be this without it, with the weight of his wife in his hands.

you smile, biting your lip, and you spread your legs for him. his eyes fall between your thighs, and he chuckles. he brings his gloved hand up to his mouth, the one that smells like you, and you watch as he slips it inside, sucking on it for a moment before he uses his teeth to take both gloves off.

he bends, still in all his military glory, and he sticks his tongue out, licking a fat stripe up the seam of your cunt, using one thumb to pull the puffy lip apart and suckle on your clit for just a moment.

you gasp, arching your back, and he stands to his full height again, laughing.

"oh, y'taste sweet," he purrs. "y'taste good. hard t'believe i'll have this cunny for m'whole fuckin' life."

"believe it, baby," you coo, and he sighs. he nods his head, reaching low, gripping himself through his cargo pants and squeezing his cock. you follow his movements, watching him pay special attention to the tip of him, running his finger over where you guess the slit is as he watches you squirm. "why are you so far away, simon? don't you want me?"

he laughs again, smiling wide, and he nods.

"course i want ya, swee'eart. who wouldn't want ya, huh? who wouldn't want this?"

you meet his eyes. the question is a sound one, but it never mattered that you were wanted, what mattered is that you never wanted. not really. not until now.

you watch him as he reaches for his zipper. he undoes it easily, unbuttoning his pants and shoving them low. they won't go very low, thanks to the holsters around his thighs, but it's enough that you watch his cock stand at attention, the red tip of him leaking down the sides, making the bulging vein on the underside of him shine.

you whine a little, and he growls happily, watching as you cup the swell of your tits and squeeze them in anticipation. perfect, perfect, perfect girl, practically a mail-order bride that checks every single fucking box.

he grips you by the thighs, yanking you to the edge of the bed. you whimper when he slides the tip through your folds, letting it catch at the entrance before smirking down at you.

"'s big," you hiccup, and he tsks, shaking his head.

"y'can take it, swee'eart," he murmurs. "y'r a riley now, luvvie. y'know what tha' means?" you shake your head, your eyes a little watery, and he smooths a hand up your sternum, gripping you around the throat gently. "gonna find out...gonna find out how well a riley takes wot they're given."

"simon--"

"'s alright, luv, we'll start nice, yeah?" he breathes. you grip onto his forearms when he feeds you his cock, slowly, and your back bows at a sharp angle as you squeeze him for everything he is. "fuckin' hell...yeah, just the tip, yeah? oh, good girl..."

good girl, yeah...i'm a good girl--

you cry out, digging your nails into him when he mutters fuck it and bottoms out. his palm flattens just under your belly button, a choked groan leaving him as he presses down, a rush of something fucking glorious running down his spine. it's a high--he's so fucking high, as if he is popping fucking pills.

"feel me here, yeah?" he drags his hips back, smoothing a hand further up your stomach until he paws one of your tits, squeezing it firmly. you nod, sliding your hands up his arms, fisting the fabric of his mask at the base of his neck. you feel him everywhere, you feel him in your chest, running down your spine, you feel him in your mouth and in your head, and it feels so good, it feels so so so so good.

"yes--yes!" you gasp. fuck, he's huge, he's putting a shadow over you. you're naked, bare underneath him, and his gear rocks with every thrust, and it's filthy because you wonder if he worked, you wonder if he didn't even change before he went to marry his perfectly-picked bride, you wonder if he got off the tarmac not even an hour after killing his target to go and take what is his.

how long ago was it that he last fired his weapon? the gun on his chest, did he use it before he saw you?

i bet he did. i bet he used it. i bet he smoked the cigarette that i smell on him, and i bet he came here, and then he married me, and now he's all mine, and he's fucking me six ways to fucking sunday--

you think you're drooling. your lips are wet, and with every smack of his hips against yours, you feel a little more trickle down the side of your face. you're moaning, gripping his neck, pulling him further down on top of you. you want him all around you, you want him inside, you want him to come every day wearing this terrifying fucking uniform and to fuck you so stupid, you forget everything except for the name he has given you.

you want to know nothing except for his name. simon. riley. simon. riley.

you want to know nothing except for what you are. his wife. his wife. his wife.

it's so hard to remember to breathe. his hands grip you tight around the hips, and he's losing momentum, hissing, letting out choked groans as he brands the shape of his cock into you. he never wants you to forget what he feels like--he never wants you to know anything except for him, for the rest of your life.

"simon--" you whine, and he smirks, reaching up to hold your face in one big hand, keeping you still as you chase the grind of his pelvis against your puffy clit. "simon--!"

"tha'sit, luvvie...yeah..." he nods, "look at me--look at me," he leans down, a big weight over you, suffocating you, "good girl, yeah..." he clicks his tongue, "cum f'me, swee'eart. cum f'y'r husband, yeah?"

you lean up, chasing after him, gripping onto the sides of his face as you kiss him hard. it is the first time you really kiss him. slotting your mouth over his, slipping your tongue into his mouth, the sting of your wedding ring cooling his warm face as you taste him for the very first time.

it is gone. the bitterness that you always taste, the acid and the sourness and everything that always is so unpleasant under your tongue, it is gone when you have him. he takes it out of your mouth completely, and you chase after this just as you chase after the harsh grind of your clit against his pelvis.

he is carrying you. you're lifting, coming over some kind of sweet, exhilarating euphoria, and you're blinded by it, by the feeling, by him. you want more, more, you want it all, and he said you could have anything you want, that you'll never need anything ever again, he said, he said, he said--!

he laughs when you come. he swallows your moans, hisses when you soak his pants. you are the prettiest thing he could ever hope for, the personification of the things he does not deserve and could never have, and it is selfish that he has taken you this way, but he does not fucking care.

the things we cannot have are the sweetest, the most desirable. and simon is nothing if he isn't a thief.

he is nothing if he doesn't just take what he wants. he likes to think that perhaps he adopts the "ask for forgiveness, and not for permission" philosophy, but he does not ask for forgiveness. and he has never asked for permission.

