#he can't even remember what they smelled like

[angelrissa]

"Savior" Simon Riley x F!Reader

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CW : noncon/dubcon, dark fic, smut, descriptions of wounds and injuries, kidnapping kinda

You couldn't have been out for that long, your wounds certainly weren't healed but seemed cleaner. Cleaner as in dirt wasn't seeping into every cut, and blood didn't trickle down your body but that was the most of it. Your body was still burdened by what was left of your bloody and torn-up gear. 

You feel somewhat rested. Rested enough to want to sit up on what feels to be a couch, an old one for certain, you can practically feel the springs digging into your already sore back. The room smelled musty like nobody had lived there for years, but with the sparks of fire illuminating the fireplace across the room, you could tell that wasn't true.

Even with your mind hazy it only took a few heavy footsteps on the creaky floorboards to jolt you awake and out of your cloudy state. Even with your poor memory, you understood what was going on. You remember the shadow, the man who stared at you for what felt like an eternity admiring your injuries instead of listening to your pleas for help. 

You remember him, You blinked up at him, trying to focus through the dizziness that swarmed your head. With his features slowly coming into view you can't help the whimper that escapes your chapped lips. He wasn't something you wanted to look at right now. He was massive. He was tall and built with enough muscle to snap you in half if he wanted to, and oh he looked like he wanted to. He wore a mask, a balaclava adorned with skull stitching that completely covered his face. The only thing visible were his deep brown eyes.

He just stands there, staring at you like he's assessing what to do next. Like you're not human worthy of respect. You let out an embarrassing squeak when he kneels in front of the couch, large hands reaching out but stopping midway at the sound you make. 

“Shush m’ not gonna hurt you. Gonna take good care of you”

For the first time hearing his voice, it was exactly what you expected. Frightening. A deep gravel that sounded authoritative, it shut your whimpering up almost immediately. His words did almost nothing for you besides send a shiver down your spine, it was far from assuring. 

You stayed silent as He loomed above, watching you with a hungry gaze as he roughly swiped a cloth drenched in alcohol over your wounds. You hissed at the sting, reflexively trying to curl away. Not before his hand fisted a chunk of your hair, yanking you back roughly causing you to let out an unexpecting gasp.

“Quit squirming or I'll leave you like this”

He said in a whisper. His face was scarily close to yours now, his hot breath on your cheek, so close that you could smell the stench of cigarettes on his breath, it assaulted your senses in a way that made you want to gag. 

Soon his other hand released your hair only to trail down the side of your neck, following the flutter of your pulse. Pressing thick fingers into the tender skin, squeezing and prodding at the flesh just for the fun of seeing you squirm.

"Please" you whispered, voice coming out raspier than you expected. "Help me."

“That's more like it," He praised, thumb stroking your jaw. His fingers moved lower, tugging at the torn bulletproof vest that clung by blood to your skin. "Gonna take good care of you, sweetheart."

He stripped the vest away, leaving you a little more exposed. His hands ran over the swell of your breasts through the filthy tank top you wore. You squeezed your eyes shut, hot tears falling down your cheeks as he palmed your soft breasts. It was more than devastating, it hurt so badly because you had a gut feeling this would happen. You should’ve known not to even think about trusting a man like him.

He snapped you out of your thoughts when he roughly pinched a nipple through the fabric, twisting until you yelped. "This what you wanted, baby? Needed someone to make you feel good," he growled.

Revulsion churned in your gut but he just chuckled darkly. His fingers undid the clasp of your bra, throwing the dirtied fabric aside. Cool air immediately hit your hot flesh as he exposed you fully. You were too weak to fight him off, at any other state you'd kick his ass for even looking at you like this, but his mere size compared to yours proved that was only a fantasy you could dream about. In a desperate attempt, you tried to cover yourself but his other hand slammed your wrist against the couch.

"Ah ah, keep 'em off to the sides" he warned. Out of fear, you forced your arms to relax, palms slapping against the old fabric. He squeezed your breast, rolling the sensitive bud between his thumb and pointer. Every touch sent electricity shooting through your body, a confusing mix of pain and unwanted pleasure. It made you sick.

"I'm not… I'm not…" you tried, words still thick and fuzzy.

"Shh, I know" he soothed, even as his fingers slipped under your waistband, tugging your pants and underwear down your thighs at once. The cargos clung to your legs, blood making them stiff. He didn't slow down even for a moment, quickly undressing you completely under his dark eyes. He looked like a wild animal panting over the sight of your bare pussy, a beast ready to sink his claws into its prey's skin.

He palmed your mound, rough fingers slipping between your unfortunately slick folds. You couldn't help but writhe at the foreign touch, a whimper catching in your throat. This was sickeningly wrong, you knew you didn't want this so why was your body betraying you?

Simon's hand quickly covered your mouth, muffling the pathetic sounds. "Be a good girl, now. Don't make me hurt you." he hisses, lifting his hand from your mouth only to seal his mouth over yours in a brutal kiss, tongue forcing its way past your lips. You whimpered against him, body going boneless as he worked you over. When he pulled back, his hand shifted, fingers circling your entrance. He pressed a single digit inside, stretching you open. The sudden intrusion had you clamping down, a choked sob escaping your throat.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groaned, pumping his finger in and out of your hole a few times before adding another. He was Completely invading your insides while he scissors you open. Your body wanted to resist even as you felt the traitorous heat low in your belly. He worked you open until he could fit three thick fingers, stretching you around the digits. His thumb found your clit, rubbing firm circles over the sensitive bud. Broken cries and moans spilled past your lips as he fingered you ruthlessly, not letting up even while you let out shaky pleads. At least your leg doesn't hurt so badly anymore.

"That's it, cum on my fingers like a good slut," he growled, curling his fingers inside you and hitting a spot that made you see stars behind your eyelids, squealing as your back completely arched off the couch. "Can't wait to fill this tight little cunt."

Your protests died in your throat as your orgasm hit you like a brick, pleasure punishing you until you were sobbing. He worked you through it though, fucking it out of you with his fingers until you went limp. Only then did he pull out, wiping his digits on your thigh, coating you in your own cum. 

"Sleep now, sweetheart, those injuries won't heal on their own" he chuckled, a smug smirk settling on his lips. He adjusted your limp body on the couch, allowing you to lay down more comfortably before draping an old sherpa blanket over your trembling body, before quietly walking away back into the unknown depths of the cabin. Your eyes couldn't help but drift shut, the events of the day seemed to finally be catching up to you.

You didn't have the energy to fight anymore.

wc : 1.3k

a/n : sorry this literally took forever, I'll try my hardest to stay consistent with this but please let me know if you have any feedback, or comments

[synnamon-hearts]

🍋‍🟩

Quite a dirty Josh Washington request I apologise in advance

You get home from work unexpectedly early, you didn’t want this because you knew Josh was going to be at a networking event for the evening but nonetheless, you enjoy your alone time in your shared space, sitting in the bath drinking wine and getting circled up into bed watching some tv with another glass. You hear Josh get home and it’s late but you knew the deal with the events he had to attend by now. He walks into the room, greeting you and immediately starts rambling while getting out of his clothes. Even after a long day, he could be covered in dirt, he could look like he swam in a swamp but your eyes were always glued to him and his features. He goes into the bathroom, having a quick shower. The reader thinks he won’t see her feeling herself but she knows she’s been caught when he slowly stops his rambling and just stares at her in confusion, awe and attraction before asking if he can help her out since she missed him so much

Ooooo, the mental picture this painted in my mind... 🤭

NSFW down below!

𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭

Coming home earlier from work meant two things: a subtle loneliness of being home alone, and a small hint of relief of having some time to yourself. No matter what, everybody needs some alone time every now and then. So you take this opportunity to spoil yourself by running a warm bath. You turn the music on low, light a few candles, pour yourself a generous glass of wine, and immerse yourself within the warm sea of bubbles.

Taking a deep breath to enjoy the smell now circulating the air, you fall into a deep state of relaxation. Josh wouldn't be home for hours due to that networking event. You remember him saying this last night during one of his rambles as you both cooked dinner. If it was any other night, you would hold off on taking this time because he would want to shower right after coming home from work. But tonight was your night. You had dibs.

When you get out, you are quick to put on your favorite pajamas, pour yourself another glass, and get comfortable under the covers with your favorite show. Everything is perfect... Except one thing in particular...

You miss Josh. It's been hours and the sun has set. You wonder when he will be coming back.

As if on cue, guess who comes though the front door, whistling a cheery tune as he kicks off his shoes and tosses his keys on the side table. You are quick to pause your show when he comes into the bedroom, not wanting to miss a word spoken on the screen.

Josh greets you with a dopey smile, his eyes bloodshot with exhaustion and his hair slightly disheveled from running tired fingers through the dark thick crop on his ride home. He begins getting undressed, dropping each article of wrinkled clothing on the floor as he rambles on and on about the day he had. Usually his messy nature annoyed you, but tonight you could care any less.

Something about the way he looked captivated you. Maybe you just missed him or maybe it is just the way this man could always fluster you by his very presence or maybe it is even just the wine, but you feel something festering up deep inside of you. You just can't take your eyes off of him, can't even listen to a word he's saying. But Josh pays no mind, continuing to talk and talk and talk even as he's entering the bathroom—now completely naked—to shower.

So you sneakily take your pants off, scrunching them down by your feet on the bed as you bring two fingers to your mound, which is pulsing with need. God, it feels so good. Not nearly as good as when Josh is touching you but just enough to have your head lolling back as you release a shaken breath. She can still hear him talking, fuck his monotonous voice is so fucking sexy. He could be taking about bread and you would be practically dry humping the air with need.

Suddenly that familiar burning hot sensation he always seems to bring forth between your thighs is more than evident. You feel slight a buzz in your head and contemplate if you're just tipsy from the wine, or if it's the intoxicating effects of Joshua Washington. He's in the bathroom, still rambling about the event. God, he's so adorable. He is clearly way too tired for even a quick fuck tonight but you just wanted it so badly. He wouldn't notice if you just took a quick moment to appreciate him in a... Not so PG13 way, right?

But when the voice of the man you love comes to a sudden stop, that's when your eyes open to see Josh standing before you, hair dripping wet and a towel wrapped securely around his waist. His eyes are blown wide and his mouth is hung open, his light-colored orbs holding confusion and... Something else...

Josh is in awe of the scene before him. Poor little you missed him so much that you couldn't even wait to ask for attention? You must've been so sad when he was gone. The corners of his lips curl up into a pleased smile as his eyes wander down your trembling form, all while you stare at him with heated cheeks, ashamed by your state.

"Awwww, bunny. You could have just asked." He coos lovingly. "Do you need my help?"

Shyly, you nod your head. Not more than a second later, Josh is pulling back the covers before pulling you by the legs until your ass is resting on the foot of the bed where he kneels. He wastes no time to lap up the juices coaking your lips, moaning like he's starving at the taste that always makes him go feral.

He cups his lips over your mound, his tongue working furiously to give you what you need as it draws quick and focused circles over you again and again. Usually he would be such a tease. But since you missed him oh so much, he didn't have the heart to not give in to what you wanted.

He grips your hips in his large hands, holding you in place when you start to squirm. The man has a strength like no other—one that's both slightly terrifying and arousing at the same time. When you feel the pot finally just starting to boil over, your hands fly to his head to clench his hair in your fists. Is it to keep him attached to you? Is it to ground yourself? You aren't exactly sure. But clawing at the silk bedsheets is no longer enough when you reach that point in this journey of ecstasy.

Tears fall from your eyes like shooting stars fall from heaven, a soft cry of relief tearing from your dry throat as you reach an intense high like no other. Josh watches between your thighs, his tongue never faltering to work you through your orgasm as he takes in your beautiful and undone form and memorizes it for all time.

When your done, your body falls limp and your eyes fall shut. Suddenly not a thought swims among your mind, as you float in that unconscious state of bliss. You're so out of it that you don't notice your sneaky boyfriend making his next move.

When you open your eyes, Josh is staring down at you with a mischievous and still wet from all your slick grin. He is so close that his nose is now brushing against your own, his hot breath hitting against your lips as he gazes into your eyes until he moves his face to the side of your head to lick your earlobe. When you shift slightly from the subtle pleasure the action brings you, you feel it, the hardened member pressing against your folds and twitching with plenty of need.

"Ohhhhh sweet girl, we are nowhere near finished yet." He murmurs dangerously, his hot breath fanning the shell of your ear.

You swallow nervously when your mind absorbs his words, a promise thick with warning like a threat. You bat your now innocent eyes at him, confusion and anxiousness with a hint of excitement for what's to come filling your tone. "I-I thought you were tired?"

He chuckles at that, a smirk toying on his lip as he leans down and bites your ear before whispering lowly, "Let's just say I've got a second wind..."

𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Second Chances

The Bucky brainrot is real, and so is my journey to main him in Marvel Rivals.

Summary: Fate decides to surprise you with a second chance by throwing you into the same team as a Bucky from a different universe (reader has fire powers)

Things never surprised you anymore, not after so many years of being a superhero but a golden portal opening in the middle of your house with a Doctor Strange stepping through it that looked like yours but not really still kind of surprised you. It was supposed to be a day off, a normal relaxed day so of course someone has to step in and ruin it.

"Evren, we need your help to save the multiverse."

"What?" You stare at the Doctor Strange who stands in your living room with a hand outstretched towards you.

"The multiverse is in danger, and the only way to save it is to defeat two Doctor Dooms. I am requesting for your help in that." He glances over his shoulder into the portal, eyebrows furrowing. "I don't have much time. Either come with me or watch your universe shatter."

"Well, then I don't have much choice, do I?" You walk towards the portal, laying a hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "I can't sit back and let my universe die."

"Good. We need all the firepower we can get." With that, he enters the portal, floating towards the battle that's raging on below in a city that looks familiar yet unfamiliar to you.

"Heh. Firepower." You take a step forward and feel yourself fall through the air, the wind whipping at your face. The air smelled different from the Shibuya you were used to and its decorations were different, definitely more futuristic, had a whole lot less manga and anime billboards. Instead, Spiderman icons were scattered throughout, or at least some sort of spider icon that looked a whole lot less friendly than the one you were used to.

Blue flames flicker in your palm, spreading to cover your entire body as you land in a fiery explosion, sending those nearby flying backwards. You begin to feel the familiar heat of your powers coursing through your veins, bright red scales forming on your forearms, shins, neck, and you grin, bending the heat to your will. A row of flame daggers appear behind you as Strange throws up a shield, blocking a barrage of long green blades.

"Stay behind me!" He conjures up blades of his own, flinging them at the approaching figures and you target the same figures, wondering who the enemy is. It's rather hard to tell, since both sides clearly have superpowered people clad in colourful outfits but if Strange was the one recruiting you, his enemies were yours and you weren't one to back away from a fight.

"Evren?" A familiar voice asks. Whipping around, you see none other than Black Panther standing before you. His suit is more decorated than you remember but he still sounds the same, and has the same stance as the Black Panther you know.

"Your highness?" You stare incredulously. "What —"

"Move it!" Yet another familiar voice shouts, shoving you aside as a ball of ice whizzes past your ear courtesy of a dual coloured hair lady. "We need to fall back and regroup, follow me."

Brown hair falls into your line of sight, accompanied by familiar blue eyes and your heart skips a beat. You know that face anywhere, even if it's half covered by a mask.

Bucky?

Your mouth opens and closes, questions filling your head when he grabs you by the wrist tightly and drags you away, sprinting at top speed. Your legs struggle to keep up but you somehow manage to hold yourself together long enough to reach a building where Strange and a few others await, dodging more ice projectiles that are now accompanied by Wakandan spears. Whirling around, you throw up a wall of blue fire and push it towards the direction of the attacks, sending the Wakandan king a silent apology before ducking into the house, panting.

"So much for a relaxing day," you gasp, quelling the flames within. The scales disappear into red mist and you feel your body cool down, though sweat still clumps your hair. Pushing the few loose strands out of your face, you survey your surroundings. Faces both familiar and unfamiliar stare at you as Strange introduces you as the newest member of their team.

"This is Evren. The portal lead me to them, destiny must have chosen them to aid us in this battle." He explains, gesturing towards you. You recognise the likes of Thor and Bucky but the other two faces are a mystery.

"Evren, heroes and villains from across time and space have gathered to fight for various reasons over control of the Timestream Entanglement, which is the space we're in right now. I meant it when I said I needed your help to save your universe. If the Entanglement gets out of hand, realities will collapse upon themselves and universes will die."

"Very cool, and not cool. Explains all the familiar faces but also raises so many questions." You look at Bucky, who stares back at you with an unreadable expression. "And a few personal problems."

"I understand. Take what time you need to orient yourself but we will strike again tomorrow, and I need you to be at your best." The Sorcerer Supreme frowns. "Choose any room to rest in, I will see you at dawn."