"please--simon--" you gasp, looking up at him. your eyes are wet, and a few tears wet his hand around your face. "please--inside me, please..."

"'s olright, luv--" he grunts, pumping faster, his pretty little wife just begging for him, for more, and how could he say no to that? "easy, baby...i'll give it t'ya, don't worry, fuck--" he hisses, "lieutenant's wife gets woteva she wants..."

"please--inside--" you choke. "simon, inside, i-i want it inside--"

fuck, that is all he needed. he nestles deep, pressing his hips to yours, and you kiss him once more when you go blind again. a second high, when he stuffs you full. just as you should be. just as you always should be.

"yeah, fuck--" he breathes. "tha' wot y'wanted, yeah? nice and full, good girl..." he licks his lips, standing up straight, and just when you think he is pulling out, he yanks you back towards him, cum leaking down your thighs as you cry out from being so sensitive.

"simon!" you gasp, giggling, and he grins, patting your ass gently before pulling out. you let your knees fall onto the cot, swallowing hard as you watch him tuck himself back into his pants and zip them up. he brings the mask back down, and you watch as he slips his gloves back on. "hmm..."

he tilts his head to the side, sighing as he watches you settle there. something warm settles in his stomach, something satisfied.

"like havin' y'in my bed," he says lowly. "look nice there."

you smile, and he holds out one hand, beckoning you to sit up. you do, slowly, a little shaky as you try and compose yourself, and he leans down and kisses you through the mask. you close your eyes, humming, leaning into his touch.

"so i can stay?" you ask, and he chuckles.

"mmm...y'r so cute, luvvie..." he rumbles. "a doll, yeah? can't say no to ya."

you look down at the ring on your finger, a solid gold band complete with a precious diamond. you will have to get used to this--you are his wife, you can ask things of him, and you don't think he'll say no.

you look up at him when he tosses something at you. an army green shirt of his, and you slip it on, letting the fabric fall, and you lay back down in his cot as he moves around his room. you lay in comfortable silence, watching as the thing that calls himself your husband looks for files on his desk, adjusts the gun strapped to his thigh, shuffles his boots across the linoleum. you are mesmerized by what he is, and you haven't known him even a day.

you don't believe this is your vision askew. the honeymoon phase. the sugary sweet moments in time at the beginning where nothing is wrong, where all is well. simon riley is a practical man. he does not lie. he does not do things he does not want to do, and he does not say things he does not want to say. he is not in the business of comfort and ease, that much is clear to you.

simon riley is practical and resourceful. you think maybe he counts his words. that he doesn't say more than he has to. waste his energy on things that don't require it.

his wife. i'm his wife. his wife.

"why..." you swallow. "why...why did you pick me?"

he pauses as he stands in front of a locker. when he opens it, you see shelves of personal weapons stashed away, handguns of different sizes and shapes, knives of differing steel, toys that with a small push of a finger could destroy whatever building they went off inside. you don't flinch, don't blink, don't feel fear. you don't know why, but you just don't. you don't think it's possible.

he doesn't look at you as he surveys what lines the walls of it.

"just knew y'were the one f'me, swee'eart," he mutters. he shuts the locker, and the lock clicks. he comes closer, twirling a small blade between his fingers, and you don't cower away when he flicks it towards you, holding your chin up with the sharp tip of it. he hums appreciatively at this. "in all honesty, had no idea really until i saw ya, 'f you'd be mine."

he bends down, leans close, and you follow the curve of the blade with your head, keeping your eyes on his. there is no timidness in your gaze, and for that, he beams under the mask. perfection in one woman.

"and what would you have done if i wasn't the one?"

he shrugs.

"would've killed ya, luv."

"just like that?"

"just like tha'."

the tip of his blade drags, sliding up the length of your throat, along the line of your jaw. your lips part as he traces your mouth with it, and you tilt your head to the side as you trace the edge of it with your tongue. he leans forward more, pressing his forehead to yours, and you can see where the eye-black around his eyes fades into his pale skin under the balaclava. you see yourself in those eyes. the you that you have been waiting for. the you that you have missed for your entire life. the you that has been hiding, too scared to come out, too afraid of what might be said if someone saw the real you.

she had not been hiding. just lying dormant, in someone else, waiting for you to come home.

you smile, big, and simon presses his mouth to yours again through the mask, kissing you there, growling from deep in his chest, a purr that only emanates the contentment and the relief he feels because he has found that thing to live for. it is so easy to die. it is so easy to give oneself for what they believe. it is not hard to give the best of yourself away, he knows that.

what he has never been able to do is find something that will keep him alive. he has only ever lived because he found dying pathetic. he found it cowardly. but the alternative had been just as unforgiving, just as unfulfilling. but not this. not you.

you will make it difficult to die. you will make death a challenge. and when he eyes that smile, this one that you give only to him, he is happy to be given this new objective.

"but don't worry y'r pretty head about all tha', luv."

you give him those eyes, and he drinks it all in, all that you are. finally, finally, finally--

"until death do we part, yeah?"

NEXT

[gingermaple]

martyn in action!

[yameoto]

any more thoughts on puppy art.. please. only if u want to though haha !! (please?)

ohh u guys love your darling little lapdog huh?

LAPDOG ART DONALDSON! fem!reader

▸ a drooler. nosing his head between your legs n he's already salivating. he's so cute like that. face smushed between your thighs, panting as spit pools in his mouth, nose twitching like a cute little bunny at the scent of your arousal. taking the trim of your panties between his teeth, dragging it down inch by inch. quivering because he just wants to rip them off but the last time he did that he tore your nice lacy lingerie and u didnt touch him for a week. when he eats you out he laps at your cunt like an eager puppy. comes away absolutely glistening. dripping, even. your juices n his saliva smearing his cheeks, his nose, dribbling down his chin.

▸ bigggg on humping. obviously. when you're too busy to give him attention he'll just shuffle over onto your lap and just start rubbing up against you. he's ridden out the best orgasms that way; creaming in his already-sodden boxers as slick gets all over ur thigh. he likes to do it when you're working or when you're on a call (you always punish him best that way). oftentimes you'll wake up at night to slick sheets—finding him grindin up against you, moaning and whimpering. a sleepy, boneless mess on your knee. he'll already have gotten himself off thrice before he tries to wakes you, just to be safe (you might take it away from him, after all). ▸ teething.... grown ass man teething... gnawing on your shoulder to stop himself from crying out when you let him fuck you.. nibbling your bottom lip red n raw when you kiss.. slobbering all over your mouth. during sex if you tease him he'll start to chew anxiously at the end of ur bra strap, the hem of your shorts, your panties if you keep him waiting too long. sometimes randomly takes your hand by the wrist and takes a fake chomp out of it (affectionate).

▸ not beyond jus being your lil stress relief toy. coming back home and he's been so good for you. he won his match. he's cooked dinner. but you don't have time for any of that. "oh, baby, don't give me that look. cock out, now." and he makes a little mewling noise and immediately his shorts are a crumpled puddle on the floor—raging boner popping out, all swollen n red n leaking bc hes been waiting for you for hours. ▸ sighing, telling him to sit and so he does. legs spreading wide on the couch, blinking up at u in earnest neediness. and when you sink onto his cock he makes this insane, visceral whining noise—back arcing off the seat. ▸ cockwarmer? more like cuntwarmer. you tell him don't move and don't cum. an impossible ask. he's pawing at your back, whimpering when your only response is to lean back heavier, sinking your full weight down on his poor, poor cock. n it feels soso good but he only lasts two minutes on a good day! let alone when you're switching the tv on and settling back into him like he's part of the couch. occasionally your hips jump, walls pulsing tight, choking his sensitive dick. you're grinding down into his lap and he's twitching inside of u and hot tears are prickling his eyes—fingers digging into your thighs, trembling.

▸ time ticking on.. the coil of heat in his gut winding tighter n tighter.. art's cheeks are flushed and hes wetting the back of your shirt with his silent tears. he persists, though, because he's good. he's gonna be a good boy for you. and it works! for a time, when you seem like you've almost forgotten your pussy is strangling his cock and you're only rolling your hips occasionally, sending warm thrums of pleasure through him. lulling him into a false sense of security.

▸ until all of a sudden you decide to be mean and for whatever reason you lift your hips before slamming them back down again, and his sharp gasp and slurred mewls perfectly cue the geyser that erupts from his slit.

▸ not even letting him cum inside you.. sliding off his spurting cock thats blowing cum like a volcano. hot, sticky strings arcing in the air and splattering all over the carpet, the couch cushions. his eyes glazing over, all glassy n sparkly as he crumples back in the couch, blubbering tearful apologies as his cock leaks like a faucet, staining the poor, new pillows.

▸ adores aftercare. or just your comfort in general. please rest your hand against his cheek and let him sigh and melt and nuzzle into the palm of your hand like you're taking the weight of the world off his shoulders. tug gently on his hair. scratch his scalp. let him curl up on your lap and pat him and coo sweet nothings in his ear. simple things, like "sweet baby, did so good today." or "tired puppy. took mommy so well."

▸ "fuck— m'sorry. m'sorry, m'sorry—" "hey, shh, darling. aw, don't cry. mommy's got you. how bout you curl up on momma's lap, kay?" "..mkay."

[eowynstwin]

Price x Reader. Age gap. Divorced Price. Older BF Price. Vaguely smutty. Follow-up to this.

Price realizes you’ve never had a reliable man in your life exactly the second time he discovers you looking up DIY home maintenance for very simple projects.

It missed him the first time because he was deployed. You’d mentioned offhand how you were figuring out how to rebalance a ceiling fan, and he’d just automatically assumed that you were doing it yourself because he wasn’t there, so he simply praised you for your resourcefulness and lived for the next three weeks off of the way you’d absolutely glowed at his words.

But then he gets home, and one evening on the couch he catches you googling “how to fix a leaky sink.”

“What’s that?” he asks you, tamping down on the sudden feeling of masculine inadequacy that reared up almost immediately at the discovery.

“Faucet handle’s leaking all over my counter when I turn it on,” you say, not looking up from your phone. “Landlord’s out of town and can’t fix it.”

“I’m in town, ain’t I?”

You look up at him then, brows raised. You hadn’t even considered asking him, then.

“Oh—I didn’t want to bother you, John, you only just got back, and you’re tired…”

You trail off at the droll expression on his face.

Price has learned a lot of lessons from his previous marriage. The foundational one: just because he hasn’t been asked to help doesn’t mean he is believed to be unreliable. Adding that lesson to his knowledge base about you—young, modern, independent—calculates out an obvious answer that curtails any sour mood that might have sprouted up over the issue.

He puts his hand over your phone screen and lowers it down to your lap. “I’m fixin’ the sink,” he says simply.

He enjoys the way your eyes dilate at the assertion.

The next day, he shows up at your flat wearing old work clothes and carrying his heavy toolbox in his hand.

(You don’t live together yet—something he’s keen to rectify—but he has a toothbrush in your bathroom and permanent space in your bedroom drawers. He can be content for now.)

And you—you answer the door in the filmiest of sundresses, the ribbon tie on one shoulder hanging at a loose angle.

“Heard you need some plumbing done,” he says in the gruffest of voices, already understanding the game.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here,” you say, barely able to hide your giggle, “I’ve been so worried.”

He steps in close to you, close enough to feel the heat of your body radiating off of your bare skin. He has half a mind to put the charade aside and lift your skirt here and now, but another lesson helpfully springs to mind: anticipation of the act makes the finale all the sweeter.