With that, he leaves and so do most of the team, although the alien in green with two antennas sticking out of her head does give you a smile and wave which you return tiredly. The only one left is none other than Bucky, and you're both relieved as well as filled with dread by that.

"I'm…assuming you know who I am. Or at least whatever version of me exists in your universe." You inhale deeply, trying to calm your nerves. Sparks of blue fire flicker on your fingertips and you force yourself to extinguish them, clenching your fist tightly.

He continues silently staring at you, gaze flicking up and down before going to a nearby bench to sit. You follow suit, taking in all the ways he's different from your Bucky. First off, his clothes are different, you've never seen your Bucky in…well…that outfit before but you have to admit it looks good on him. Then he has a metal arm that looks the same yet different but it's on the same side. Of course you can't forget that this Bucky wears a mask, and that your Bucky long stopped wearing one because it reminded him too much of his Winter Soldier days.

"Evren. Y/N." He finally starts speaking and you feel your chest tighten. Why does he have to sound the same as your Bucky? The one you'll never be able to see again, the one you failed, the one you won't ever be able to touch, see, or hear again.

"Yeah, that's me." You force out a chuckle, a smile plastered to your face. His gaze softens and his flesh hand reaches upwards to remove the mask. It's then that you realise he has a scar over his left eye, something your Bucky never had and your hand unconciously moves towards it. He flinches, pulling back and you quickly stop yourself, muttering an apology.

He shakes his head, setting the mask down next to him and looks you in the eye. "I'm not the Bucky you know."

"The scar is a pretty obvious sign," you laugh nervously, fiddling with your costume.

"I mean it." He frowns, and his eyebrows knit together the same way your Bucky's did. His lips even curve to the same degree and you can't help but tear up. "I'm the Winter Soldier more than I am Bucky, especially after everything Hydra's done to me."

"R-right." Your throat is clogging up and the tears aren't helping. Fingernails dig into your palm as you try to suppress your emotions — showing weakness to someone within moments of meeting them is not a good impression to make. You swallow hard, blinking away the tears and sniff, looking away. "Sorry, all this is still taking some time to get used to."

"It — it's alright. Take however long you need, doll." The words just slip out, he can't help it. His heart threatens to shatter as memories of his time with his version of you flood his mind. The gentle touches, the heated kisses, the soft whispers that turn to sticky blood, the smell of smoke and ashes, the saltiness of his tears, the —

He pulls his mind out of the darkness with a shake of his head, gripping his metal arm with his flesh hand. This isn't the you he knows, this isn't the you he failed to protect, this isn't the you he broke his promise to. Still, when he looks at you he sees his doll, his beloved, his little dragon and he can't unsee it.

"What…is your Bucky like?" He asks softly, flesh hand inching closer to yours.

"The." You begin. "The Bucky in my universe —"

Tears flow freely no matter how hard you try to hold them in, clogging up your throat but you press on anyways. You owe it to his memory, to at least be able to recall them fondly, cherish the times you had together and press forward.

"He was someone who never let the cruelty of the world stop him from being the kindest person ever. He was broken, burdened by his past but he never gave up. He always pushed forward, strove to become better and that motivated me to be better myself. He always cherished me, looked at me as though I was the only one in the world, loved me with everything he had. Sure he had his dark moments but he always rose above them." You bite your lip hard, drawing blood. "Others always saw him as the Winter Soldier but I always just saw him as James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky, my entire world."

"You were my entire world too." The words fall from his lips as a whisper but you catch them all. "But I couldn't save you."

"I couldn't save you too." You give his hand a squeeze. "Seems like we're both terrible at protecting those closest to us."

He lets out a sad chuckle, lips quirking upwards ever so slightly. "So it seems."

The both of you sit in silence for a while, staring at the floor but it's a comfortable silence, something you haven't felt in a while ever since your Bucky died. It feels nice, even if it's with a different Bucky and you can't help but smile. He shifts a little closer, your shoulders brushing against each other and you stay like that. His thumb glides over the back of your palm, drawing little circles on your skin and you look up, huffing in amusement at how his lips curved into a genuine smile, the corners of his eyes creasing.

"I miss this," you murmur. "I've almost forgotten how it feels."

He hums in agreement, savouring the physical contact, your unnatural warmth a stark contrast to the coldness of his metal arm.

"What was the Y/N in your universe like?" You ask, curious. His gaze clouds with sorrow and you nearly take back your words but he begins talking.

"They were beautiful, handsome, strong, smart and everything in between. They could be reckless, hot-tempered, eager to fight but always fiercely protected others, even if it could cost them their life. They blazed so brightly it lit up everyone around them and yet burned so warmly it drove the chill away every time. They were an idiot, but they were my idiot and I wouldn't have traded them for anything." He lets out a huff, smiling as fond memories flit across his mind. "I wish I had more time with them."

"I feel the same way," you sigh wistfully, playing with the ring that sits on your finger. "But there's no going back to change the past. The only thing we can do is move forward and honour their memory, no matter how hard it is."

You stand up, exhaling deeply and turn around to face him, extending a hand. Your resolve hardens, forged by the fire that's been reignited inside you. "The way I'm going to do that is by fighting to save my universe with everything I have. The flames I was given will blaze through my enemies and I will protect my home no matter what. That is how I will honour my Bucky's memory. How will you honour your Y/N's memory?"

He looks up at you, lips parting in surprise then smiles, grasping your hand and standing up. "I suppose I'll just have to match their fire, won't I?"

You grin, lifting up a fist. "Looking forward to working with you once more, handsome."

He bumps your fist, ice blue eyes gazing fondly at you. "Right back at you, doll."

Blue flames burst forth as you smirk, curling around your forearm. "Don't you dare fall behind tomorrow or I just might have to carry on ahead by myself."

He laughs, the first one you've heard since coming to this Shibuya and it makes your chest grow warm. You can't help but smile at him as he lightly punches your shoulder with his metal fist, just like how your Bucky always did whenever he accepted any of your challenges.

"You're the one who needs to ensure they don't fall behind tomorrow. Don't forget, I'm stronger than your Bucky." He smirks, nudging you with his elbow. "Do try to keep up."

You laugh, nudging him back. "You're on."

Tomorrow is going to be fun, far more than you ever expected. Maybe having your relaxation day interrupted isn't so bad if it means being able to live in a dream for a little longer. The flames within you roar in agreement, eager to rise up to the challenge and you touch the ring on your finger.

Hey handsome. I'm sorry for losing sight of the person you saw in me. Your death hit me really hard, harder than I expected and I was lost. I didn't know what to do without you by my side, I only knew I was being swallowed by an endless abyss and a part of me had disappeared forever. But fate gave me a second chance in the form of whatever this is. I got to meet an alternate version of you who had lost their version of me. His metal arm is different, stronger even, no offense to yours, but in exchange Hydra had broken him more than you. Still, there's the same kindness and strength in him that I saw in you, so I know he will pull through it all just like you did. Don't miss me too much, we'll see each other again in due time and when we do, I'll have so many stories to share with you. Love you James.

[silverynight]

A tamed wild hashira

Lemon, explicit

Maybe Zenitsu is right and Tanjirou can't befriend every single person he meets, no matter how much he wants to.

Although he still refuses to believe it; Zenitsu says that if he keeps trying to do the same thing with the wind hashira, he's gonna end up killing him.

Tanjirou pouts as he heads towards the butterfly estate for a while, maybe his friend is right and he should give up. Although he still made ohagi for him as a last attempt.

The situation is really confusing to him; Shinazugawa is constantly trying to fight him and he has no idea why.

Tanjirou leaves all the ohagi he made in the kitchen and tells Aoi and the butterfly girls to give it to Shinazugawa when they see him.

He goes to his room; he has one all to himself now. After he leaves his stuff, he helps the kakushi around and does some chores before taking a bath and going to sleep.

He usually takes care of Nezuko or plays with her, but right now she's with Urokodaki for safety reasons.

The butterfly estate is very quiet that night; most of the slayers are training with the Pillars and the kakushi are with the few ones on patrol.

His side of the building is empty, but he doesn't mind; perhaps he can sleep for a couple of hours for once before going to train on his own.

Tanjirou doesn't remember his dream, although maybe it's because his body was on alert and at the first noise of someone sliding the door open, he wakes up and he moves off the futon immediately.

"You heard me?" A shadow mocks him in the middle of the room. "Not bad."

The hashira walks into the moonlight that comes from the window and Tanjirou sighs; he wants to rest for once and can smell so much irritated energy coming from the Pillar he's not sure he wants to deal with that at the moment. Sometimes, he thinks that if he just released all that aggressive energy (without hurting anyone) he'd be a lot nicer.

Maybe he just needs to train more with the other hashira.

Then, Tanjirou smiles when he smells the ohagi coming from Shinazugawa.

"You ate the ohagi I made you? I'm so glad!" Tanjirou beams, feeling genuinely happy. Maybe this means they can finally be friends, right?

Shinazugawa takes a couple of steps closer and growls.

"I DIDN'T ASK YOU TO GIVE ME ANYTHING!"

Honestly. Tanjirou starts thinking that this might be a lost cause.

"But I wanted to!"

Shinazugawa hisses and the redhead braces himself for an attack; actually Tanjirou is going to headbutt him again because he wants to go back to sleep.

"WHY AREN'T YOU AFRAID OF ME?"

"There's nothing to be afraid of!"

Then, when Shinazugawa jumps, Tanjirou hits him on the forehead with his and the Pillars falls on the floor.

For a moment, Tanjirou thinks the wind hashira looks back at him, impressed, but then he growls again before getting back on his feet.

Suddenly, Tanjirou finds himself against the wall, cornered by the angry Pillar.

He really wants to go back to sleep.

"Why are you here?"

Those grey eyes stare back at his with so much heat, Tanjirou doesn't know what to think. It's like Shinazugawa is burning inside. The redhead can practically feel the tension between them.

"I can't stop thinking about you because you're so annoying!" He snarls, baring his teeth at him. "I know if I defeat you I will be able to get you off my head!"

Tanjirou sighs again... it seems another fight is inevitable, but he doesn't want to destroy anything in there.

"Let's go outside, alright?"

The Pillar narrows his eyes even more and doesn't move an inch. Tanjirou notices that the door is closed.

"Don't tell me what to do!"

He leans closer before he bites Tanjirou's neck. Actually, the bite doesn't hurt a lot, Shinazugawa doesn't put too much pressure on it; it's just a warning.

However, Tanjirou feels something... there's a shiver down his spine and a warm sensation that spreads all over his body that prompts him to let a weird sound out of his mouth.

It doesn't sound like he's in pain. On the contrary.

They both freeze as Tanjirou starts turning pink. Shinazugawa's eyes darken suddenly and the tension between them shifts to something the redhead doesn't quite understand... yet.

"I'm sorry... maybe we should go outside?" Tanjirou insists, still embarrassed about what happened.

Shinazugawa takes a few steps closer without looking away from Tanjirou, almost like he's in some sort of trance.

That's when Tanjirou's feels the Pillar's body against his. The man has a lot of muscle under that uniform.

It makes Tanjirou shiver. His face is getting hotter.

"Do that again," the wind hashira demands and Tanjirou puts both hands on his chest to prevent him from getting closer, but it's worse because he touches bare, warm skin.

"W-What?" Tanjirou asks, even though he knows exactly what he wants.

"The sound."

He shakes his head.

"Just once," Shinazugawa's voice changes suddenly; it's deeper and intimate somehow. Completely different from what it sounded like a couple of minutes ago.

"It's not like I can do that just because you ask–"

Teeth sink into the soft skin of his neck again, but this time it's different, this time it's playful, not aggressive and not with the intention to hurt. It's barely a nibble.

Tanjirou moans out loud and does it again when a tongue licks the bite afterwards.

Everything changes between them at that moment.

"Listen, m-maybe we should–"

"Please."

Tanjirou almost chokes at the word that comes from Shinazugawa's mouth, he knows he probably hasn't said that in a long time, maybe never.

The thing is... Tanjirou wants to keep going too, but he's not sure if it's the right choice. All of the Pillar's irritation has vanished suddenly, only to be replaced by a deep desire.

Tanjirou finally knows what's that spicy scent coming from Shinazugawa; it's always been there, but it was hidden under annoyance.

His body relaxes suddenly and he blushes even more because of what will come next.

"Okay."

Shinazugawa presses their mouths together then; the kiss is intense, he shoves his tongue inside Tanjirou's mouth like he's been starving for it. He pushes and licks like he's going into battle, growling in approval when Tanjirou makes little sounds every time he licks his teeth or deep inside his mouth.

The hashira's hands are everywhere, pulling Tanjirou's shirt and taking off his pants.

"Wait," Tanjirou stops him, taking a deep breath. "I don't want to be the only one naked."

Shinazugawa smirks before biting Tanjirou's earlobe and pushing him back towards the futon.

He gets rid of his uniform quickly and Tanjirou gasps when he sees that he's very much hard already.

"Uhh..." He can't think of anything to say because suddenly Shinazugawa's body is pressed against his and the skin to skin contact makes Tanjirou moan again.

He feels his own cock getting hard.

"Such a tiny waist," the hashira comments, grinning before putting both hands on Tanjirou's waist and moving his hips in a way that their cocks start rubbing against each other.

It feels amazing and Tanjirou can't help but make a needy sound again.

"Keep doing that for me, Tanjirou," he encourages him. It's probably the first time he has heard him saying something like that around him. Something nice and positive for once.

He's very attractive when he's not being aggressive.

Suddenly, the warm weight on him is gone and Tanjirou whimpers at the absence of it.

"Where are you going?"

Shinazugawa chuckles, looking for something in a night table. His body seems to be made of pure muscle mass.

"It's alright. I'll be with you in a second."

He comes back with a bottle full of oil.

"Sometimes they leave these in the rooms just in case." He explains to Tanjirou.

The redhead blushes at the implications, but at the same time it makes sense; the place is full of young people. Of course they're not the first ones to have sex there.

Then, Shinazugawa kisses him again; it's so weird to see him that calm and almost playful, but at the same time Tanjirou is sure he was like that before his family died.

As his lips slide down Tanjirou's neck, the Pillar pinches one of his nipples between two fingers, prompting Tanjirou to arch his back and rub himself against him.

"So responsive," Shinazugawa smirks, looking down at Tanjirou's body with hunger. "I shouldn't be surprised. You've always been like that during our fights. It's like your body has a mind on its own."

When he puts Tanjirou's legs over his shoulder, he knows what it comes next and he shivers in anticipation.

"I'm not going to be gentle." He warns him, eyes growing dark. However, it seems like he's giving Tanjirou time to reconsider.

"I can take it," he assures him. "Besides, I don't want you to be gentle."

His words make Shinazugawa's cock twitch in anticipation. He curses before biting Tanjirou's cheek.

"You're so fucking... perfect," he growls before sliding a wet finger inside him, followed by another right away.

This time Tanjirou's moan is even louder than before; having two fingers inside himself feels weird, but not in a bad way.

Shinazugawa smirks as he pushes those two fingers in and out Tanjirou's entrance. At some point, just a he licks a drop of sweat off Tanjirou's chest he uses his free thumb to press against the redhead's balls.

Tanjirou whines softly.

"Not good enough, apparently," the wind hashira observes as he adds another finger and twists the three of them inside Tanjirou until he presses a sweet spot that makes Tanjirou sob and almost scream in pleasure.

He should be more quiet, he should–

"There it is!" He grins before cruelly pulling all his fingers out.

"Wait..." Tanjirou pleads, but suddenly there's something bigger pressing against his entrance.

"You're so needy," Shinazugawa comments like it's a compliment. He seems to be enjoying himself.

With a quick push, Shinazugawa shoves himself inside Tanjirou. He tries to relax to take the hashira's dick in, as the initial burning sensation disappears.

"Shinazugawa-san..."

"My name is Sanemi and I want to hear you scream it," he hisses with pleasure as he starts pounding inside Tanjirou at a fast pace.

He told him he wasn't going to be gentle.

"Sanemi-san," Tanjirou moans, body moving as the other keeps slamming his cock against his entrance.

"Not enough," Shinazugawa says as he moves closer. He starts sucking one of Tanjirou's nipples without mercy.

A whimper comes from Tanjirou's lips as he moves his own hips in response. The friction is delicious and the sounds of flesh against flesh are obscene, but amazing and yet Tanjirou thinks there's something else missing.

Teeth sink into his shoulder and a shiver makes him arch in the exact moment Shinazugawa slams into him again. Tanjirou moans in response.

Tanjirou realizes then that Shinazugawa's stamina is insane; the pace is brutal, but he hasn't stopped since he started fucking him.

At least he's not the only one who'll end up with marks because Tanjirou's grip on the Pillar's back is so strong, he's sure he's drawing a little bit of blood. Shinazugawa doesn't seem to mind or care for that matter.

"Ah... aren't you–" suddenly, Tanjirou sees white as the other moves a bit and finally hits that spot inside him.

The sound that comes from his lips is something he has never heard before; Tanjirou blushes at his own response, but at the same he wants more of it.

"More!"

Shinazugawa chuckles, but he pulls out completely, prompting Tanjirou to whine as his eyes start to water.

"Shh... calm down. I'm not done with you."

The Pillar turns him around easily; it's like Tanjirou's weight is nothing to him. He manhandles him as much as he wants until Tanjirou's cheek is back on his pillow.

He's on his knees, with his ass exposed, but he's not nervous, even when he feels Shinazugawa spreading his legs apart.

There's a hand on his waist and another on the back of his head now, immobilizing him. Tanjirou knows that he can move if he truly wants, but he's enjoying the sensation of being at Shinazugawa's mercy.

He moans in anticipation.

He hears a chuckle.

"So impatient," but the wind hashira's voice breaks a little, almost like he's as desperate as Tanjirou.

When he thrusts his cock inside this time, Tanjirou screams. He's getting dizzy, but Shinazugawa doesn't give him time to enjoy the first wave of pleasure.

This time it's the hashira's turn to moan.

"You're still so fucking tight, even though you have had my cock inside you already. It's amazing." His voice is deep with want and hunger as he pounds into him fast and hard.

Fingers press hard against the soft skin of his waist and the hand on his head tugs his hair a bit as Shinazugawa slams himself deeper inside Tanjirou.

This time he hits the spot again and when Tanjirou whimpers he keeps hitting the spot even harder.

Tanjirou sobs, overwhelmed by pleasure as the other pulls out and right back inside.

"Sanemi-san!" He screams because he wants him to stop in order to give him time to recover, but at the same time he doesn't want to say the word.

Shinazugawa pounds into him faster and Tanjirou stops breathing for a moment as his vision turns white and he comes all over the sheets.

His body starts relaxing, but Shinazugawa keeps slamming through Tanjirou's aftershocks.

Shinazugawa turns his head around to kiss another soft moan from Tanjirou's lips as he comes inside him.

He collapses over Tanjirou, cock still buried in him.

The next thing Tanjirou knows is that he's empty again and Shinazugawa is gently cleaning them both.

He's so tired he falls asleep soon after, although he swears he feels a kiss on his forehead.

When he wakes up he's covered by clean sheets and there's a tray full of food next to him. Tanjirou turns around only to find Shinazugawa fully dressed, kneeling next to the futon.

"Did you bring me breakfast? Thank you!" Tanjirou smiles. He's not sure how to act around him after what happened and part of him expected him to go back to being aggressive, but it seems Shinazugawa is a lot relaxed around him now.

He nods, but doesn't say anything, cheeks turning slightly pink almost like he's shy.

"I wanted to talk to you about yesterday," the Pillar clears his throat as Tanjirou eats.

"Tell me. Listen, it's okay if you want to pretend–"

Shinazugawa growls, cutting him off.

"I... liked it. No, I loved every second of it and I'm not going to pretend like nothing happened," he narrows his eyes, almost like he's daring Tanjirou to say otherwise. "I want us to be... I want..."

He curses, unable to find the right words.

"I want you to be mine."

Tanjirou blushes at his bluntness, but it's not like he doesn't like the idea.

"You want us to be in a relationship?"

Shinazugawa nods, although it seems like he's not entirely happy with the word. Like he wants more.

"As long as you're mine and no one else's."

"Alright," Tanjirou blushes again. Wondering how he ended up in this situation. Yesterday morning he thought Shinazugawa hated him. "We can do that."

Shinazugawa leans closer, grabs Tanjirou by the back of his head and kisses him on the lips like he's starving.

"You're lucky I have to train a group of morons today," the wind hashira grins. "Otherwise I would've fucked you against the wall already."

Tanjirou turns bright red again and wonders if he made the right choice. He's not sure he will be able to survive being in a relationship with him.

"I'll come see you soon."

***

"Tanjirou! Tanjirou!" Zenitsu comes running as he's training in the butterfly estate. "The crazy Pillar has gotten completely mad!"

"What do you mean? Did he hurt Genya?"

"No!" Zenitsu rolls his eyes. "He's... he has calmed down a bit actually! It's so weird! Well, he still beats the shit out of us during training, but he gives us breaks now!"

Tanjirou can't help but smile, glad Shinazugawa is trying to be kinder now.

"Why are you making that face? He's still mean!"

"But he's trying to be better and that's all that matters!"

Zenitsu rolls his eyes and stares back at him like Tanjirou is the crazy one now.

"Anyway! What do you think happened to him?"

"Simple!" A couple of slayers approach them then, not even bothering to hide they were listening to their conversation. "He got laid!"

Tanjirou chokes, turning completely red.

"What?" Zenitsu says in disbelief. "Of course not!"

"We've been talking about it for a while," says another with a mischievous grin. "He just needed a good fuck to calm down!"

"Who would have let THAT fuck them? I mean HE'S TERRIFYING!"

Tanjirou looks anywhere but at them, although he's glad that Zenitsu's words make them reconsider.

"He has a point. I don't think anyone would be brave enough to approach him."

Tanjirou makes sure his uniform is in place, so no one can see the bruises on his body; even the ones on his neck are properly covered.

"Maybe he just ate something he really liked! I heard he likes ohagi!" Tanjirou says, regretting it immediately. It sounds ridiculous even to his ears.

"Maybe," says one of them, although he doesn't actually believe it. "Anyway, it doesn't matter! As long as he doesn't kill us!"

Once they leave, Tanjirou feels a lot better. However, the relieved smile on his face vanishes when he turns around and realizes Zenitsu is still there, staring at him with a suspicious expression on his face.

"What was that?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't believe the ohagi bullshit! You lied!" Zenitsu accuses him and Tanjirou feels terrible then. "You know something!"

"No," Tanjirou mumbles, biting his bottom lip.

"You lied again! What's going on? What happened? Did you fight the crazy Pillar again?"

"No," Tanjirou says and notices that Zenitsu relaxes somewhat.

"Then what happened?"

Tanjirou shakes his head, because he doesn't want to lie again.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Suddenly, Zenitsu's eyes seem to open wide. And then he makes an incredulous, almost disgusted expression.

"Tell me you didn't."

Tanjirou blushes to the tip of his ears.

"Let me see your neck!"

"No!"

Before Zenitsu can actually manage to unbutton the collar of his uniform a hand grabs him by the head with ease and throws him away from Tanjirou.

Shinazugawa looks murderous.

"Do you want to die?"

"NO, I'M SORRY!"

"Then don't touch him again."

Zenitsu nods trying to get up and Tanjirou swears his friend's jaw drops to the ground when Shinazugawa turns around and kisses Tanjirou's forehead before handing him a bento box.

"I'll see you after I train with Iguro and Tokito," he whispers against his hair. "Enjoy your lunch."

"Thanks, Sanemi-san!"

Shinazugawa throws one last glare in Zenitsu's direction before leaving.

Tanjirou waits for his friend to start yelling at him but instead, he smiles like a madman.

"You have tamed the beast!"

"He's not a beast!"

"This means you can control him now, Tanjirou!"

"No."

"Can you make him release me from his training? Come on, Tanjirou!"

Tanjirou sighs, already knowing Zenitsu will follow him for the rest of the day.

***

Patreon

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬

Parings → Dad! Nathan Drake x Mom! Reader

Warnings → none

Summary → Your kids found your old album.

The early afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting warm patterns on the bedroom floor. Cassie, with her wild, shoulder-length brown hair tied up in a messy ponytail, crouched near the closet door. Lucas, her little brother, with his tousled hair and wide brown eyes, mimicked her movements as they stealthily pushed the closet door open.

"You sure about this?" Lucas whispered, glancing nervously over his shoulder. “What if we get caught?”

Cassie rolled her eyes. "Dad’s busy fixing the garden, and Mom’s probably in the kitchen downstairs. We’ve got time." She reached up to the top shelf, her fingers brushing against an old, dusty box. “There it is. Remember what Aunt Chole said? She used to call them the coolest treasure hunters. This box might have all the proof we need.”

Lucas’s eyes widened. “You think there’s treasure in there?”

“Maybe!” Cassie said, grinning as she pulled the box down, her small muscles straining under its weight. “Or, you know, something that proves Mom and Dad were more than just... boring, ordinary people.”

They sat on the floor, surrounded by clothes and scattered shoes, as Cassie flipped open the box. Inside was a faded photo album. The leather cover was worn, the edges frayed from years of handling.

Lucas leaned in closer. “What’s that?”

Cassie carefully opened the album to the first page. The smell of aged paper filled the air as they saw pictures of their parents, looking much younger and... cooler. Nate, their dad, in what looked like an ancient tomb, covered in dirt and wearing a smirk. Their mom, holding what looked like a shiny, golden artifact in her hand, her expression one of triumph.

"No way," Lucas breathed, his little fingers tracing the edge of a photo. “They did this?”

Cassie laughed. “Told you. I knew they weren’t always like this.”

"Look at this one!" Lucas pointed to a picture of their mom hanging off the side of what looked like a crumbling cliff, their dad reaching down to grab her hand.

"Who even takes pictures this dangerous?!" Cassie exclaimed, her eyes wide in disbelief as she studied the image. "What were they thinking?"

Lucas just shrugged, his grin growing wider. "Guess they were all about living on the edge."

Cassie shook her head. "I can't believe they survived this stuff."

"Do you think they were fighting bad guys?" Lucas asked, eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Obviously," Cassie said, flipping the page. “I mean, who else climbs cliffs like that? And look at this—this place looks like an old castle. They must’ve fought dragons or something.”

Lucas’ mouth dropped open. “Dragons? Really?”

Cassie shrugged. “Who knows. They were treasure hunters. Anything’s possible.”

They were so absorbed in the album that they didn’t notice the footsteps coming up the stairs. Nate had just finished with the garden when he realized the house was a little too quiet. He made his way to the bedroom and froze in the doorway when he saw his two kids sitting on the floor, flipping through the photo album.

“Uh-oh,” he muttered under his breath. “Busted.”

Cassie and Lucas looked up simultaneously, guilt flashing across their faces.

“Dad!” Cassie exclaimed, quickly trying to close the album. “We weren’t—uh, we didn’t mean to—”

Lucas was less subtle. “Did you fight dragons, Dad?”

Nate’s eyebrows shot up. “Dragons?”

Cassie elbowed Lucas. “Shut up, Lucas. Dragons aren’t real.”

Lucas frowned. “But you said..…”

Nate crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “I see you found the old album.”

“You never told us you were cool,” Cassie said, her tone almost accusing. “You guys were, like, treasure hunters? And Mom? Mom was like... an action hero?”

Nate chuckled. “Action hero? I don’t know about that.”

“What’s going on?” Your voice called from down the hall, and within seconds, you appeared in the doorway next to Nate. Your eyes immediately fell on the album in Cassie’s lap, and your heart skipped a beat.

“Oh no... they found it?” You asked, sharing a look with Nate.

“They sure did,” Nate said, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “And now they think we fought dragons.”

“Dad said there were no dragons!” Lucas quickly defended.

“Actually, I never said that,” Nate shot back, giving his son a playful wink.

You sighed, stepping into the room and crouching next to your kids. “So... you found out about our old life, huh?”

“You were really cool!” Lucas exclaimed, bouncing a little in place. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Cassie crossed her arms, looking between you and Nate. “Yeah, why not? Instead, you guys make us go to school and do homework like normal, boring parents.”

Nate laughed, sitting down beside them. “Well, because we are normal parents now. Things are different.”

Cassie huffed and whined. “But you were sooo cool. Why did you change?”

Lucas pulled the album toward him again, pointing to a picture of you and Nate covered in mud, holding what looked like a golden statue. “What’s this? Did you find treasure? Was there a bad guy?”

You and Nate exchanged glances, remembering the crazy adventure that had led to that photo.

“That was a long time ago,” you said softly, brushing some hair behind your ear. “We did... well, we went on a lot of adventures. But it wasn’t always glamorous.”

“We didn’t tell you because we wanted you to have a normal childhood,” Nate added. “Our life back then—it was dangerous.”

Cassie frowned. “Dangerous?”

You nodded. “Yeah. It wasn’t all fun and games. There were a lot of close calls. Sometimes... we weren’t sure we’d make it home.”

The room fell silent for a moment as the weight of your words sank in.

“But we did,” Nate said, breaking the tension with a smile. “And then we had you two.”

Lucas looked up, his big blue eyes full of curiosity. “So you don’t go on adventures anymore?”

You shook your head. “No. Not since we had you and Cassie. We wanted to settle down, be safe.”

Cassie wasn’t convinced. “But... you guys were so cool.”

Nate grinned. “We’re still cool.”

Cassie raised an eyebrow. “Uh, no offense, Dad, but fixing the garden doesn’t make you cool.”

“Ouch,” Nate winced dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “That one hurt.”

You smiled, nudging Nate. “Maybe we should tell them about the time we were stuck on that island.”

“Oh, the island story,” Nate said with a chuckle. “That’s a good one.”

Both kids leaned forward, eyes wide with excitement. “What island?”

You settled in beside them, flipping to a specific page in the album. “See this? That’s the island we got stranded on after our boat sank.”

Lucas gasped. “Your boat sank?!”

Nate nodded. “Yep. And we had to survive with barely any supplies. Your mom was incredible, though. She found food, built a shelter—”

“And Dad was busy fighting off the bad guys,” you added with a smirk.

Cassie and Lucas both looked at Nate with newfound awe.

“Wait,” Cassie said, her earlier skepticism melting away. “So you’re saying... maybe you are still kinda cool?”

Nate winked. “Oh, we’re definitely still cool.”

Lucas clapped his hands, bouncing up and down. “Tell me more! Tell me about the treasure!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “One story at a time, little man. One story at a time.”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

[thenwethrowitonthefire]

Shout-out to everyone who survived a "fun" easter with the family

[inbabylontheywept]

i did wrestling in middle school. on one hand, i was actually quite good at it, which was nice. being good at any sport was a new achievement for me. on the other hand, i was bi, and i was trying very hard not to notice that i was bi, and getting folded into knots by very kind, very muscular dorks made that task somewhat difficult.

adding fire to the problem was that my parents and my grandparents wanted to watch my matches, because they were very proud that their Gangly Nerd Son was actually Sporting, and they wanted to cheer me on. which would've been sweet and all, but if there are four people you do not want there during a key part of your Burgeoning Sexual Awakening, it is your mom and your dad and your grandma and your grandpa.

right? i mean, imagine some guy's got your head in his armpit, and you're going you know, old sweat smells bad, but fresh sweat has a sort of and then you make eye contact with your grandpa in the stands and you remember you're swearing spandex so if you pop a boner people aren't just going to be able to see the outline, they're going to be able to count the veins, and the only way you will be able to restore your family's honor after that would be by moving to siberia and renouncing joy, forever. that, or lift your entire body up by your kneck then twist 180 degrees without paralyzing yourself.

it’s a lot of pressure, is what i’m saying.

still it did motivate me to win my matches really fast. because i was so tall and skinny, i was stupidly good at the double leg takedown, and then once someone was knocked down, i'd just do the half nelson and kind of flip em over for the pin. then the ref would count to three and i’d win. EZPZ.

i had one match where that went great. won in the first ten seconds, sat back down, and prepared myself for a good hour or two of doing fuck all. didn't even feel bad the parents/grandparents were gonna be bored. the matches went up from me in 5 pound increments (i was in the 115 lbs division) and it was going great until we got to the 145 lbs division. the other school's wrestler stepped onto the mat, and she turned out to be a girl so our guy flipped, because for straight guys, wrestling a girl is not a pleasant experience.

i'm not entirely unsympathetic. my experience wrestling dudes was definitely a little traumatic. but also, i dealt. guy could've dealt too. instead, he refused to wrestle, and the coach went - fine. not even worth fighting over.

so he went to the 140 pounder, and that guy said, nosir, my mom said mormons can't wrestle girls. next guy down, 135 pounder, now he knew he could pull the same card and thus did. 130 pounder, 125, both tapped out. he got to the 120 guy, and that guy was catholic, but he said he was considering being mormon, and thus would have to pass. as a precaution.

coach blew up a little at that. he said "is there anyone - anyone - on this entire goddamn team that is willing to wrestle a girl?" and then he pointed at me and said "YOU. MAT. GO."

and i'll be real, if i'd been paying more attention, i'd have pulled the mormon card too, but i'd just been putting all that audio into a buffer file because i was reading, so i was halfway across the mat before i even processed what had been said and by then it was too late to turn back.