“I’ll show you to the kitchen,” you murmur, looking up at him with warm, dreamy eyes.

When he gets under the sink, he finds the problem easy enough to fix—the cold water supply line simple isn’t screwed in tight enough, and when he wiggles the whole contraption by the valves he finds that nothing has been tightened up to standard. A couple of years knocking the thing around had probably loosened up the locknut.

He elects to fix the whole problem in one go, while in the meantime you stand off to the side, watching him. He feels your eyes on his legs, trailing up to the hair on his belly exposed by his shirt riding up.

“Sir, I’m sorry, I should’ve said before,” you simper, “but I’m not really sure how I’m gonna pay for this.”

His cock jumps in his jeans, and he feels your gaze move to it as if it’s a physical touch.

He levers himself out a little and meets your eyes, keeping a stern expression on his face.

“I’m sure you’re gonna figure it out,” he says. Looking down at his groin and then back up at your face might be a touch unsubtle, but clear communication had been the most important lesson of all.

He slides himself back under, and pretends he doesn’t feel you approach, or lower to your knees between his spread legs. He ignores your gentle hands falling on the closure of his jeans, the pop of the button coming undone, the parting of the zipper as you pull it down.

“Of course, sir,” you say, “I’m sure I will.”

The softness of your hand meets his growing erection, caressing the head of his cock with your thumb—followed very close behind by the wet, liquid heat of your mouth.

next

[zorangezest]

thanks for listening

[lvrsfilm]

contrary to popular belief, Simon Riley does not do casual.

Nothing about him is casual. Nothing about his dedication to his work and his team, the bullets he would disperse and receive for them. Nothing about his routine, the way he shines his boots or folds his uniforms every week like clockwork. He is a cut and dry man, or at least he tries to be.

You, on the other hand, are the opposite of him in so many ways that at a glance people would assume you're the kind of person he hates. (He wishes that was the case, it'd make his life simpler). You bounce around base like a lit firecracker, your fuse sizzling quietly even during missions, never burning out. You never seem to tire, even after the particularly hard ones that leave him mute and holed up in his quarters for hours every day after.

You are casual. Coming to his room whenever you feel like it, knocking in a way that lets him know it's you and no one else. Bringing him tea, or bourbon, the occasional meal if you can convince him. He doesn't see how you can think it's casual. Slipping off your boots, leaving them half laced at his door.

Slipping into his bed. Laying next to him in silence, just so he isn't alone. Bandaging any cuts that aren't severe enough to warrant him going to medical. The soft skin of your hands making practiced movements over his scarred skin that only you've seen. He is not a casual man. And you don't seem to have figured that out yet.

No other man on base interested in you would even entertain the thought of pursuing you, for fear of Simon somehow hearing their thoughts and stringing them up by their necks to show the others what happens if they touch what's his. Everyone else can see the way he looks at you, the way he lets you in.

Everyone except you, apparently.

You don't ask why he lets you in, and he doesn't ask why you keep coming back.

He doesn’t know how to tell you that you’re the first person to make him feel human in a long time. That every soft knock on his door chips away at the walls he’s built, cement crumbling under your touch, a feeling akin to warm liquid gold seeping through the cracks, running over his scar tissue. Like he's a victim of Midas. Exposing him to something he thought he’d buried years ago. You remind him what it’s like to be vulnerable, to crave something more than routine and mission reports.

And it terrifies him.

Because Simon Riley does not do messy, either.

But you? You’re a storm. Chaotic and unpredictable, rushing into his life like you’ve always belonged there. He doesn’t know what to do with you, how to keep you at arm’s length without losing the warmth you bring into his otherwise cold existence. So he lets you in, over and over, even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.

Tonight is no different.

The knock comes—a rhythm so familiar now that it’s practically a lullaby. He already knows it’s you before he opens the door. You’re standing there, as casual as ever in civvies, with that cheeky grin that makes his chest tighten in ways he refuses to name.

“Thought you could use some company,” you say, holding up a thermos of tea like a peace offering.

He steps aside, wordlessly, because what else is he supposed to do? Tell you to leave? Pretend he doesn’t want you here? He’s not that good a liar, not around you.

You slip past him, kicking off your boots, leaving them next to the doorway as always, and make yourself at home like you belong here. Like you belong with him. And maybe you do.

He watches as you set the thermos on his desk and plop onto his bed, laying on your back and stretching like a cat, looking at him expectantly. It’s a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes. An invitation. A promise.

He lays down, careful to leave just enough space between you to keep the illusion of distance. But then you lean into him, shoulder brushing his arm, and the illusion shatters. His resolve crumbles.

“You came straight here when we got back,” you say softly, tilting your head to look at him. “skipped dinner, I saved a plate for you from the mess.”

It’s such a simple statement, but it cuts through him like a blade.

He turns his head slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours. He looks at you like you're a puzzle he can't solve. Like he needs to figure put your angle, figure out why you're treating him so softly. For a second, the air between you feels impossibly fragile, as if even breathing too hard might shatter it.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says, his voice low, almost gruff, like the admission costs him something.

You tilt your head at him, your lips curving into a soft, knowing smile. “Do what?”

He exhales sharply, as though frustrated, though it’s unclear if it’s with you or himself. “This… whatever it is you’re doing. Looking out for me. Bringing me tea. Sitting here. I didn’t ask you to.”

“I know,” you reply simply, your tone disarming in its honesty. “I do it because I want to.”

The words hang in the air between you, unassuming yet weighty, like they’re daring him to refute them. He doesn’t, because he can’t. You've made up your mind. There’s a stubbornness in your voice that he knows too well—one that he’s realized he has no defense against.

“You shouldn’t,” he mutters after a moment, turning his gaze toward the ceiling. “It’s a waste.”

Your smile falters, just slightly, but it doesn’t vanish. “You’re not a waste.”

He flinches at that, so subtly you might have missed it if you weren’t so attuned to him. His fingers twitch on the mattress, his eyebrows furrowing beneath the mask. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t argue, but his silence says enough. You press your lips together, chewing the bottom corner slightly as you debate whether to push further. You decide to anyway, because that’s what you do.

You grin, a mischievous glint in your eyes, and he knows you’re about to say something cheeky. But instead, you surprise him again by reaching over to touch his hand—just a fleeting brush of your fingers, so brief he almost convinces himself it didn’t happen.

He closes his eyes, his jaw tightening, but he doesn’t pull away. That’s something, you think.

You turn onto your side, facing him fully now, your fingers brushing against the back of his hand. He doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch this time, so you let your touch linger—gentle, steady, unassuming.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you add quietly, almost as if it’s a promise.

When he finally opens his eyes again, there’s something raw and unguarded in his gaze, something that makes your chest ache. He doesn’t say anything—doesn’t thank you, doesn’t argue—but the way his fingers curl ever so slightly against yours feels like an answer.

[kelpio]

Fordtober Day 14: Weirdmageddon

Prompts

[chaos-bringer-13]

Vlad, Dan and Dani move across dimensions to Gotham because of some bad stuff happening in their own dimension. Vlad has a lot of his money with him in cash, and they quickly get themselves fake id's as father and his two children. Vlad's plan is to keep low profile, wait it out and then return. Dan and Dani don't care about Vlad's plan.

Vlad is shady, Dan and Dani are causing shenanigans, and a bunch of coincidences leads to people believing that they're some sort of mafia family.

Some idiots try to rob Dani and she blurts out "Do you know who my dad is?". Dan emerges from the shadows, sends Dani off and makes extremely specific and detailed threats of slow and painful death to the would-be robbers. He finishes the speech by adding that they would be wishing for him to do all of that if his and Dani's father found out about the robbery.

Then Dan accidentally recruits a group of goons by beating up their boss and feeling kinda responsible for the henchmen.

Then Dani steals the talons.

Dan has a fight over territory with one of the smaller rogues.

Dani steals Scarecrow's chemicals.

All the while they keep convincing people that this is all a part of some bigger plan of Masters family. First it's just a misunderstanding, then they keep doing it to annoy Vlad. Some people think that Masters is just a surname, some think that Master is a rogue's name. After a while everyone knows that there's an up-and-coming crime family.

Vlad is entirely oblivious. He doesn't know shit. He ends up making a small organisation (restaurant? car repair shop?) to hire people who keep coming to him. He's not sure why his children tell all these people that he can help but they are in trouble, so he helps. And then helps again, and again. All the places he opens look like crime fronts.

Vlad is still unaware that he's a mob boss.

Maybe at some point Dan and Dani think that Vlad figured this out (because its obvious) but doesn't say anything because the police has bugged their house or because he wants plausible deniability.

Obviously all of this ends with the Bats deciding to confront Masters. It's also the perfect moment for Danny to enter.

Here, have a shitty meme showing the moment.

Danny: I left you here fOR ONE MONTH

Vlad: It's not my fault!

Danny: I figured. Dani, if I give you a candy, will you tell me what the hell you've done?

Dani: What kind of candy?

Danny, handing out a Yellow Lantern ring: A Ring Pop.

Dani, snatching it: We accidentally started a mob family :D

[tiniest-hands-in-all-the-land]

Carry me home

[xenasaur]

some of you have had your perception of mommy dommes warped by the popular advent of people simply using "mommy" as a title devoid of all context. I am not that kind of mommy domme. I am the kind that Acts Like Your Mom (or, how your mom should've acted). I am going to be so sugary-sweet and gentle and kind with you. I'm going to refer to all of your injuries as booboos and offer to kiss them better. I am going to make you little snacks and make sure you're hydrated. I am going to snuggle you so softly yet so tightly and kiss your forehead so gently and tell you that you make mommy proud every single day. that you are the best kid a gal like me could ask for. that I love you. I love you.

[evanhereonearth]

Solas, outnumbered seven to one, overpowered by a lot more than that, betrayed by his best friend Mythal who bound him to her service and coerced him into leaving the Fade and coerced him into making a weapon that would make an entire people tranquil to stop the war she started AND ignored him when he said it would create *checks notes* a blight and made him do it anyway. Solas, facing seven blighted wannabe gods who turned on his best abusive friend Mythal when she finally stood up to them after CENTURIES of him begging her to do just that and starting a rebellion to free all their multitudes of slaves: *creates the veil, imprisons the blight and the Evanuris, and preserves all life in Thedas* World: FUCK THE DREAD WOLF, GOD OF TREACHERY AND LIES *worships the Evanuris and their dragon thralls*

Solas: zzzzzzzzzz (knocked out cold from saving the world for LITERALLY SEVERAL MILLENNIA MORE)

Tevinter: *razes what's left of Elvhenan, steals all their magic, enslaves the elven people for entire length of Solas's world-saving-induced coma*

Also Tevinter: *breaks into the fucking black city and brings out the blight*

Also also Tevinter: *uses so much blood magic that the veil ends up in tatters*

The Blight: >:)

World: fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck *throws everything they can at the blight, including--*checks notes again*--the blight

Orlais: you know what sucks? elves. let's kill them all

Ferelden: good shout, mes amis

Orlais: you know what also sucks? mages. put them in prisons.

Ferelden: you're full of good ideas when you're not invading us

Free Marches: MAGE PRISON, YOU SAY?

Orlais: add templars who can decide to murder them or make them tranquil on a whim at any moment

Ferelden and Free Marches: *frantically taking notes*

Rivain and Nevarra: we're just going to be...over here...