still i had a plan. and my plan - my beautiful, perfect plan - was to do what i'd always done. tackle, flip, pin, win. sit down. read. bore my family to death. move on.

i got the first part right. she was bigger than me, but she wasn't taller. just an incredibly stout woman. god built me like a snake with glasses, just as he built her like a combat cube. the problem was the half nelson. soon as she was down, i tried hooking my arm under hers from behind and for both genders, the defense for this move is just clamping your arms really fucking tight against your sides. if you're a guy, that's whatever, but if you're a girl - especially if you're god's chosen combat cube - that pins your opponents hand right against your boob.

so, i got the hook in, she clamped, my whole arm pressed against something soft, my coach was yelling THE HALF NELSON. BABYLON! JUST FINISH IT! FINISH THE HALF NELSON! and i was just trying to press hard enough to finish, when then my brain went

...oh.

and i flipped out. of course i flipped out. i like girls, and touching a boob is an elemental experience, and i was not ready. i was not prepared. i had not committed the sacred rites. i recoiled like i'd just brushed my arm against the surface of the sun, stood up, and backed away. nobody in the room knew why i'd given up. all they saw was me, right about to win, suddenly flailing around and scrambling. so everyone started screaming at me to just get the half nelson again, and i couldn't really yell back there's a fuckin' boob in the way and it was very distressing, and the only way i could think of to make them stop was just doing it over again the right way.

so i did.

i hunkered down and prepared myself for Wrasslin' Attempt #2: The Sequel.

i knocked her down again, EZPZ. i went for the half nelson again, but she knew what i was about to do so she super clamped, and i knew she was gonna super clamp, so i wound my arm back like a pop-eye cartoon punch before swinging my arm through the gap between her bicep and her side, but the amount of time i spent winding back super signalled what i was about to to do, which gave her time to clamp even harder, which somehow redirected the entire force of the popeye punch to the bottom of her bra.

it spat out a single boob the same way an action hero might spit out one single tooth after getting a solid crack across the jaw. as if to say:

*ptooie.* "that all you got?"

i did not actually see this. my experience was that first there was an arm, then there was a bit of boob, but i was braced, i was ready, forward at all costs, tatakae motherfuckers, and then the boob went away, and i didn't know where it went but my team, and the audience, and everyone who was in front of me, they all gasped like i just kicked them in the stomach. except for my coach. he was behind me, and thus one of the four people in the room who did not see the boob. now my mom, my dad, my grandma, and my grandpa, they all got flashed but nooooooo, coach thunderbutt was behind me, and he didn't see shit so he was still yelling NOOOOOO BABYLON WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST FINISH THE NELSON! GO FOR THE KILL! BABYLON! BABYLON!

but i did not go for the kill. i stood up and she stuffed her boob back real fast, and we just kind of circled each other awkwardly until time ran out and i won on points. that's not technically allowed, but the ref had some mercy on me.

my coach did not.

i barely had time to sit down before he strode over to the bench to chew me out.

"babylon," he said, in that very calm way people get when they're too pissed to yell. "why didn't you pin?"

and i didn't know how to say well coach, i tried, but there was a boob, and it kept getting in the way, and my mom was watching, and so was my dad, and so was his dad, and his mom, and god (like bible god) and that's a can of worms because i'm pretty sure he was already mad at me, and i'm wearing spandex, and i think i might have to move to siberia, so instead i said

"i uh. i forgot how to do the half nelson."

which is actually impossible. forgetting how to do the half nelson is like forgetting how to swallow your spit.

and he looked at me, like i was the dumbest person in the entire world, and i looked through him like i'd just survived my 250th day in a trench at verdun, and he said: fine.

fine.

but we're all going to practice it for an hour tomorrow because you forgot.

and then he left.

and my buddies had the gall to be salty about it. i got so many comments saying "dude, why didn't you just tell him the truth?" and i said "you can if you care so damn much. you could've wrestled the girl too. maybe someone else should do the hard thing today."

but they didn't. so the next day, we did an hour of half nelson drills, and i spent a decent amount of time getting thrown around the mat, and it was pleasant in exactly the way that i hated and the year after that, to the surprise of everyone but myself, i quit wrestling and joined the trivia team.

and if you want more reasons to love my mom, my grandpa joked after the match that i might have to talk to my bishop about it, and my mom told him he would be allowed to make jokes after he stood in front of a crowd of 110 people in spandex underpants while wrestling a woman that was not his wife.

he paused for almost five seconds after that. then he said: aw. hell. sorry babylon.

and i'd have preferred my apology from god, but getting it from him was pretty good too.

[skrunksthatwunk]

i came back to the dorm and one of the turtles is straight up missing (...she's probably dead is my guess but i didn't wanna hit my roommate with that question during class yk) and the tank (which still contains a live turtle) is full of fucking BUBBLING algae my roommate's stuff was On My Bed the floor is. gross and roomie's cat's (pretty limited amount of) toys are nowhere to be seen (meaning he's attacking me and i have nothing to redirect him with) one of my baskets has been shredded and ??? one of my skirts (which was presumably hung up before i left) was found on the floor of my closet fucking dried stiff and stained both yellow AND glittery????? everything smells awful in a familiar way i can't quite identify and the floors are sticky in a bunch of places. what the FUCK is going on

[mortalityplays]

talking about impenetrable accents/dialect just reminded me. when I was in Milan a couple of years back I was staying in this little rathole hotel and I had the biggest fucking migraine, so I was like non c'è problema I'll just go buy painkillers. of course every pharmacy on the map in a three block radius was closed, so my stupid ass just starts wandering around trying to figure out on the fly if you can get OTC from supermarkets in italy.

I walk into this little everything store (to my foreign eyes the kind of place that back home could sell you a bunch of carrots, a 6-pack of beer, pantyhose, bleach and a screwdriver set) and I see some household basics in the back but not what I need. with the confidence of a person who is only in the city for 3 days because he got bored and packed a bag and booked the cheapest flight available the week before (<= MENTAL ILLNESS), I was like no worries I know some italian, I can just ask.

I grab a bottle of water, walk up to the counter, and I'm like Ciao, hai il paracetamolo? And the guy is like che, and I'm like paracetamolo. Per la mia testa. And he's like che?

This is where I would have said 'aspirina' except I can't take aspirin for medical reasons, or 'antidolorifico' except I don't know that word and I've got no phone data for google translate and also I'm stupid. So in my fucked up leith-glasgow-italian accent I'm like paaa-ra-cetta-mollll-ooo. He's like ohhh bene, bene, and he calls another guy out of the back and asks him to go get something. Other guy then walks out of the store into the street, and before I can be like hey, che la fuck, he comes back and hands me a huge bundle of herbs.

At this point I'm like okay this entire interaction has been a bust, but these guys have been very nice and patient and they're both smiling happily at me because they've been of service, so I'm like ahh perfetto, grazie, pay them a couple of euros and leave.

EVENTUALLY I find a pharmacy that's open, and my head is fucking killing me, and my phone still isn't connecting, and now I have this small shrubbery poking out of my coat pocket, so I don't even bother looking around the shelves. I just walk straight to the counter and I'm like uhh ciao, scusi. And hearing my nightmare of an accent the guy answers in english and I'm like thank christ, do you please have paracetamol. Not aspirin, I can't take aspirin. And he's like yeah yeah hold on, goes into the back, comes out with what I need.

Only when he comes out he gives me this look, and then he starts laughing. And then he pretends he's not laughing and rings me up and I pay, and as I'm leaving I can see him losing it. But I don't care, my head is going to explode, I'm going back to the rathole to close the blinds and fall comatose for four hours.

When I get back to my hotel room I take off my coat and remember the huge bouquet of herbs in my pocket. They smell amazing, and I'm like I'm pretty sure this is parsley in which case I can just get some tomatoes and mozzarella later and make it work. but since I have no idea what that interaction was, I want to make sure. I bring out my phone to get a visual reference of what parsley leaves look like, and because I was using it for google translate earlier I put 'parsley' in the wrong box like a dope and translate it to italian.

prezzemolo

I wish I could have been the pharmacist in the moment he looked at my tired pissed off anglophone ass, heard me say 'paracetamol' in my fucked up accent, and turned around saw what was in my pocket. I'd have lost my shit too.

[causenessus]

JUST KNOW APPARENTLY I MISCOUNTED MY TAGS AND I WANTED TO PUT THIS IN MY FAVORITES AND PANTRY STAPLES AND FIRST AID KIT BUT I DIDN'T HAVE ENOUGH ROOM SO I SWITCHED OUT PANTRY STAPLE TAG FOR THE FIRST AID KIT TAG!!! (this makes sense to no one but me BUT EGGY THIS WAS SO GOOD)

THE MANEATER CHAPTER NINE: diet pepsi

masterlist

divider credits to roseraris

"Man, I swear she's the one who asked me."

Iwaizumi believes him. That’s the worst part. Actually, the worst part is this odd pang he gets in his chest. He doesn’t have the right to feel betrayed, and yet, here he is, feeling betrayed and jealous and pushing some random man out the door just because she batted her eyelashes at him.

He’s fucked. Iwaizumi’s totally fucked.

“Don’t care. Club’s closed, go home,” Iwaizumi instructs, tone cold and detached. And before pretty boy can respond, he’s closing the doors in his face and locking them, more than ready for this fucking night to be over with.

She’s in their spot, sitting on a milk crate, cigarette hanging lazily from her lips, in one of her ridiculous outfits. Iwaizumi sighs at the sight of her; her drunkenness is evident in the way her limbs hang from her, sloppily, like they’re hardly connected to her at all. He doesn’t try to convince himself he’s not worried. Iwaizumi’s past that point.

She offers no reaction as he pulls up his milk crate to sit beside her, she just pulls the cigarettes away and breaths out a line of smoke. “Rough night?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Fuck off,” she mumbles, but there’s none of her usual bite to it. “Thanks for getting that guy off me. I changed my mind about thirty seconds in.”

Iwaizumi squirms. “Yeah, I could tell.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Iwaizumi doesn’t move. He’s never quite seen her like this before. Quiet and solemn. Even with a drink thrown in her face she was blubbering and expressive and loud. Now her expression is straight and unwavering, her words a pitch lower than they usually are. He doesn’t know how to deal with her like this.

“I got into an argument with Kiyoko,” she offers suddenly, and Iwaizumi tilts his head to look directly at her. “Was my fault, for sure. But she wants to quit, get her own place. She said she’s tired of this lifestyle.”

Iwaizumi watches her face for any give or any sort of tell. But she doesn’t flinch or twitch and there’s no watering in her eyes and this feels suddenly more severe than any other conversation they’ve had. He shifts and pulls out a cigarette of his own. “And, to you,” Iwaizumi starts, flicking at the end of his lighter, “this lifestyle is sorta synonymous with you, right?”

She turns her head to glare at him. She looks tired, that coating of makeup on her face doing little to conceal the dark bruises under her eyes. “Don’t be a dick about it.”

“I’m not being a dick about it,” he contests gently, exhaling smoke. “I’d be upset too.”

“You would?”

He nods. “Yeah. It fucking sucks when it feels like people are moving on from you.”

Her head drops, and her eyes find the ground. “She’s my best friend. I was mean to her.”

Iwaizumi does something unexpected then. He doesn’t realize he’s doing it until he’s already done it, but he raises his arm and throws it over her shoulder, pulling her and her milk crate closer to him as he does so. His heart hammers in his throat when she lets her head fall against his shoulder. “She’ll forgive you.”

There are goosebumps on the skin of her arm. Iwaizumi can feel them, and he lets himself believe they’re not from the chilled, late summer night. “I wanted to go home with someone so I wouldn’t have to go home to see her. Is that pathetic?”

Iwaizumi swallows a lump in his throat. “You can come back to my place, if you want.”

✧˖*°࿐

She’s standing in Iwaizumi’s bedroom. She cleaned her face off with Oikawa’s micellar water and used his expensive face wash and moisturizer. She pulled off her fake eyelashes and left them on Iwaizumi’s nightstand, next to the glass of water and Advil he left her, and now she’s standing in the middle of his bedroom, wearing a t-shirt he pulled from the bottom of his drawer and a pair of sweatpants she had to roll up not to trip over.

His room is exactly what she would expect. Plain walls and grey sheets. Methodically neat and organized. Black wooden furniture and dumbbells stuffed in the corner. It feels oddly familiar, being in a room that is so him.

There’s a knock on the other side of the door. Polite of him to knock on his own bedroom door. Standing feels awkward, so she sits at the edge of his bed. “Come in,” she says, quieter than she needs to, like she’s afraid of getting caught.

Iwaizumi opens the door, and then hovers there for a moment. He looks like he has something caught in his throat. “Do you need anything else?” he asks.

“Nah. Are you sure you don’t want me to sleep on the couch though?” she asks, knotting her hands together on her lap.

“Take the bed,” he insists. He has an expression on that she can’t read. That might be on purpose. “You look different.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Different?”

“Without all the makeup. Less intimidating, I guess.”

“Sorry,” she says with a slight eyeroll. “I’ll put a full face of makeup back on, so you don’t get uncomfortable by what I actually look like.”

“Not uncomfortable,” Iwaizumi is quick to correct, and then he takes a step back, hand reaching for the light. “Goodnight.”

He leaves her in the darkness, and she settles into his sheets. They smell like him. And she’s not sure if she’s still just too drunk, but she sort of hopes the smell lingers on her skin by morning. It’s the last thought she has before she falls asleep.

✧˖*°࿐

She is awoken before she’s ready. The blinds of his bedroom are ripped open, and the morning sunlight invades her rest. She groans, and grabs the closest corner of blanket she can find to pull it over her face. “Go away,” she grumbles.

Iwaizumi chuckles. “Gotta get up, brat. I got you breakfast.”

She groans. “Don’t want breakfast. Wanna sleep.”

She doesn’t know what time it is and it’s hardly even registered where exactly she is. All she can think about is hiding in possibly the warmest and softest place she’s ever been in her life, and sleeping for eight more hours or so.

And then, the blanket is ripped from her, and once exposed to the cold, outside air, she shoots upright. Iwaizumi grins. She glares. “Breakfast, c’mon. Before my roommates wake up.”

That motivates her. With less reluctance now, she rises, and follows Iwaizumi to his kitchen, quietly complaining the entire time, continuing to do so as she devours as a bagel. Whatever last night was, it was just theirs. No roommates need to know.

When she leaves, she leaves in his clothes, her own ones bundled up into tight balls of fabric and shoved to the bottom of her purse. She wears her platform boots under his sweatpants and at least they allow her a few extra inches of height so she’s not dragging them along the pavement as Iwaizumi walks her home.

By the time he leaves her at her front door, they’ve returned to normal, trading insults back and forth like it’s the only language they know how to speak. But when she closes her own bedroom door behind her and falls onto her bed, she’s still wearing his clothes, and it all feels different.

✧˖*°࿐

Iwaizumi was going to wash his sheets. But he lies down on top of his bed, and notices they smell like her perfume. He looks to his nightstand, and sees her fake eyelashes, lying there with bits of glue stuck to them. And he decides to leave the traces of her there, for now.

extras!

yn rode home from the club with iwaizumi on the back of his skateboard

he went slower than usual because he was afraid of her getting hurt

yn and kiyoko has fought before but they always make up in the end ; yn takes it harder when she fights with kiyoko because she hates the feeling of disappointing her

iwaizumi had her ass up and out of bed at 7:30 in the goddamn morning

she was pissed

taglist: @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @deluluforcarlos55 @localgaytrainwreck @cherrypieyourface @eclecticeggknightpsychic @httpakkeiji @does-directions @needtoloveoutloud @causenessus @kawaii-angelanne @thatonecroc @v1oletfury @lonesomedrive @nnnyxie @guitarstringed-scars @nbcvs @garfieldissocool @iheartpinky @mollyrolls @yogurtkags @yuminako @michivrse @19calicos @sunnyskiezzzz @bailey-reeds @staileykout @kitskasoboring @loverlunaire @iluvaquaphor @lllaw @alpha-mommy69 @acowboykisser @karasyuu @aquariarose @torkorpse @wave2mia @southernfrogprincesd @mfcherry @adorerinn @soulfullystarry @jaynawayna

[coweye]

The Worst Logan

Logan Howlett x Reader!Loganverse| smut | 5.8k words

Summary: You are the deceased-anchor-being-Logan's lover, having found yourself with Laura in the void, you navigate meeting the variant of the love of your life. Sweet dick kicking angst with gratuitous smut, cause we all know Logan eats pussy like a CHAMP. 😤

This is self indulgence at its finest, but it had be to done. 7-years ago, the movie Logan broke something within me that has finally been fixed! 🤠💕

Warning: Explicit - smut. canon death, depression, angst, spoilers for Logan / Wolverine and deadpool, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, creampie, all the good stuff. 18+

The first time you see him again, the new him, the other him you mean. It’s in the cave accompanied by a man who talks far too much.