Blights 1-5: i've got a great idea i've got a great idea

Blights 1-5 after a while: my great idea didn't work :(

Archdemons 1-5: ....... :(

Evanuris 1-5: ......... :(

Solas, waking up in 9:40ish Dragon: what the...WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCKING FUCK. they can just KILL MAGE CHILDREN? AND PURGE ALIENAGES? AND ALMOST EVERY ELF IN TEVINTER IS A SLAVE? *absolutely rabid, seeks out the Dalish, as remnants of his people*

The Dalish, at Solas: *ARROWS*

Solas: ......fuck this shit, fuck all of this shit, fuck these tyrants in particular, fuck this fucking...UGH

The veil, after all this: (o.O:0oO.)

The remaining blighted Evanuris and the 99% of blight that did not escape: :)

Solas: well, that is a problem, going to need to address that ASAP, but turns out millennia of coma doesn't leave a spirit spry

Corypheus, busting out of warden jail: I AM FREE

Solas: hm, could kill that guy letting him unlock my orb, since he broke into my blight prison in the first place and defo deserves dying

Corypheus: veil needs a certain je ne sais quoi, a...bigger hole. i will make one.

Wardens: yes, good plan, blighted magister man. we are in control of the blight inside us and also heroes *in death, sacrifice = divine justinia's ritual sacrifice under thrall*

The veil:

O

Corypheus: >:( but like...not dead

Solas: well, i did not see that coming

Lavellan: *in chains, threatened with execution*

humans: KNIFE EAR >:(

Lavellan: *hole in the sky, hole in her memories, hole in her fucking hand* fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, wait, this hole in my hand helps close holes in the SKY

Solas: *.* It seems you hold the key to our salvation

Lavellan: i'm sorry what

humans: HERALD OF ANDRASTE!!!!!!!! *falls to knees*

Lavellan: I'M SORRY WHAT

Chantry: *choking in the corner*

Cassandra: time for you to decide the fate of the world

Lavellan: I'M. SORRY. WHAT???????? you know what? fine. *stops alexius from blood magicking his way through redcliffe and time itself, gets punted into a hellscape of nightmares and makes it back with the help of a rebel tevinter mage* the mages i rescued from becoming probable slaves to tevinter are our allies and dorian is my new best friend for being the only reason i made it back alive and the whole world didn't die *dabs*

Cassandra: >:(

Mother Giselle: >:(

Lavellan: ffs

Corypheus: *dragon temper tantrum*

Lavellan: *somehow escapes both dragon and Corypheus, trudges through blizzard, collapses*

Mother Giselle: *.* I FEEL A SONG COMING ON

Literally everyone but Solas: *falls to their knees*

Solas: a word?

Lavellan: OH THANK HEAVENS

Solas: these people are wack and aren't going to like that Corypheus is using elven magic *cough*, they're a hairsbreadth from executing us at all moments lol, btw here's a castle, you know, for you cos i highkey see myself in you and god i'm so fucking lonely

Lavellan: me too but wait, what the fuck is happening. you know what? fuck it. solas, what if we kissed,,, in the fade

Solas: what IF we kissed,,, in the fade *fade tongue*

Solas: ...you continue to surprise me. you show a wisdom i have not seen...since my deepest journeys into the fade!

Lavellan: don't you dare walk away from me now

Solas: okay vhenan i stay

Vivienne: this is a DEMON and NOT A PET

Lavellan: *blinks* right, no, this spirit kid who is the literal only reason we escaped Haven alive is my son now. if he hadn't read roderick's mind we'd all be avalanched or blighted dragoned, so SUCK IT UP

Vivienne: >:(

Cassandra: >:(

Sera: >:(

Bull: >:(

Varric: >:(

Solas: :D

Wardens: btw we're doing blood magic and raising an army of demons. not really our fault but also not NOT our fault? idk, blight in the blood, morally grey area. get it? grey...war--never mind, we'll be at adamant xoxo

Cullen: lotsa soldiers gonna die

Lavellan: fuck, is there another choice?

Advisors: ...no

Cory's dragon: *burninating the adamant, burninating the wardens, burninating all the people and this crumbling ROCKY BRIIIIIIDGE! CRUMBLING ROCKY BRIDGEEEEE*

Lavellan, flying through the air hundreds of feet towards the ground: fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck *opens a rift into the fade*

Everyone but Solas: FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK WE'RE IN THE FADE

Solas: we're in the FADE!!!!!

Lavellan, after escaping the nightmare's lair: glad half the team is pissed at me, what's next, an imperial ball? how hard can that be?

Orlesians: they invited an ELF SAVAGE >:(

Lavellan: you know what, fuck this and fuck Celene for genociding the entire Halamshiral alienage and fuck you, Gaspard, you can be Briala's little French Orlesian bulldog

Half the Inquisition: *shocked pikachu*

Morrigan: allow me to shemsplain all of elven history to everyone, including Solas, yourself, and all the ancient elves in this temple

Lavellan: you know what? okay. *rubs at Mythal's vallaslin, makes eyes real big* who is this "Mythal"

Solas: *choking in the corner*

Cassandra, muttering: i do not want to do a ritual to a false god

Morrigan: lemme have the well, lemme have it, i deserve it more than you

Lavellan: ...abso-fucking-lutely not *drinks from the well out of pure spite*

Solas: WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, VHENAN

Lavellan: idk vhenan, this world sucks and i wanna make it better and i love you

Solas: ...you are everything and you inspire me, hurry, i need to tell you i'm the dread wolf but am going to break up with you and remove your slave markings instead and btw they're basically a drawing of me in my true form and honestly, this whole thing is real fucked up and you're the only real person in my entire life who sees me

Lavellan: wait what

Solas: i'm bad and don't deserve you and had to harden my heart to save the world before and everyone hated me for it so i'm projecting when i say you must harden your heart to a cutting edge to kill Corypheus, I'll explain after we kill him

Lavellan: ...oh yeah guess we should do that but I gotta go meet Mythal first

Solas: wait what

Mythal: *is Morrigan's mum, is only mostly dead, also 100% cool with overriding her servants' will entirely for shits and giggles, 0/10 do not trust* i'll help you if you fight this dragon lol

Morrigan: *choking in the corner*

Corypheus: *has a mahoosive temper tantrum when Mythal's pet dragon kills his pet dragon, dies*

Solas: ;-; ilu, inky, what we had was real but i'm afraid to do to you what Mythal did to me. I MUST AWAY

Lavellan: ....