You recognise his voice in an instant when the mouth finally allows him to get a word in edgeways. His voice. 

You’ve heard it nearly every night for the past seven years. It's a few octaves deeper than you remember and filled to the brim with vitriol but it's definitely his. The realisation that your memory has been warped by time is a blow to the gut but you continue towards the sound all the same.

When finally you round the corner Logan stands before you in all his glory. For a moment you are rendered utterly unable to form a single sentence as he leans against the wall, a bottle of bourbon in his palm and adorned in yellow and blue.

Your mind can't reconcile this figure as the man you buried. He has the same sneer, the same broad shoulders, he even has the same stance - but Logan, your Logan, would rather die than wear that garish yellow suit and admit to being the hero he always was. 

His nose flares in what you believe to be recognition as he smells your presence, you allow your powers to retreat and reveal yourself. As your invisibility ebbs away Logan snarls in surprise as the talkative man in red gasps theatrically and begins jumping on the spot. 

Your fears are proven well founded when your eyes connect with his across the room, instead of the love and recognition, you find only open hostility and rage.

Your heart had bulldozed all logic, you were in the fucking void, of course it was a variant.

This Logan looks younger; his hair not so grey, his face unscarred and his eyes not so tired. 

This not-quite-Logan stares right back at you seemingly ill at ease with the stranger who is currently taking an inventory of his face. 

“Logan, that's them. It’s X-23 and Y/N, the one’s I told you about.” You graze your palm along your daughter's back in support as you come to stand beside her. 

“Her name is Laura.” It’s a knee jerk reaction; your correction. Your girl wasn’t the sum total of an experiment, she was her own person with her own thoughts and feelings, not a weapon to be utilised. 

The Wolverine’s gaze darts between the two of you, it’d be comical if you didn’t feel like you were about to regurgitate your lunch. They land on Laura, and linger there for a few moments, before they return to you, it's as if he’s trying to find you in her features. 

You barely hear the man you will later come to know fondly as Wade Wilson, question how you all ended up in the void.

“There was a knock at the door TVA sent me here, saying my world was dying … and I never even got the chance to fight for it.” Blade explains remorsefully. 

“They sent us here because they knew we’d put up a fight.” You utter distractedly, finally breaking your staring contest with Logan as he takes a swig from the bottle he’s currently white knuckling. 

“People like us don’t go quietly, TVA knows that so they took us out.” Elektra attests.

“The answer is yes, I’m in.” Wade declares.

“In what?” Blade questions bemused by the man in red. 

“A team up, you me, me you, all of us together, lets get the fuck outta’ here.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking liar!” Logan growls, furious at the other man. 

“It was an educated wish!”

“HA!” The loathing behind it makes you pause, he was so angry. 

The heat in his voice, the resentment, it burns you. You supposed even your Logan had his fair share of rage.  

When he arrived at the mansion all those years ago, fresh faced and wild, you had adored him even then, though Logan was far too preoccupied with Jean to notice the torch you carried for him back then.

It was ironic that It had taken the utter annihilation of the X-Men to bring you together. Charles’ accident had left the two of you as sole survivors. Over the years in hiding your ability to mould force fields managed to keep the worst of the effects of Charles’ seizures at bay, but Charles Xavier was one of the most powerful telepaths to grace the earth and your powers had limits. 

Those years were some of the darkest and yet the best of your life, you found yourself growing to love the man the world called The Wolverine.

You realise you’ve entirely tuned out Wade’s rousing speech and have spent the time analysing the man wearing your love’s face currently gargling bourbon though your name pulls you out of your reverie. 

“Laura, Y/N? What’s it gonna’ be girlies?” 

“Lets fucking go.” Laura agrees heartily, you simply nod still dazed. 

“YES! LET’S FUCKING GO!” Wade shouts back fist pumping. 

“You’re all fucking dead.”

Much later in the evening when the sun has finally set you seek him out. When you come across the father and daughter duo before the campfire you hold back, your skin slowly begins reflecting light, fading from vision as you call upon your powers to hide in the treeline. 

They both needed this and it wasn’t something you were about to get in the way of. They talk for a little while, before they part ways, both a little teary. Laura nods your way despite being unable to see you as she heads back to the cave, her nose just as keen as her fathers. 

So it shouldn’t surprise you a few moments later when you hear Logan's voice call across the clearing.

“You gonna’ stand there all night, Bub?” The man sounds utterly exhausted. 

You say nothing in response, only dismissing your powers and revealing yourself as you advance. You take Laura’s seat at the fire, not quite having the courage to look at him just yet. 

“You hear all that? Should mind your own damn business.” You remembered this Logan well, the one aching for a fight, desperate to shed his vulnerability and bloody his fists. 

“I didn’t hear a thing, Logan.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, you haven’t had to gentle parent The Wolverine in a while but it’s like riding a bike. “I wanted to let the two of you talk, she needed it and I think maybe you did too.”

“What do you fuckin’ know.” He growls dismissively, swigging from his bottle of what now appears to be scotch. “You can skip the speech and go back up, I’m not looking for company.” 

“I’m not here to tell you what to do, Logan.” Finally, you look away from the fire and find his eyes fixed on you, you swallow the lump in your throat before you speak. “I just wanted to see you.”

“See me?” He questions incredulously. “Well, keep the change, bub. Good night.”

Despite your smile at his words, you can’t help the tears that begin to cloud your eyes. Your mind and your heart have been locked in a constant battle since setting eyes on him. This man by all rights is Logan. The man you have mourned relentlessly and yet in every way that matters he isn’t.

“It’s like seeing a ghost.” Is the only explanation you can give him, his response is a stoic cheers with his bottle before he takes a deep gulp. 

Finally either his curiosity or the alcohol gets the better of him as he questions. “You her Mother?” 

“Yes and no.” His stare doesn’t leave your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “Her biological mother was a woman from Mexico City that the fuckers in the lab exploited, all we know is that she disappeared after giving birth. After … you … after everything that happened in North Dakota…” You trail off.

Your voice is suddenly thick and your words get stuck in your throat as you try to make them form. It's utterly embarrassing as you feel the traitor tears begin to form. 

A bottle of Johnny Walker enters your field of vision from where you sit staring at your clasped hands in your lap. Startled, you glance up to find the Wolverine standing before you, casting an impossibly large shadow as he holds out the bottle.

You accept the offering from his gloved hand, your fingers grazing his in the transaction as you take a swig or two (or three) before passing it back. He looks thoughtful when he places his lips on the place where your own had just lingered, as he retakes his seat. With amber courage coursing your veins, you continue. 

“She was all I had - if not for her, I-.” You wipe your nose, staring back into the fire. If it was a struggle to meet his eyes before, it was impossible for you now.  “I just couldn’t see the point in being alive anymore if everything just slowly gets stripped away; the X-Men, then Charles and then Lo-” 

You don’t know it, but you’re preaching to the fucking choir with your words. It was rare to find a soul, going through the exact same torture as yourself. Logan found himself softening to you, it was as involuntary as it was unwelcome, but he couldn’t help it as you described a battle so close to the one he fought daily. 

“-she reminded me what I had to live for. Laura she is fierce and so fucking kind; she is everything I loved about him.” You cut your trauma dumping to a swift end as you remember yourself. “So no, to answer your question. I’m not her biological mother, but she’s my daughter in every way that counts.”

Silence reigns for a moment as neither one of you knows what to say to the other. 

“You loved him?” Logan’s voice is deeper than before when he speaks the sentence. You raise your eyes from the fire to find his for the first time since you began monologuing. They’re filled with something you can’t quite name.

“I did.”

Logan seems to contemplate this, mulling it over as he continues drinking. Finally, he seems to reach some sort of conclusion.  “You should get some sleep, big day for you tomorrow.”

“Can I stay here … with you for tonight?” The words slip out before you really even mean them to. Tomorrow you might be going to your death and the ghost of the love of your life is here alive and real, what do you really have to lose?

Logan does a double take, not quite expecting those to be the words that leave your lips. “I’m not him, Darlin’.”

“No, I suppose you’re not.” You sigh, “but could you please just hold me whilst I sleep, James?”

A huge part of you expects him to tell you to fuck off back to the cave and leave him to his booze fueled pity party. However, against all odds, he doesn’t do that. 

Logan simply lifts the half full bottle of scotch to his lips and downs every last drop. He’s a little unsteady on his feet when finally he stands up to his full height and turns towards the blankets he’s laid out on the ground. 

“Fuck it.” He growls and drops himself like a sack of potatoes onto the pile with little regard for his own body. You’ve certainly had nicer invitations into his bed but when he waves you over with a lazy gesture, you can’t help but hurry before he changes his mind. 

Before you know it you’re tucked into Logan’s side. His gloved hand doesn’t quite seem to know where to go, more accustomed to brutality than tenderness these days as it hesitates for a moment suspended in the air. After some careful consideration he delicately places it on the dip in your waist securing you to him. 

Logan’s breath is uneven, though he’s doing his best to seem unaffected by your closeness. It has been years since someone has touched him with such easy affection and the way your body curls around his own as if it was created to do just that is driving him crazy. 

You are completely at ease with him, you trust him so entirely it almost breaks his fucking heart. Logan's stomach is heavy with something he can’t name, you fucking terrify him. Yet, he doesn’t move because you feel so fucking good as he holds you. 

It's scary, you realise, how easy it would be to pretend this was your Logan as you melt into his embrace. He smells exactly the same as you bury your face in his neck, the roughness of his beard feels the same pressed against your forehead. 

This Wolverine’s arms are a little fuller and his chest a little firmer, but he still holds you the same. You make a decision to not focus on such difficult philosophical concepts as variants and the morality of switching out your Wolverine. You decide to live in the moment, to just enjoy the furnace of his body keeping you warm and his arm encircling your waist protecting you from the world, it’s so easy to pretend that this was your Logan, so you do. 

And you fall asleep quicker than you have in years.

It is still night when you awaken, it's not quite dawn but the fire has burned out to a low smoulder. You’re not sure what has awoken you from the best sleep you’ve had in a long while, that is until you feel the arms wrapped around you and the sleeping Wolverine holding you in a death grip against his chest, his half hard appendage digging into your hip. 

Everything is still hazy; you’re floating in that sweet spot between waking and dreaming, you forget about North Dakota and, god forgive me, Laura. 

You’re back in your bed at home and Logan is holding you.

There's no my logan, new logan, old logan. 

He’s just Logan. 

You bury yourself deeper in his neck. 

It’s only for a moment though before it all comes flooding back and the agony overwhelms you like a blade to the gut. 

Instantly tears flood your cheeks as you shake from your silent sobs. 

“...Y/N?” Logan's voice is thick with confusion and sleep, his grip has loosened somewhat to allow you to breathe but he doesn’t release his hold on you. “What’s wrong darlin’?” 

That affectionate name is the last nail in the coffin it fucking ends you. 

All teary, and regrettably maybe a teensy bit snotty, you lean forward and kiss him. Kiss isn’t the right word but it’s your intention. Your lips touch one anothers before he’s pulling away and holding you back. 

“Y/n… Darlin’ you don’t want this… I’m not-”

“But you are Logan. You’re him just as much as he’s you.” Your hands rise to his jaw, running your finger along its familiar sharp edge. “You’re Logan.”

“Y/N… I’d be taking advantage…” His voice is firm yet gruff as he tries to inject reason into the conversation. As usual being the good guy he’s constantly telling everyone he’s not. 

“I am so goddamn sick and tired of being sad, please Logan.” This time when you capture his lips, he doesn’t rear back. You’re not sure what’s going through his mind, but his self control seems to snap within him as he begins returning the kiss in earnest.

Logan’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip begging entry, entry you swiftly allow. You’re breathing heavily through your nose as he plunders the depths of your mouth, exploring your mouth with his quick tongue. 

Deciding to make the next move you push yourself up, throwing a leg over him to straddle his lower stomach. He’s lifted the top half of his body to ensure he doesn’t lose your mouth, your teeth clash slightly with the movement and you can’t help a bubble of nervous laughter.  He pays it little mind though as he swallows the noise, his hands coming to rest on your hips. 

Instantly, you grind your hips downward on the growing bulge that lurks below. Logan lets out a deep groan at the friction and his hands on your hips raise to the bottom of your tee in response, his thick hands tugging at it requesting your permission.

Nodding, you pull back causing him to groan at the loss of your hot mouth on his. Though it's only for a moment as the second the tee is over your head, he’s back on you, only it's your bare neck he’s lashing with affection now.

Logan breathes in deep your scent mixing with the heady aroma of your arousal. He’s nipping and licking along the smooth skin, soothing his bites as quickly he makes them. It's the animal instinct within him, telling him to devour you entirely; make you his. 

“Logan…” You gasp, your eyes are clenched shut in pleasure as he bucks his hips upwards into your jean covered centre.  

Logan pulls back to take you in, writhing above him in the moonlight, you’re fucking beautiful, though the flash of familiar metal between your breasts catches his eye, unable to stop himself, he catches it in his fist. 

Dog tags; his old dog tags.

‘LOGAN’ is etched into the aged metal and they’re warm to the touch from living beneath your shirt over your heart. 

The realisation hits him like a freight train, not only was he loved by you, but for his other self to have given you these, he fucking loved you. 

He’s not sure why it didn’t occur to him before, that the other him was as devoted to you as you were to him. He’s not entirely sure how to feel about it, but he twists his hands, careful not to snap the metal string, but using it to pull you close. 

For the other dead Logan, the hero he’s heard so goddamn much about, he decides he’ll give you the treatment you deserve. 

As if you weigh nothing at all he flips you onto your back, his hands dropping the dog tags and falling to the waistband of your jeans. His dexterous hands undo the button so quickly, that your trousers are peeled from your legs before you know it, leaving you in an unimpressive unmatching set of underwear beneath his roaming eyes. Though Logan couldn’t give a fuck as he groans at the sight of your body exposed to him. 

Logan begins by kissing down your stomach before his hands linger on your black panties, he can't help but grin at the tiny barely there bow in the middle of them; you’re like a gift all wrapped up for him. 

His eyes lift to meet your own as he begins sucking at the fabric that's keeping your pussy from him, it's already damp with your arousal and by the time he finishes, absolutely sodden with his saliva.

“Logan, please…” you whisper desperately as your hands find his ‘tufts’ for a lack of a better word. They were new, but you liked them, plus they now seemed pretty functional. 

He takes only a moment to remove his gloves, before they return eagerly to your body. Those thick hands traverse the planes of your thighs, they’re quick in their passing as they make their way up to the waistband of your panties, he hooks them over his thumb and reveals your soaking core to his hungry eyes and he’s right back to wanting to fucking devour you, and boy, fucking does he. 

Enthusiastic, would be the word, earth-shattering would be another - the word to describe how Logan eats pussy.

Logan without much preamble dives into your centre, his tongue slips into your hot wet heat, lingering for a moment on your clit, circling it reverently before he dips that talented tongue inside of you. His nose knocks against your clit several times, each more delicious than the last as he utterly devours your pussy. He moans, grinding his hips into the dirt and readjusts pulling you closer, his thick muscled arms locking under your thighs as you buck against his mouth. 

You're a complete goner the second he slips a single long thick finger inside of you. 

“Fuck, Lo, I’m gonna-” 

“Come, baby... I got’ya.” He mumbles into your pussy. And fuck me, he does. He carries on lapping at you all the way through your orgasm, drawing it out of you like the pied fucking piper of pussy. It feels like you’ve been falling for hours by the time you finally come down, only Logan doesn’t allow you any reprieve before he’s back to lashing your clit with his quick tongue. Your hands find those faux ear tufts once more and he groans as you pull on them a little more sharply than you intend in your shock, in answer Two fingers bury themselves deep inside of you.

“One more.” He’s negotiating orgasms, but you have no qualms as he rubs his nose side to side with affection against your sensitive bud. His tongue and nose moving in pace with his fingers, currently fucking in and out of you. 

It's when he scissors those thick long fingers inside of you, hitting that spongy spot within you that makes your back arch. 

Your top half has left the ground, he grunts in annoyance, suspending your hips back to his mouth at the angle he likes. Those deep hazel eyes meet yours from between your thighs, crazed and animalistic, driven wild with arousal as he eats your pussy with gusto.

It's that image that thrusts you over the edge once more, your back hitting the ground as your body seizes, thrusting your hips against his mouth. 

Without any preamble a third finger joins stretching you deliciously. The hand not currently fucking you, leaves your hip to caress your stomach stroking the flesh there, not quite able to reach your breast. 

“Lo… fuck… yes… right… right fucking there.” You cry as he draws your second orgasm of the night out, only when you tug at his tuft due to overstimulation does he acquiesce and pull back, only of course, after cleaning up your gaping desperate hole. 