World: HERALD OF ANDRASTE!!!!!!!!!!!!*

*some restrictions may apply, like in a couple years we're going to forget everything you did and be real mad at you

Solas, somewhere: been there, vhenan

World, two years later: :D we're here to hate you, right on schedule

Qunari: you are in need of the gentle path. therefore, we are coming to kill you all

Solas: like hell you will. but come to think of it, this is a good excuse to see vhenan again

Lavellan's arm: TIME TO DIE

Solas: defo another good excuse to see vhenan again. probs should study that arm anyway

Lavellan, after several Qunari too many: CAN ANYTHING IN THIS FUCKING WORLD STAY FIXED

Inquisition, including Divine Victoria: *shocked pikachu*

Lavellan: i'm going back through the fucking looking glass to talk to some ancient elven sentinels with Mythal's magic whisper well, they're the only fucking thing that makes sense here

Qunari: *destroying everything in sight but getting hounded by the dread wolf at every step*

Lavellan, whose arm is trying to kill her but is following Qunari through her own people's magic mirror world: ...i think i'm in love with the dread wolf

Companions: pfffffft

Cole: :D YES, YOU ARE AND HE LOVES YOU TOO

Lavellan: thank god i have you, cole, my spirit son

Solas, in a statuary garden of petrified Qunari: i suspect you have questions

Lavellan: honestly, fen'harel, not really

Solas: *shocked pikachu* well done

Lavellan: i'm real tired and you could have just trusted me back in Crestwood.

Solas: this world is broken, i must tear down the veil

Lavellan: yep, i'm one "knife ear" away from putting a knife in the next human's ear who says it tbh, i'd rather live in the fade with you and my spirit son, can i help you pls vhenan

Solas: ...no

Lavellan: wtf

Solas, internally panicking because he followed Mythal wherever she went and she dragged him to literal hell and trauma and now his one true love is offering to follow him while he probably makes things worse again: absolutely not, no, but i love you forever

Lavellan's arm: >:(

Solas: ...right, i gotta take that

Lavellan: wait what

Solas: i will never forget you *trundles through mirror with severed arm*

Lavellan: oh fuck my entire life, you know what, Ferelden and Orlais? Inquisition is no more, i'm going on sabbatical to Stone Bear Hold where at least people are not insane and Storvacker loves me, and then i'm going home to the castle vhenan gave me. don't call me. byeeee

ten years later

Varric: gonna go stop Solas, who invented the veil and is From Fade, from doing things i don't understand, wish me luck, inky

Lavellan: WAIT ONE GODDAMNED SECOND I'M COMING WITH YOU

Varric: no <3 i found a complete rando who will fuck everything up

Rook: hey, what if i drop a statue on this nuclear arsenal protecting the biggest biological weapon of mass destruction known to all of thedas? that'll help

Neve, a literal mage who should know even small rituals can blow up and kill you: probs not a good idea but Varric, a dwarf who knows nothing about magic or the veil or the Fade whatsoever says this ritual must be stopped At All Costs By Any Means Necessary so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Varric: Solas I will shoot you with Bianca

Solas: ffs stop *breaks Bianca*

Varric: can you promise me your way is better

Solas: i know way better than to make promises like that, have you seen this world???

Varric: GOTCHA, YOU LYING LIAR WHO LIES

Rook: TIIIIIIIIIIIIIMBERRRRRRR

Varric: defo going to attack the guy whose millennia of existence has been centred on this massive magical problem i do not even comprehend a little after waiting ten years to ask a single question about it when he'd already got going *tries to stab Solas*

Solas, feeling everything he's spent all of world history protecting the world from breaking out of jail: turns the dagger and stabs Varric instead

Elgar'nan: >:)

Ghilan'nain: >:)

Solas: oh for fucking FUCK'S SA--*exit, stage Fade Jail*

Blight: >:)

Rook: oops

Neve and Harding: omg this could not possibly be our fault at all, not even a little. it's Solas's fault, the lying liar who lies

Lavellan: i will not murder this stupid child, i will not murder this stupid child, i will not murder this stupid child

Morrigan: we have to help the stupid child

Lavellan: we have to help the stupid child

Morrigan and Lavellan: *look at each other*

Lavellan: when this is over, i stg--

Morrigan, who has millennia of memories of Mythal abusing Solas and decades of Flemythal abusing her: yeah no i will throw you a going away party and take care of Dorian for you and help you get your boyfriend back and no way will i fight him, this is actually ridiculous

Ferelden, Orlais, and the Free Marches, all of whom turned on Lavellan ten years ago: hELP help HELP there's BLIIIIIGHT

Lavellan to Leliana: you owe me a hundred gold

Leliana: *hands over a solid gold nug*

Ferelden: X_X

Orlais: X_X

Free Marches: X_X

Lavellan: *grits teeth* i better go meet with rook

Rook: andaran atish'an, honoured inquisitor

Lavellan: yo. sure would be nice to be meeting without our gods, you know, destroying absolutely everything i've spent a quarter of my life protecting and rebuilding after the last apocalypse but here we are i guess

Morrigan: *smirks at shade*

Northern Thedas: ROOK IS THE BEST

Southern Thedas: is rook tho

Ghilan'nain: muahahaha i have so many drago---nooo you killed my dragons and i am BLEEDING LIKE A MORTAL PIECE OF MORTAL SCUM

Elgar'nan: my dragon used to be bigger :(

Ghilan'nain: your dragon's fine

Elgar'nan: Ghilly, make it bigger again

Ghilan'nain: can't, too sad. blood. :(

Southern Thedas: *throwing nugs at blight* hELP

Lavellan, with half of Southern Thedas crammed into skyhold: thanks for the castle, vhenan, we'd all literally be dead without it, again

Morrigan: erm, Inky? seems everyone's telling Rook Solas is just a big monster lying liar who lies and blaming him for everything

Lavellan: that's what people do, blame Solas. had a bad day? blame Solas. Mythal wants to sever the titans' dreams? Blame Solas. Rashvine nettle sting? Blame Solas. Bring the veil 5/7 or so of the way down themselves after releasing the blight? Blame Solas. Rook let the gods out? Blame Solas

Morrigan: Inky.