He sucks his fingers clean as he sits back on his knees, his cock thick and tenting against the yellow bottoms of his suit. Your arousal has soaked through his beard making his chin slick, he wipes it with a single swipe with the back of hand though, it does very little for his sodden chin. 

Tired of not touching him, you sit forward grabbing at his belt. It's a difficult contraption that confounds you, though Logan is far too wound up to find any humour from it. 

 He replaces your hands unbuckling the thing before finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. 

There, finally in all his glory, he is exposed to you and you’ve never been a religious woman, but Mary mother of fucking christ, he is gorgeous. Logan’s chest is fucking… transcendant to behold, it's like he’s been sculpted by god herself, the light isn’t the best out of here, but you hope to god you don’t die tomorrow simply for wanting to take your time and lick each and every single one of those muscles on his stomach. 

Its your turn to leap forward onto your knees and join his mouth with yours, he tastes distinctly of you and his chin is still sodden, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck, you love the fact your desire is still marking his skin. 

Your hands trace the firm abs at your disposal, before dipping into his now open trousers and underwear to find him rock hard. 

If his physique impressed you, you had a big storm coming, because his cock was a fucking resplendant beauty and it was plain to see from the swelling Logan really liked eating pussy. 

Your fingers barely touched as you pumped him, once twice, spreading the copious amounts of precum along his shaft.

“Fuck.” He grunts into your mouth. You lean down, positioning yourself to take him in your mouth, though he stops you in your tracks grabbing your shoulder. “No sweetheart, I want your pussy.” You clench around nothing at his filthy words, this man will be the fucking death of you. 

You reach behind you and free your tits from their confines, another moan leaves his throat as he pushes you backwards. On his hands and knees he’s deliberate with every move as kicks the bottoms of his suit off as he prowls towards you.

Finally, he’s in between your legs naked as the day he was born. His hands are on your breasts, exploring the new plains exposed to him, playing with your nipples alternating between sucking and twirling them between his fingers. 

So lost in his skilled hands, you barely notice when one disappears to line himself up, it's a shock, the sudden intrusion, but not an unwelcome one as he thrusts himself forward and as deep as he can go. 

You moan his name into his ear, doing your best to keep your volume down.

He has prepared you well, you’re so worked up that he slides home through your tight slit. The sheer size of him means it's a stretch that borders on uncomfortable, but the second his hand finds your clit you’re clenching around him and grinding forward, desperate for more. Unable to control himself, his claws extend, he grunts pulling you close and thrusting them down into the ground. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts into your neck, where he's busy lavishing the flesh once again with bites. Your neck is going to be black and blue tomorrow, but you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck.

The two of you are so fucking close his bare skin so deliciously hot against your own, but you want more, you need more.

Logan pulls his hips backwards, pulling out of you until only the tip remains before slamming home and spearing you wide open his cock. Your moans blend together as you lose yourself in each other's bodies.

Logan is worked up from eating your cunt, so it doesn’t take long for the sensation to hit him.

“Fuck, where do you want it?” He grunts into your neck, as his hand descends to rub quick circles on your clit. He pulls your ass up, making sure to hit the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

You know he’s teetering on the edge, desperate to make you cum before he does. 

“Inside - come inside me, baby.” You whimper into his neck as he pounds into you reaching your deepest recesses with his thick cock, his hammering, it’s unforgiving with his enhanced strength but it pushes him deeper into spots you couldn’t have imagined. He groans at your words, sounding every bit the wounded animal he is. Your shared groans and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass as he takes you again, and again is all that can be heard in the clearing. 

Finally as he joins your lips in a kiss, you come hard on his cock. Clenching around him as your body writhes uncontrollably. 

Logan adjusts his hold on your thighs, now he uses your body, drawing out your pleasure but ultimately chasing his own. The pace is fast as he grunts and groans erotically into your neck, he fucking growls as his hips stutter against your own, and you know you should be more careful, but the thought of him cumming inside you has you gripping his cock like a vice once more. You give him a tight sheath to come in, and he pumps you fucking full of his cum and its a big fucking load. Logan thrusts a few more times, pushing his seed deep inside of you as he claims your mouth once more.

You run your hands through his hair as he lets his body fall against yours, he’s supporting his own weight, thank god, you don’t think you could handle his muscle, let alone the adamantium skeleton. He’s still sheathed inside you as the two of you revel in the closeness.

The silence stretches on for an amount of time you can’t quite quantify. The two of you take in your surroundings, listening to the quiet of the forest, until your breathing has finally calmed down. 

Logan lifts himself up on one arm, and pushes your hair back from your face. You stare at him in the moonlight for a long moment, unable to help yourself as you trace his familiar features. His strong nose and the curve of his brow, your finger dances along his flesh. 

Logan’s eyes close, so touch starved he basks in your affection. 

“I-” Logan goes to speak, before you drop your finger on his lips.

“It’s okay. Whatever happens tomorrow, happens. I’m okay with it.” You smile at him, there's a chill to the air but you’ve got your Wolverine warming you up. “I just wanted one night to be about something other than death.”

He takes your hand from his lips and kisses along the back of it and up your wrist, though It's a slippery slope as he hardens inside of you again. 

Logan manages to pull two more orgasms out of you before dawn.

When your time has run out, the two of you finally dress, not wanting to be found in a compromising position. Logan curls his body around yours and buries his face in your hair as he spoons you from behind. 

Just when you’re just on the cusp of sleep, he finally speaks into the night. Logan opens up about his world tearfully, instantly you reach your hand down, finding his own thicker one resting on your belly and you intertwine your fingers with his. He tells you of the mutant hunting as you draw comforting circles on the back of his hand, it's not much, but it's more than he’s ever had whilst reliving his worst day. When he has finally bared his soul, the two of you fall back into silence. 

After what has been an emotionally, not to mention physically taxing night the two of you finally fall asleep if only for a few more hours, two incredibly damaged souls offering one another comfort.

It’s later in the morning when you finally awake. The sun has risen that much is clear but you're slow to awaken from your comfortable position in Logan's arms, his warm strong body coiled against your back fighting off the worst of the early morning chill, his face still buried in your hair as he snores peacefully.

There’s a sensation niggling at you, you think it's what woke you up in the first place; you can’t shake the sensation of being watched. 

Lazily you open your eyes, only for your heart to drop to your asshole when you find Wade Wilson about 10-inches from your face lying on his side, his head supported by his hand.

“Mornin’ sleepy head, have a good night?” You can hear the smile in his voice. 

“AGH!”  Unable to stop both your cry of fear and your fight or flight response in progress, you throw yourself backwards, your powers activating of their own accord, and slamming your body into Logan’s chest. He startles awake, with the telltale ‘snikt’ of his claws extending as he orientates himself, his arm coming out to block you from the threat, despite not being able to see you. 

After your brain catches up, you call your power back, but Logan doesn’t do the same, keeping his claws out seemingly ready to slice up his not-so-best friend. 

“Get the fuck outta’ here, Wade.” Logan growls harshly at the other man, his voice is filled to the brim with hatred.

“Hmph - this is what I get for acting altruistically. I thought a good stress relieving bone in the woods with your cherie amour would really sort out that bee in your bonnet, but you sir are just a very unpleasant man and I’m worried that-”

“WADE.” This time Logan’s voice is a threat as he shouts at the man. You place a hand on his muscled arm to steady him. Though he may have stopped your heart with his antics, Wade isn’t doing anything particularly outrageous.  Logan shakes your hand from his arm and allows his claws to retract as he stands. 

“Thanks for jumping to my defence there, Y/N. Great to meetcha bt-dubs, huge fan.” You’re disoriented from the wakeup call but you shake the hand he offers you.  Honestly, you’re still trying to process the head-fuckery of the past day, so you don’t have a quick response for him, though the mouth doesn’t seem to mind as he continues. “That mean lil’ lady is asking for ya’. Thought I’d come and check you and big yellow weren’t still bumpin’ uglies. Didn’t want her to see you and Papa going to town on each other's fun parts.”

“Uh - Thanks… Wade?” 

“That’s me.” He theatrically begins bestowing multiple kisses on the back of your hand he still had in his grasp, which you retract gently. “Oh, and we’re done.”

Pushing yourself up, you go to stand though Logan offers you his newly gloved palm. You lock your fingers around his and the two of you stand together, inches apart and your fingers still intertwined, neither quite sure what to say to the other. Wade’s ‘awh’ over your shoulder shatters the moment and he drops your hand instantaneously. 

After a beat or two Logan leans forward, placing a single solitary kiss on your forehead. “See ya’ around, bub.”

“Where’s my smooch, Logie-bear?”

“Go fuck yourself, Wade.” He calls as he walks around, Logan doesn’t look back as he heads off into the forest. 

You still had faith he’d turn up for the fight, Logan always turned up when it counted and you knew this time would be no different. 

“Hate to see him leave, but love to watch him go.” Wade sighs linking his arm with yours. 

“Mmh, You can say that again.” You agree with the clown watching Logan’s ass as he walks away, you swear you see his step falter thanks to his impeccable hearing, but he doesn’t turn back. 

The two of you turn and you begin walking back to the cave arm in arm with the strange man to prepare for the assault on Cassandra’s lair when Wade finally asks the question you know he’s been dying to ask since meeting you “So, Y/N just between us girls… how big is it?”

LOGAN TENDER HAIR TUCK SUPREMACY RISE. I'll use it in every fic, don't think I won't.

Thanks for reading xxx

Graphics by my pal - @saradika-graphics 💕

[celiababy]

Ain't Right

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You have a major (borderline obsessive) crush on Joel, and you're on a mission to fuck him.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (56/20), swearing, fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, size kink, cum eating, name calling, kinda mean Joel, alcohol, vomiting, an extremely brief mention of suicide

Disclaimer: I lowkey don't know the logistics of the show so if some things are wrong please look over it I'm just trying to write smut about Joel Miller godbless.

Ain't Right part 2

Ever since that tortured old man showed up in Jackson, your life hasn't been the same.

Tommy's older brother, and your absolute undoing.

When Joel Miller rode into town, it was like everything suddenly made sense. The skies got clearer, the air smelled better, and the birds even chirped their love songs louder.

Everything about him drew you in; his cold demeanor, stoic face, tired eyes—but gentle around those he cared about, which was only a few select people.

And you certainly were not one of those select people.

Joel didn't know what to think about you.

To him, you were odd. Yes, you were undoubtedly the most beautiful girl in Jackson, but he felt distance between the two of you was essential.

He felt this way because he knew.

Joel wasn't oblivious to your stares; he might've been an old man, but he remembered the laws of attraction fairly well.

He didn't like the thought of you liking him.

You were young, attractive, and had plenty of age-appropriate prospects just begging for your attention. Every boy in Jackson wanted a piece of you—but you only had eyes for Joel.

He was getting old and tired, ain't no reason why you should be so fond over him.

He also didn't like that you made your attraction so obvious. It made people whisper, and Joel about had enough teasing from Tommy.

"You gonna let that young thing jump your bones or what, Joel?" Is an example of the few things his brother would chirp at him whenever you were around and had eyes on him like he was a target.

So, all things considered, it's no surprise when Joel is reluctant to make a supply run with you.

You had begged Tommy to let you go out and finally start pulling your weight, carefully adding that Joel would be a great teacher for a first timer like yourself.

You stand near the truck, squeezing the straps of your backpack while watching Joel and Tommy whisper to themselves a couple feet away.

"You can't find anyone else?" Joel growls lowly, narrowing his eyes at his insufferable brother who he’d really like to strangle right now.

"Are you seriously scared of a twenty year old girl, Joel?" Tommy asked exasperatedly, throwing his arm out in disbelief. "It'll take two hours tops, what the hell are you so scared of?" Joel is exhaling through his nose, dragging a hand down his jaw in complete disgruntlement.

"You know what the hell I'm scared of Tommy—goddammit," He gets in his brother’s face before realizing you’re still watching them.

He takes a moment to back up and calm down, breathing out through his nose.

"I do not need this town thinkin' I am encouraging this girls...feelin's." He murmurs lowly.

Tommy rolls his eyes before shoving Joel's backpack into his chest.

"Just don't fuck her, Joel. How hard could it be?"

Joel watches as Tommy turns his back and walks away, leaving just you and him.

Joel had spent a lot of time making sure he was never in a situation alone with you—now he was about to be your unsupervised mentor.

He feels a groan try and crawl its way out his throat, but he pushes it down.

He starts walking to the truck, not even looking at you as he passes and yanks the driver side door open with more force than necessary.

"Let's make this quick." He grunts out, climbing inside.

You do the same, only with a little bit more enthusiasm. ***

The trip is a complete bust.

Joel barely paid you any attention, no matter how many flirty gestures you made at him.

You'd say something remotely suggestive and he'd either glare at you, or just flat out ignore you.

But you were relentless. Giving up on him wasn't in the cards for you, no matter how many judgmental looks he casted your way.

You guys had been driving back to town for around five minutes; Joel has kept his eyes firmly on the road in fear of you sparking a conversation with him.

But you do anyways.

You turn your body to face him in the bench seat, your eyes cascading down his breath-taking side profile.

You zoned in on the gray patches of his beard, and how his face had the remnants of a long, unforgiving life weaved into his wrinkles and scars.

You're momentarily rendered speechless by his looks before he side-eyes you.

"What?" He huffs out, not being able to handle your intense stare any longer.

"Why not?"

A beat.

"What?" He asks again, his brows furrowing together, an annoyed and confused expression painting his features.

"Why won't you fuck me?"

Joel physically winces at your language, scoffing in what looks to be disgust as he starts shaking his head.

"We're not starting this." He snaps firmly, a tone in his voice that you haven't heard before.

Completely disregarding his words, you start.

"Is it because I'm not pretty enough?" Joel groans out, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Is it because there's someone else?" He's close to snapping. "Is it because you can't get it up? I heard thats a problem with guys your age-"

Joel slams on the brakes, sending you lurching forward. He shoves the truck into park before turning to face you, a scary look on his face.

"I am not going to fuck you--Christ almighty," Joel raises his voice at you.

You're staring at him, wide eyes and lips parted in surprise. You weren't really expecting this.

"you're bustin' my fuckin' balls, Look kid," He starts up again, this time with a softer tone. "M'about 40 years too old for you-"

You cut him off with a murmur. "36, I did the math."

"Same damn thing," he snaps, shaking his head. "Point is—you don't needa be wastin' your time with me; there are plenty boys your age that will satisfy your...you."

You scoff in his face but try to disguise it by clearing your throat.

"I'm not asking you to marry me, Joel," You start, a sad smile spreading across your lips. "S'just sex." You say with a shrug, blush coating your cheeks because now your mind is imagining sex with him.

He stays silent and looks away from you, closing his eyes like he couldn’t believe this was happening.

That urges you to say more.

"I won't tell anyone," You're practically whispering, looking down at your fidgeting hands in your lap. "I'd let you do anything you wanted to me."

Joel's heart cinches in his chest at your words, mostly because he can tell you're being so genuine.

Why the hell did you like him so much? He just couldn’t understand it.

But he can't entertain this any longer because he knows if he did, he'd give into you.

"I don't wanna hear another goddamn word outta your mouth." Joel says in a strikingly even and calm tone, putting the truck into drive and continuing back.

He's eerily silent, and so is the rest of the trip because you're too dejected to speak.

Eventually, you both arrive home and you're fast to get out of the truck.

You slam the door and keep your head down as you walk away, snow crunching beneath your boots.

Joel takes his time, watching you storm off with tired eyes.

He feels bad for being so rough on you, but he figured it was the only way to get you to stop liking him.

Tommy walks up, a concerned look on his face as he looks back between you and Joel.

"Guessin' you didn't fuck her."

***

Nobody had seen you in days.

The pain of rejection had you in a mental place that you had never experienced before.

No one has ever denied you—ever.

The situation was 100x worse considering you actually liked Joel, and he wasn't just another toy to play with.

Joel figured his life would get easier with you not around, and it kinda did in some aspects.

But he couldn't stop the gnawing feeling of guilt slowly eating at him like a parasite.

He'd been cruel to you in the way he went about things, and he felt bad.

Had he really broken your heart? He didn't know you liked him that much.

He sits in his living room, contemplating how to go about this entirely fucked up situation.

He debates making amends with you, apologizing and rejecting you again but in a gentler way.

He deliberates on his plan of action while nursing a glass of whiskey before he's interrupted by three bangs on his front door, followed by a screeching: "JOEL"

He mutters a 'what the fuck' under his breath, walking to the door and picking his 9mil up on the way.

His eyes widen when he sees you-standing there in all your glory.

It's the middle of winter and snowing like hell, yet you're wearing shorts and a tank top with a beer bottle in your hand.

"Jesus, kid-what the fuck," Joel ushers you inside quickly, taking his big jacket off the coatrack and draping it over you.

He also tosses his gun to the side, obviously you were no threat.

"You tryin' to get frostbit? Christ," he's swearing and muttering profanities as he guides you over to the couch, now basically swaddling you in blankets.

You've never been inside his house before, only ever walked passed it a few times. It smells like him.

You, however, smell like alcohol and bad decisions.

Joel picked up on how drunk you were the minute you stumbled through the door. He takes the bottle from your hand and sets it aside somewhere, glaring at you like how a mad parent would.

"The hell are you doin' out in the snow like that? Fuckin' death wish or somethin'?"

His words are kinda fuzzy in your ears, you're so drunk that you barely even register them.

An unprompted giggle spills from your lips as you shake your head at him.

"It's not snowing silly," You chide, making him out to be an idiot when, in actuality, it's a damn blizzard outside.

He knows from that statement alone that you are way off your rocker tonight.

"How much have ya had to drink, kid?" Joel asks, raking a hand through his graying hair.

"Don't call me kid," You snap, a quick flash of anger in your expression. "M'not a kid."

Joel rolls his eyes so hard that he probably caused a tsunami on the other side of the world.

“Yeah yeah, whatever. What are you doin’ here?” He asks exasperatedly, dragging a hand down his jaw while looking at your trembling figure.

There’s a long pause before you answer. You just got distracted by his big brown eyes.

“Jus’ wanted to say hi.” You murmur, unable to tear your gaze away from his face.

“Say hi?” He reiterates, looking at you like you’ve actually lost your mind.

You probably have.

After a moment, Joel can’t help but chuckle in disbelief, letting his body lean back against the couch.

The absurdity of it all turned humorous to him.

Here you are, sitting in his living room, practically nude with only his coat and blankets protecting your modesty, having just trekked through the snow all for what? To say hey?

You’re still sitting there, motionless and trying to remember how to breathe because his laughing face has your heart lighting off fireworks.

“Fuckin’ hell—hi.” Is all he says, turning his head to the side to look at you as he crosses his arms over his chest.

You smile like a dope at him, so extremely happy to be there in his company.

But the alcohol in your system is fighting you, and you’re finding it hard to keep your eyes open.

“S’it cool if I say the nigh?” You slur, falling vertically on the couch, your head crashing onto Joel’s thigh.

You nuzzle your cheek against the fabric of his jeans and Joel is just about to gently push you off, but he stops himself.

You look so comfortable and so at peace that Joel can’t do anything except stare at you.

Your cheek is slightly smushed, your lips are parted, your eyes are shut and don’t plan on opening—it’s insane to him how at home you looked.

Like you belonged here, head rested on his lap.

Fuck.

He was fucked this time.

He doesn’t move you. Instead, he fixes the blankets on top of you so you’re fully covered, and sits there with you the entire night.

He’s really gone soft.

***

When morning comes, you’re first to wake up, accompanied by a splitting headache.

You don’t even notice how Joel’s hand had fallen onto your waist some time during the night because you’re too busy making a b-line for the bathroom.

You chuck your guts up into the toliet, clutching the porcelain and groaning out in pain.

Joel wakes up to the sound of your hurling, momentarily disoriented before he remembers last nights events.

He’s quick to come to your aid in the bathroom, wasting no time gathering your hair in his fist to get it out of your face.

"S'right, get it all out," He murmurs out encouragingly, seemingly unfazed by the disheveled sight of you.

You’re too sick to be embarrassed, that’ll come later surely.

He sits on the wall of the tub as he continues holding your hair back, yawning every now and then like this was just a regular Tuesday morning.

Eventually, by the mercy of God, you get it all out of your system and slump up against the wall.

“M’sorry,” You immediately apologize, figuring that is the only right move in this situation.

“Don’t be. Been through plenty'a that in my day.”

His words are uncharacteristically reassuring and you find yourself taken back by them.

You soon realize this is probably just the hazy morning Joel, the Joel where he isn't worried about anything except coffee and breakfast—like everything wrong in his life is put on the back burner for this short minute in time.

“I’ll get you some water and Advil, sit tight.” He grunts before standing up on his feet, knees popping as he walks out.

You watch as he leaves, wiping the corners of your mouth with the back of your hand.

Aside from the vomit part, you could get used to this.

You've never seen him so...domestic. His hair was all messy, his voice was raspy, he had that morning haze over his features that you felt so honored to witness.

You suddenly felt compelled to look at your own appearance, hopping to your feet and looking in the dirty mirror.

You resist the urge to audibly gasp at your reflection, opting for a disgusted look instead.

Your hair is a rats nest, your clothes are a mess, and your mascara has rubbed off in black smudge all over the skin around your eyes.

In a desperate attempt to look at least semi-presentable, you wash your face with water and comb through your hair with your fingers.

The idea that Joel had seen you looking like that was making your stomach churn again.

Before you can grovel about it any longer, he rounds the corner with a glass of water and little brown pills in his hand.

“Here,” He says softly, handing you the water and tilting the pills into your open palm. “Take these ‘n drink all that water and ya should get to feelin’ better.”

You do as he says, swallowing the Advil in one go before taking a big sip to wash it down.

His eyes drift down to your shoulder, where your tank top strap has fallen. No doubt from all that vigorous throwing up you were doing moments ago.

Without thinking, his fingers graze your forearm before bringing the strap back up to its correct position, clearing his throat in the process.

A beat of silence falls over the both of you.

You’re gobsmacked by the complete nonchalance of his touch, staring at him with your mouth slightly open in shock.

“What?” He asks defensively, his tone pointed.

You look between him and your shoulder strap, then slowly move to set your water down.

“Are you sure we can’t fuck?”

“Goddammit—” Joels cursing before you can even finish saying the last word in your sentence.

He turns away from you, probably the fastest you’ve seen anyone turn in their life, and walks towards his room with an accelerating pace.

He shakes his head in disbelief all the way down the hall, pivoting on his heel to duck into his bedroom.

You follow him, not really fazed by how he completely refused to answer your question, though you didn’t think he would anyway.

Before you can step foot into the threshold of his room, Joel walks out, causing you to back up.

He shoves a stack of clothes in your direction, looking down at you with a frustrated face. “Put these clothes on and go home.”

You look down, realizing he was letting you borrow a sweater and jeans of his so you didn’t die walking back to your house from the cold.

Your heart warms at this thoughtfulness.

Without wasting any time, you take the clothes from his hands, smiling happily. “Can I keep them?”

“Why the hell would you wanna keep my clothes?” He’s got that confused/angry look on his face as he asks, and you have to suppress a giggle at the sight of it.

You bring the pieces of fabric up to your nose and inhale, humming as you breathe out again. “They smell like you.”

“Christ,” Joel beings his hands up to rub at his eyes. “Fine, do whatever. Just hurry up and change, jesus,"

Ever the tease, you set down his clothes and begin to lift your tank top like you planned to change right in front of him.

Joel's hands shoot out to stop you, a 'don't try me,' look on his face.

"Put them on over your clothes," Joel says sternly, watching the way you sigh because you weren't fast enough in lifting your tank top off.

However, you sieze the opportunity in front of you.

Joel's hands are holding yours down, so you work to intertwine your fingers, invading his space by stepping forward.

"Or, you could take my clothes off," You purr, your chest now flush with his torso.

Joel exhales through his nose, his jaw clenching as he tried deciding how he was going to get out of this situation.

But then he paused.

Looking down at you now, so eager and wide eyed, made him wonder.

If he fucked you, and made you realize it wasn't what you were probably imagining in your head, maybe then you'd finally leave him alone.

He would just...pretend to be awful at sex.

(Even though it had been so long and he wasn't sure if he'd actually need to 'pretend' anymore.)

There's a long silence that drags out between the both of you.

Your stomach is doing flips because it's looking like he's finally going to agree.

His resolve cracks and Joel can't do anything but sigh in defeat.

Slowly, Joel pulls you back into his room, closing the door behind you both.

Time is moving in slow motion.

You can't believe it's finally happening.

He guides you back until the back of your knees hit his bed, prompting you to sit down on it.

"I'm only going to do this once," Joel's voice is uncharacteristically low and calm, and it has your core tightening.

You nod in acknowledgement, waiting to see what he's going to do next.

With care, he pushes your shoulder down so you're laying on your back. "Are you sure you want this?" He asks, brown eyes searching yours.

"Have I not made it obvious?" You quip, a giggle following shortly after.

Joel only shakes his head before his fingers latch around the fabric of your shorts, pulling them down and off your legs.

"S'pose you have." He murmurs, scratching the back of his neck.

You're vibrating with excitement and you repeat what you tried earlier, only this time succeeding with taking your top off.

Of course, you're not wearing a bra.

Joel realizes in that moment that he bit off way more than he could chew.

He hasn't seen breast that weren't on a soggy piece of paper in at least a few years, and yours--well, his cock stood no chance.

You hear him swallow, watching as he can't seem to stop staring at your chest.

Realizing that he might need a little encouragement to start speeding things along, you smile up at him and whisper, "touch me Joel".

Yeah, screw this. His plan of pretending to be bad was now entirely forgotten—he was going to do what he wanted, so help him god.

He huffs out a curse before sliding a hand up your torso, stopping once he's fully cupped one of your breasts in one hand. He kneads it like dough while using his other hand to disappear under your panties.

A choked moan erupts from your lips once you feel his fingers brush along your clit, rubbing around and spreading your slick around all too slowly.

"haven't even done anythin' yet and you're already fuckin' soaked..." He murmurs really to just himself, his eyes casting down to watch as he rips your underwear off impatiently.

"M'always like this whenever you're around," you mewl to spur him on, spreading your legs wider.

"Oh you are, huh?" Joel repeats back, the tiniest bit of cruelty in his tone that makes you shiver.

You nod, bucking your hips into his hand desperately.

"don't get why you like an old man like me, s'gross." His tone is flat but it's clear he's teasing by the way he curls his fingers inside of you. He's not really expecting a response, but you feel compelled.

You lurch forward, gasping at the feeling. "I really like you," You rush out breathlessly. "I'd do anything you wanted me to." You say earnestly as you stare into his eyes, loving what you're seeing.

Joel remembers when you told him that the first time, his heart cinching the same way it did then.

Joel is at war with himself. One side of him is screaming that this whole situation is fucked up and he is better off without you.

Another part of him thinks that this is the most he’s ever felt in a long time. And he doesn't want to lose it.

You can see the gears turning in his head. His fingers have slipped from you and you wince at the loss.

Slowly, you sit up. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, your nipples pressing into his shirt.

He's confused and momentarily panicked when your faces get so close together, his hands seeking purchase on your hips.

In an unexpected move, you rake your hands through the side of his hair, looking lovingly at his face.

"I just wanna be someone for you," You murmur, your face breaking a little as Joel's resolve also cracks. "Doesn't matter what. I'm very versatile." You mumble the last part to try and lighten the mood.

Joel just stares at you—something swimming behind his eyes that you can't quite place.

Eventually, he crashes his forehead against yours, sighing out.

"You're makin' this fuckin' impossible." He rasps before kissing you with a passion you've never felt before.

You feel victorious.

He's finally given in to you.

Eagerly, you kiss back, wrapping your legs around his torso and grinding your bare cunt against the bulge in his jeans.

"Then stop trying so hard to get rid of me," You sigh out, chasing his lips even as you're trying to speak.

He groans and you catch it in your mouth, the pressure on his clothed cock making him dizzy.

“Fuck,” He’s quick to unbuckle his belt, sliding it out of the loops and tossing it somewhere on the floor. “Lay back.” He demands and you immediately follow suit.

He's never been that...assertive with you before. It makes you tingle all over.

He looks starved as he peers down at you, specifically your cunt.

He literally can’t tear his eyes off your sex—he only looks up to your gaze when you let out an impatient whine.

He rips down his pants, letting his cock spring free and slap against his stomach.

Now you can’t tear your eyes away from his sex.

You’ve only dreamt it so many times, but now that it’s finally in front of you—it all just feels surreal.

It’s better than you imagined, perfect.

“I don’t have a—”

You know what he’s about to say so you cut him off immediately. “S’okay, like it raw. Closer to you that way.” You murmur.

Joel looks physically pained that he’s not inside you right now. For some reason, you just know all the right things to say.

“Closer to me?” He huffs out, hooking his arms around your thighs and pulling you down to the edge of the bed where he stood.

Now your cunt is flush with the base of his member and the sensation drives you both insane. “You’re fuckin’ insane.”

Joel rasps, but the way he says it reveals just how far he’s fallen. He knows you’re crazy, and yet here he is, balancing you out.

He glides his member back and forth against your folds, gathering up your wetness with a clenched jaw and furrowed brows.

He looks so concentrated—meanwhile you’re writhing with pleasure and impatience. Your cunt is clenching around nothing, desperate for him.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he murmurs to himself, eyes tracing all over you.

You freeze.

Joel had complimented you for the first time, and it was genuine.

He notices you stiffen and takes a moment to pause.

Your entire body erupts with goosebumps, your heart beating at exceptionally fast speeds.

He's worried for a second that something is horribly wrong.

“What?” He asks, confused at what’s got you so wound up.

Your face is flushed red as you bashfully giggle. “You called me pretty.”

Ah fuck.

Joel finds you so charming it hurts.

After he remembers how to breathe again, he rolls his eyes and clears his throat.

“I have my cock to your cunt, of course I find you pretty.”

You smile and shrug. “Still. Nice to hear.” You’re all smiles until his tip prods at your entrance, causing a gasp to leave your throat.

He continues to apply pressure with his tip and it’s driving you crazy.

“Fuck Joel—are you trying to kill me?” You whine, hips wiggling to get him in.

He scoffs and shakes his head. “Relax, m’almost there.”

Slowly, he begins pushing his way inside. His mushroom head breaches you entirely and it feels like you can hear the angels singing.

He continues forward, the stretch being mainly around the middle of his thick cock.

But you’re taking it like a champ.

Joel braces himself with hands on both sides of your torso as he bottoms out, a groan crawling its way out of his throat.

The sensation is absolutely delicious.

A little bit of pain from the stretch, but so much pleasure from the fullness.

“Joel, ohmygod you feel so good inside me.” You moan, throwing your head back.

Your hips start moving on their own, but he immediately stops you with two large hands.

“D-Don’t move—fuck.” Joel grumbles out, his face pinched together in what looked like pain.

You’re confused for a moment, thinking maybe that he might just be really into cockwarming.

But then it hits you.

“Were you gonna come?” The tone in your voice makes it seem like you’d be elated if that was the case—like the most flattering thing in the world.

Joel looks pissed that you caught on so quick.

In truth, the moment he put his tip in, he was holding back his orgasm.

Can you blame him? He’s only fucked his hand for the last couple years.

“S’been a while.” Is all he can say, his chest heaving up and down in concentration. You know he’s embarrassed, but you can’t help but smile like a dope at him.

“If you come, please do it inside, please,” you beg, reaching out for his arms that caged you in.

Joel's rational mind feels like it just touched down in looney town after hearing your begging.

He feels crazy because he liked the thought of the idea you proposed. You even see him hesitate. But then he scoffs and shakes his head.

Joel drops down closer to your face, slowly starting to rock his hips into you. "Tryin' to baby trap me, girl?" He grunts in your ear, making you moan out.

Your walls are clenching down on him, and it’s making it that much harder to hold back. “No-no, promise, just wanna be full of you." You manage to blubber out...unconvincingly.

You probably didn't really want a baby with Joel, but your lust-driven brain was working on fumes and you just wanted to do what felt good.

Joel's grunting in your ear was not helping things. His fingers were gripping your hip so hard, you figured it would probably bruise tomorrow

Good. You wanted whatever he would give you.

"Christ--m'not gonna last much longer," Joel groans, picking his head up a little to meet your gaze. He wanted to kick himself for not being able to last, but when he saw your face, all those feelings disappeared.

You looked so--perfect. Soaking up the moment in case it was the last, god you hoped it wasn't the last time. Now that you've finally had a tase of him, you weren't sure you could live without it.

Your legs tighten around his waist, keeping him firmly in your cunt. Joel notices this and also your pleading eyes, a growl leaving his throat.

"Please, please, please, please," you beg, never breaking eye contact with him as his thrusts pick up speed.

He ruins your long string with pleas with a needy kiss, shoving his tongue down your throat like a starving man.

You accept it happily, moaning out into the kiss while Joel manhandles your hips to take his cock.

The feeling is damn near euphoric for both you and him. It gets even better when Joel's hand comes down to rub at your clit again.

Your back arches off the bed as you gasp and moan out, wrapping your arms back around his shoulders. "F-Fuck!" You moan into his ear, probably drooling on his shoulder in the process. "thankyouthankyouthankyou-" you sputter out in choked sobs. He was really good at working on your clit, you couldn't do anything else but thank him for it.