Lavellan: you want me to go pour out my heart to the person who imprisoned vhenan and let out Ghilan'nain, Mother of Tentacles, and Elgar'nan "My Dragon is Bigger than Your Dragon" First and Worst of the Evanuris, don't you

Morrigan: yee

Lavellan: FINE but you better spill every ounce of tea you've got on the stupid child before i go because i need to at least make rook squirm a LITTLE

Morrigan: i thought you'd never ask

Elgar'nan: you won't make my dragon bigger??? fine i'll move the moon instead

Northern Thedas: i'm sorry what

Anyone at sea anywhere on the planet: I'M SORRY WHAT

Ghilan'nain: *throws a temper tantrum and dies*

Elgar'nan: >:(

Solas: fuck this shit, i'm getting out of Fade Jail

Rook: :(

Minrathous: fuck fuck fuck FUCK fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK

Solas: hello, people who enslaved my people for millennia, i am here to save the day i guess

Minrathous, slapping blight tentacles out of their faces: ...honestly thank you

Solas: wait what

Rook: I ESCAPE FADE JAIL SOLAS YOU BASTARD LYING LIAR WHO LIES

Lavellan: i will not murder the stupid child, i will not murder the stupid child, i will not murder the stupid child

Solas: you know what, fair play, here's the dagger, there's elgar'nan, ima bite his dragon, you go have a great time. have fun storming the blight tentacle

Venatori, poster children for the Leopards Who Eat People's Faces Party: nooo the leopards keep eating our faces

Minrathous: wow who could have possibly predicted that

Everyone who has ever met a Venatori: yes, yes, very sad

Elgar'nan, eating every face in the magesterium and effectively cleansing Tevinter of the worst of its monsters in one fell swoop: ah, rook, you can't kill me, i have the biggest dragon ever to dragon

Dread Wolf: honestly he's kinda not wrong, this dragon is a bastard and i am like a fifth of its size and getting p tired, ngl

Rook's Blighted Companion: welp gonnae put this trauma to use for the greater good. go go gadget blight tentacles, release the Dread Pupper

Elgar'nan: *shocked pikachu*

Dread Wolf: *chomp*

Elgar'nan: *throws a temper tantrum and dies*

Solas: oh ffs finally

Rook: not so fast

Solas: oh ffs here we fucking go

Rook: i don't actually want to fight you

Solas: wait, what

Rook: i think this is all my fault but everyone keeps telling me i'm the hero and that's fucked up. and your vhenan, she's nice to me, no one really else is, i'm just everybody's apocalypse therapist, and i even kinda like you tbh, my whole team basically does fun stuff without me and doesn't even invite me to book club and emmrich's the only one who asks me about my feelings instead of just asking me to do stuff for them, and anyway, i'm going to trust the inquisitor here because i'm honestly starved for connection and she thinks you're worth saving so can we talk i don't wanna fight

Solas: what

Lavellan, out of sight, reliving the litany of "i will not murder this stupid child": oh haha awkward

Solas: look,,, i've been bound to the service of an ancient elvhen god for millennia and everything i do, whether i know it or not, is for her, so i can't do what you want and this sucks

Lavellan: even if i'm here, walking the din'an shiral with you?

Solas: ...vhenan

Lavellan: ;_;

Solas: ;_; ...I cannot

Morrigan: yo dread wolf, my mum's a piece of work and i have all her memories and everything she did to you was fuuuuuuuuucked up, anyway, over to her, honestly not pissed you killed that part of her btw, she reeeeally fucked you up, but rook somehow managed to talk her out of her essence, so that's impressive

Solas: what

Mythal: yeah i kinda tore you out of your home and twisted you from your purpose and made you do murder and worse for me for millennia and said i wanted your wisdom and then never ever listened to you ever and just dragged you through every atrocity i created and perpetuated

Solas: it hurts and i guess you're going to kill me now so here's the dagger ;_;

Mythal: it's still mostly your fault but i was there too i guess, anyway, i release you from my service, which i could have done at any point in the past several millennia but instead I tortured you endlessly, lol god of retribution, that's me. k bye

Solas: what the fucking fuck

Lavellan: right there with you, like literally forever, our love is a miracle and the only thing i can even cope with

Solas: yeah honestly fuck this shit, i'm out, i will put myself in fade jail

Lavellan: you are not going by yourself i stg take me with you i wanna go home

Solas: ...home is a literal prison now

Lavellan: sealed away from all this shit? from getting blamed for everything we do no matter how much we sacrifice? if it's you and me there together, i don't care if it's a grey box full of darkspawn

Solas: there's no darkspa--

Lavellan: ffs i said i want to go, you don't have to sell me on it. you're the only person in this world who Gets It. we go on together, forever.

Solas: *.* my wife

Lavellan: *.* my wolf

Northern Thedas: and rook saved the world from the dread wolf, who was a lying liar who lies

Southern Thedas: *busy being dead and blighted*

Lavellan: yeah, fuck this shit, we're out

You can now download this shitpost in beautifully formatted PDF, courtesy of @amburuthings. Thank u for your service *salutes*

You all have had me howling with the tags on reblogs, thank you, I am absolutely dying in deadline hell and needed that