Joel feels a surge of something when he hears you. He's never had a woman thank him in bed before.

It's enough to push him over the edge. And apparently you too.

"I'm gonna come Joel, please don't stop," There are pools of tears in your eyes that Joel is just now noticing. He's about to reply to you, but he finds himself speechless when he feels your cunt start constricting and fluttering around him like a vice.

"Fuck!" He groans out loudly, his hips starting to falter in their rhythm. But then he picks up speed again, and in no time he's like a madman jackhammering into you.

You're a mess of screams and cries and moans underneath him, happily taking everything he was giving you.

When Joel feels himself about to come, he notices how your legs are still tightly wrapped around him, keeping him inside, and he manages to scoff out.

"Gotta let me go baby," You've never heard that pet name from him before, and it makes you crumble. His hands move to grab at your thighs, kneading the flesh there.

You whine out but reluctantly release the grip your legs had on him. Joel doesn't waste time before hugging both your legs on his chest, keeping them firmly placed while your feet squirmed by his ear.

"Atta girl," he murmurs before picking up speed again, his cock head pressing into your cervix.

It's all too much for you. Joel looks so amazing pounding into you from above, his concentrated face, his sweat, the way his salt and pepper hair is all disheveled, you're losing your mind.

Your core is on fire and you can't stop yourself.

In a staggering turn of events, you come first.

Your walls come down like bricks on his dick, you cry out, throwing your head back in complete bliss and ecstasy.

Seeing and feeling this, Joel is quick to follow in your steps. He rips himself from that warm hole of yours and pumps himself dry onto your stomach.

You watch it all with wide eyes, you wouldn't have missed Joel's orgasm face for the world!

Of course, his eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth was open as he was breathing heavily, and his eyebrows turned down like he was mad.

God he was so beautiful.

His thick ropes of cum shoot all over your stomach and even your breasts as he jerks himself off to completion.

When he finishes, he takes a moment to catch his breath, finally opening his eyes to see you scoop up his cum from your breast with your finger and shove it in your mouth.

Your tongue swirls around his seed and you swallow eagerly, humming out in satisfaction at the taste of him.

Joel's watching in complete fascination, though his expression looks a little angry. When does it not?

"taste so good," you mumble with your finger still in your mouth, looking up at him with your big eyes.

He moves before he can think about it--ripping your hand away from your lips and caging you in a slow but deep kiss.

He soon falls down beside you and soon rolls over onto his back, his chest rising and falling from the excursion.

You curl into his side, watching his side profile so intently. You had just fucked Joel Miller.

And it was everything you had dreamed of. Extreme happiness doesn't even begin to describe your feelings right now.

There's a long stretch of silence that drapes over the both of you. Eventually, Joel breaks it with something extremely off topic.

"Last night...you didn't just come here to say 'hi', did you?"

You're momentarily speechless, not expecting that question from him at all. But you can't stop a giggle from coming through your lips.

"Actually, I came to confront you." Your voice is soft as you begin speaking, thinking back to last night's ordeal.

Joel doesn't expect this answer, his head turns to look at you while you speak. His arm comes down to drape over your shoulder.

"I was really upset cus you rejected me n'all. I just couldn't accept the whole, 'age gap' excuse. I wanted to know if you just really didn't like me or not." You're murmuring, drawing soft lines with your finger on the skin of Joel's chest.

He huffs out a breath at the explanation, shaking his head. "Guess you got your answer, huh." He grumbles out, somewhat ashamed of himself that he couldn't hold back.

You smile and lean up to kiss his cheek. "I did," you chirp happily, admiring his face again. "You know you're gonna have to fuck me, like, everyday now, right?"

You're kidding. But you're also not at all.

Joel scoffs and sits up, moving to pick up both his and your shirts. "Fat chance. Barely had enough stamina for one round." He grunts out, finding the neck hole in your tank top and putting it over your head for you.

You don't bother to pull it down over your breasts so Joel does it for you.

"It's okay, we can build up your tolerance over time." You quip with a teasing smile, loving the way Joel turned to glare a you.

He couldn't believe the youth these days.

[yuutryingtowrite]

Yandere!Salaryman who is exhausted from this dull and pathetic job. He has been trying to climb the ladders for years, but it just keeps getting worse and worse and…

Yandere!Salaryman who has a burning hatred for the newbie aka you. “Oh! Congrats on the new promotion! I never have gotten one even though I have been rotting here for as long as I can remember, while you just came in last month”, he wants to tell you. Instead, he just offers you a strained smile and a small nod when you greet him in the morning.

Yandere!Salaryman who, one day, has to stay overtime with the newbie. As he diligently works on the numbers on his computer screen, he ignores your attempts at small talk, giving curt answers at best.

Yandere!Salaryman who finally snaps as you won’t leave him alone. He screams and shouts, emptying his heart out. Suddenly, he collapses on the floor and starts sobbing. He cries and cries for his pitiful self and miserable life, until it dies down to small sniffles. His face ends up being all red and puffy, his eyes all glossy and his lips settled into a pout. You can't help but find him cute.

Yandere!Salaryman who looks confused when you give him your handkerchief to dry his tears. He stays eerily quiet as you try to cheer him up, telling him that he shouldn’t ruin his pretty face like that. After offering your hand to help him stand up, you end this interaction with a small, empathetic pat on the shoulder and a “If you need anything, I got you”.

Yandere!Salaryman who, later that night, goes straight to bed. He can feel his face burn from embarrassment and maybe something else. Your words keep going on loop inside his head. Clutching the handkerchief close to his chest, a small whimper escapes him as he takes a whiff of it. You smell so good…He closes his eyes as he tries to recall your touch. Your hand was soft too…This is all making him dizzy.

Oh god, what did you do to him? And how was he going to face you at work tomorrow?

[ddejavvu]

Mean!Logan who fucks you dumb to the point all you know is how good he feels instead of Scott Summers 🤭🤭🤭

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

send me mean!logan requests!

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni. mean!logan, dumbification, dacryphilia, don't like, don't read.

"What's his name?" Logan asks thoughtfully, lips pursed as he waits for your response. You're quite unable to give him one at the moment- at least a coherent one, while his hips piston forward and back, driving his thick cock into you.

"Go on, tell me." Logan prods, bumping his nose into your temple. He's going at an impressive pace, grunting with each hefty thrust, "Do you even remember it?"

A cry escapes your lips as Logan pushes you over the edge, unceremoniously, mercilessly, and you claw at his biceps as you're thrust into your climax. Your brain shorts out with white hot pleasure, something like pain but sweeter searing in your belly as you unconsciously curl your hips up to meet Logan's cock easier. There's no point- he can't possibly go deeper - but your body moves instinctively. He feels so good that you need more.

"Cyclops ring a bell?" He asks, but your ears ring too loud for his voice to get through. Either that or your brain muffles it like wet cement is drowning your thoughts, and the only name etched into the thick sludge is Logan, Logan, Logan.

"Dickhead, maybe? Laser-brain, Goggles, One-Eye..." Logan lists his most frequently used nicknames for the mutant he'd caught cornering you in the kitchen, but all you can do is muffle your moans into the sweat-soaked fabric of Logan's wifebeater.

"Who did this to you?" He feigns concern, like he's interrogating you after a beatdown, his nose now trailing over the apple of your cheek as his lips ghost your own.

"I-aah! Logan," You whimper, now oversensitive to penetration.

"Yeah? Who?"

"Logan," You breathe, eyes bleary with tears as you breathe him in- the sight of his face, hard-set and firm. His smell- sweat and musk and sex all rolled into one. His touch, the constant pressure between your legs as he keeps his dick buried in your cunt, no longer moving his hips. His eyes- they're staring at you, drinking in the repeated moans of his name that come pouring from your mouth like blood from a wound.

"Smart girl." He says, and you're so out of your mind that you don't read the cruel sarcasm in it- the way he's teasing you as Scott's name has fled your near-vacant brain.

"Who else? Got another man in there?" Logan taps the side of your head, where your spinning brain works overtime, "No? What about in here?"

He places a hand on your pelvis, pressing down gently so that you feel the imprint of his dick inside of you clearer, harsher, more intense.

"Anyone else in here?" He asks, keeping steady pressure on your cunt until you squirm in penance, begging for mercy from his teasing.

"That's right. Keep it that way." He snarls, letting up on your pelvis and using the hand to cup your cheek, relishing in the way you thoughtlessly lean into it, so trusting, so devoted, "Mine's the only name you need to be sayin', sweetheart. Say his again and I'll make you wash your mouth out with my fuckin' dick 'till it's all you can taste for a week."

[shotmrmiller]

simon who can afford a better flat than the budget friendly flat he lives in but won't move. johnny doesn't understand. he wants to blame it on simon being the enigmatic, intentionally perplexing man he tends to be but he has a flat.

he doesn't have to. he's got no significant other, no kids (that he knows of, god only knows if simon's got a bairn somewhere. it makes him heated thinking about it. he's it's uncle, damn it.) why does he rent here when living in base is free?

the question answers itself when he's over one evening, empty beer bottles on the table, amber glass reflecting the warm glow of the lone lamp overhead. the television is on, volume turned down, blending with the other sounds of the night— the distant barking of dogs, the quiet hum of simon's fridge, the occasional car passing by outside.

the conversation had died down already, not like they don't spend almost every waking breath with each other at work and they'd been sitting in a comfortable silence when there was a sudden, sharp knock at simon's door.

it startles johnny, reaction instinctive as he reaches for his hip, hand curling around the grip of his holstered gun but simon seems relaxed. he pins him with a look and mutters, "s'alrigh'."

what does he mean it's alright? it's 'witchin' hour'' as his mam calls it, who could possible be at his door? he cranes his neck to look and—

it's you, standing up here with a flour-dusted apron, small hands holding a warm pastry, the steam twisting and curling off of it. you're exude homely charm, soft face glowing from the corridor's light (or maybe it's at the sight of seeing simon, who knows?) he can smell it in the air, sweet, inviting.

what johnny finds interesting enough to send a quick text to kyle is how simon is looking at you. as if you're handing him more than just a custard tart, but also a little piece of heaven, a fragment of a dream he hopes to have one day.

"'m sorry, simon. i wasn't aware you had any company. i just really needed to stress bake or i would've gone off the deep end and end up in prison."

violent little bonnie. he can see the appeal.

simon cups his hands over yours (he definitely did it as an excuse to touch you) as he takes the treat. if you make food to unwind and give it to your neighbors, johnny oughta move in next door too. he'll never turn down free food.

"don't worry about it." johnny's eyebrows shoot to his hairline at the softness in his tone, bottle halfway to his lips.

clearly more than a passing fancy.

"i'll just uhm, if you're friend wants some too—" but simon gently interrupts you before he can ask for some of that sweet comfort too.

"he's not hungry."

cruel, cruel bastard. he'll remember this day, jot it down in his calendar. when he gets a girl of his own, he'll be sure to do the same.

johnny wonders if you've got a crick in your neck from looking up at simon as you speak hushed words, meant only for him. can he get at least a nibble of that tart?

you shoot johnny a shy ㅤsmile before turning around and simon closes the door, turning back to the warming beers, golden tart in hand.

even the plate it's on is cute.

"ah can see the hearts in yer eyes, lt."

johnny can practically hear the air parting as simon's fist cuts through it, aimed at his head. he avoids it with practiced ease. "ooh, touchy. ah'll leave ye be if i get a bite o' tha'."

he doesn't gets not even a crumb because simon is selfish.

(simon moved here purposefully because he knows you live here and can't be at peace without knowing where you are at all times. there's a tag inside your favorite pair of shoes you left out in the hall once to dry after a hard downpour. the bakery you work at is down the street, if he looks out the south facing window, he can see you going in and leaving work. he likes to let himself in your home and smell your cushions. took one of your shirts too but at least made sure it wasn't one of your faves. he has to wash it every other day)

[bi-writes]

ok but soulmate au with ghost but it's the fucking opposite of rainbows and sunshine. (18+)

you share his trauma. his stress. his anxiety. you do not know who he is, and yet you know the pain of a thousand punches because it's the only feeling he has ever given you. you know the grueling ache of abandonment and the terrible neglect of abuse and the disgusting amalgamation of all your worst nightmares before you even turn 20. everything that he gives you feels aggressive, like it burns, and he only ever gives you reprieve for so long until you just feel it all over again.

it makes you tired. it makes you sick. at first, as a girl, all you wanted to do was comfort him. you wanted to know who he was so you could kiss the cigarette burns that you feel and soak up the blood you know he bleeds.

but as you age, you begin to hate him. you hate him because he does this to you, he hurts you, doesn't he know that he's hurting you? doesn't he know that everything he feels, you feel tenfold, doesn't he know that the terror and the horror of everything he witnesses weighs down your chest, makes you feel like you're drowning over and over and over again?

for a few years into your adulthood, everything is quiet. you feel little except the ache in his back he never tends to, the creak of his knee joints that he refuses to stretch out. you wish you knew him so you could scold him for it, but you curse at a ghost. sometimes you think about doing something to get back at him--you think about carving a FUCK YOU into your arm, about throwing yourself in front of a bus just so he can fucking understand that his entire life is one fucked-up cycle of pain and misery and horror, but you can't bring yourself to do it.

you can't hurt him. you just can't.

and then, the real pain begins. it brings you to your knees, this pain. you scream, you wail, because it feels like you're being carved from the inside-out. your face burns. your chest heaves. you feel like your ribs are breaking, you can't breathe, you claw at the invisible wounds that your soulmate must be wearing, and you beg him to stop, you beg him to let me go--just fucking die already--please, please, please--

those weeks haunt you. the torture he endures, it is branded to you. you wear no scars, and you never lost any blood, but the phantom flesh that you know is gone follows you in your sleep and never shuts up. it talks, it snarls, it eats at your insides. even when he heals, you are never the same. you wake up from nightmares that you know you share with him. you look over your shoulder for the predators you know he has encountered, and you cry yourself to sleep over the loss of something that you can't even decipher because you have no idea who he is or what he buried to feel this way inside.

he's sick. he's twisted. he's a walking corpse, he has no redeemable qualities, he is selfish and mean and cruel, and you hate him, and if it wasn't for the pain that you would feel, the first thing you would do when you saw him is drive something right through his heart to finally stop the undying infection he spreads to everything that he touches.

you know it is him when you finally meet him. you would know him anywhere; you’d know him just by the scars alone who he is because you remember what it felt like when he got them. when you eye the sleeve of tattoos along his left arm--the fucked, shitty, sunburnt art that made it impossible for you to finish your university exams. the faded, grey circles that line the other, ones you recognize being from the burning cigarettes that you would smell when you closed your eyes. and when he removes his mask briefly, you recognize the scar that cuts above his lip and strikes through his eye--that one left you reeling on the bathroom floor particularly loudly. you thought he might be blind if it wasn't for seeing the darkness of both of his eyes.

you start to cry. you start to cry because as soon as he realizes who you are, as soon as you see that flicker of knowing flash across his eyes, all of the hatred and the anger and the poison that plagued you for all this time vanishes. everything you fought so hard to feel, all the misery you wanted to bestow upon him for making your life a living hell, it's gone.

because the universe is cruel, the universe has done what it has done, and it has made this singular person just for you, and against everything you believe, you know that you love him, and you hate yourself for it, and you hate the universe, too.

you have endured. but maybe you endured so he didn't have to. maybe you endured so that he could have this, the feeling that he feels right now, that feeling of sudden relief.

he slides a large hand over his chest, flinching slightly. he blinks, understanding suddenly that he's feeling your joy, your elation. when you shuffle your way over to him, breaching the conversation the men around him are having, you ignore their confused stares as you fling yourself into his chest.

ghost forces you against him, trapping you to him. he practically chokes, tangling a gloved hand into your hair, and you sob into the warm skin of his neck as he hoists you into his arms, into his lap. you don't pay attention to the curious voices around you, you just bury yourself into him and cry. his body is the evidence of all that has happened to him, and you aren't angry anymore because you're relieved.

he's real. he's alive. he's here. he's okay.

when you pull back to look up at him, you blink away the tears that are falling fast down your face. he stares down equally as intensely, drinking in the sight of those big, wet eyes. when he smooths a big hand down your face, he grumbles when he realizes what you are, how you know him.

he never realized this was what he and his soulmate shared. you in your life had never felt pain like he had--he had no idea what he was doing to you. he had no idea what you were surviving at the same time.

he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours, and your lips tremble as you cup his cheeks and hold him close.

it feels wrong to feel this kind of comfort, but he does anyways. he thinks, maybe, that perhaps the only reason he survived was because of you.

because there was someone else, far away, that loved him enough to keep him breathing. even when he thought it was over.