#he didn’t mean it in a. judging way.

[dontwanderoff]

talking to my dad about the reality of like, moving out and specifically ever buying a house as a single person on a teacher’s salary and he was like ‘well [coworker]’s stepdaughter moved out to orbost and got a place for 180,000.’

[smilesrobotlover]

*head in hands* oot link is such a tragic character and it makes me so sad

[faggylittleleatherboy]

Being haunted by jegulus and moonwater 😔😔

[cyarsk5230]

Don’t date a bad bitch if you can’t handle one

[floral-hex]

Today’s little guy is:

uuuuuuh this little guy 😬

[mostcodesareciphers]

my dad made one neutral and lighthearted comment about a song i requested. now i will be embarrassed for the rest of the day

[cyarsk52-20]

[kcyars520]

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CUT COVERS11:00 A.M.

Keke Palmer Is the Internet’s Sweetheart

But the multi-hyphenate is more than just the Queen of Meme.

Photo: Micaiah Carter

Keke Palmer grips the false lashes on her eyelids with two fingers and slowly peels them off her skin. She’s had a long day, and it’s nearly 7 p.m.

The sun in the window behind her is blaring over a palm tree without any sign of eventually making its descent somewhere behind the horizon. And yet, Palmer has endured multiple flight delays from Las Vegas to Los Angeles, had a glamorous hours-long photo shoot, found herself at the center of Twitter discourse about her relationship, and still made it home in time to feed her new baby his early-dinner bottle. “Yup, he’s asleep,” she says, looking over playfully at her 4-month-old son, Leo.

About that discourse: Palmer’s motherhood recently became an uninvited topic of conversation online. Last Wednesday, while she was photographed and interviewed for this cover, a video circulated of Palmer, clad in a sheer black dress with a bodysuit underneath, getting serenaded by Usher at one of his Las Vegas residency concerts. Darius Daulton Jackson, the father of her child, saw the video and tweeted his criticisms of Palmer for her outfit choice, later doubling down on his stance when her fans swarmed his replies. While on set and by the time we spoke, Palmer hadn’t yet engaged, but internet bystanders rallied around her, forming a sort of virtual shield attempting to protect her and, in turn, shunning him.

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Even though the 29-year-old actor and producer finds herself in an entirely different life stage from me, it’s impossible to shake the feeling that we grew up together or that we have some sort of shared history. Not in a traditional sense, of course, considering she’s been a movie star since the tender age of 10, but by way of having a front-row seat to her organic matriculation through life, from project to project. She starred as a strong-willed spelling-bee champ in Akeelah and the Bee, a double-Dutch savant on the Disney Channel movie Jump In!, and a teen fashion executive on True Jackson, VP, and many of us who were once precocious little girls watched a young Palmer on the screen with awe as she evolved into the powerhouse we know her as today. By the time she was getting Oscar buzz for roles in more grown-up fare, like Lorene Scafaria’s Hustlers (based on a true story originally reported in this magazine) and Jordan Peele’s Nope (a New York Times critic’s pick that won her widespread acclaim and an invitation to the Academy this summer), we became acquainted with Palmer in her role as a serious, well-adjusted, fully fledged actor. And, of course, along the way was her music career, which she’s still working on, anchored by her song “Bottoms Up,” a pivotal moment in the Zeitgeist for teenage girls everywhere. (She released a sequel of sorts to the track last year.)

In the same way we’ve come to know her, she feels as though she’s come to know us: “I do feel like America’s little sister, little cousin. I feel very much so related to everybody,” she tells me. “I’m like that second cousin that you see every two years at the family reunion.”

Now, as she branches off into newer, more experimental ventures with KeyTV, an avenue for Palmer to support other young creatives of color, and her podcast, Baby, This Is Keke Palmer, on which she has interviewed guests like Vice-President Kamala Harris (Palmer asked her to clarify both if she does have a silk press and what policies should be developed to deal with the maternal mortality crisis), John Stamos, and fellow child stars Aly and AJ Michalka, Palmer is entering her “big boss era,” as she’s dubbed it.

Online, Palmer is generally unafraid to discuss potentially taboo topics, like acne and breast milk, while also finding ways to inject humor into whatever she’s speaking about. From “Sorry to this man” to “You know it’s your girlllll,” she has kept the culture quenched with a steady stream of delightful sound bites, which inevitably become endearing memes. Admittedly, as a self-described citizen of the internet, she loves this too: “When people see themselves in me enough to repost a meme or use a GIF, it really humanizes me in a way that I think sometimes feels lost in my life,” she says. “So I really do feel appreciative of being a meme.”

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There are a lot of moms hyping you up online right now, defending your integrity. What’s something you would say to them?

Do you, new moms. Do you. Girl, if there’s one person on this earth that loves you for sure, it’s that baby. Be happy, because there’s no love like it. Somebody loving you like that, hell, who cares?

You just had a baby, you host a podcast, and you also started a production company called KeyTV. Tell me what that’s about.

I came from a very traditional space in entertainment, and it was very hard for me to create my own narrative and help get the work that I ended up getting as I’ve continued to evolve as a creator. Because of the internet, I was able to produce and create my own content and make a financial career that invests back into itself. It helps to keep the creativity going, especially when you think about brands and sponsorships. Not a lot of Black creatives get those same opportunities. KeyTV is an opportunity; it’s a way to bridge the gap and feed more eyes back to the work of BIPOC creators, and using my brand as a launchpad. It is inspired a lot by AwesomenessTV.

Let’s talk about Baby, This Is Keke Palmer, your podcast. What made you want to flip the table and start a podcast? Why did you want to be on the other side of an interview? 

I started hosting stuff when I was about 17 or 18. It came from me being a curious person. This was when Twitter started really kind of becoming a thing and you only had so many characters. I wanted a forum where we could discuss the things we’re talking about online with one another. That made me want to have my own talk show that I did shortly on BET for a season. From that moment on, I was always looking for an opportunity. I wanted to bridge the gap between millennial and Gen-Z audiences. That’s always fun for me.

What excites you about talking to somebody you’ve never met before?

That everything is going to be a surprise! I genuinely am so jazzed about life at all times. On regular daytime talk television, you have only a few minutes to really talk about a few things. On a podcast, you can go from talking about aliens to talking about all types of weird stuff. Just from the simple fact that a podcast has no limit.

Which guest has surprised you the most?

When we think about the Black Eyed Peas, we think inspired, fun, wholesome but cool, worldly music that makes people feel good. When I was interviewing Will.i.am., it was just so incredible because that’s in every aspect of what he does, whether it’s in technology or music, because he wants to transfer his mentality.

Who is your dream podcast guest?

I absolutely would love to talk to Taylor Swift. And Nicki Minaj. Both for similar reasons. I would totally do it at the same time because it would be a big boss conversation, Ms. Lady. I think they’re both Sagittariuses and I’m a Sag moon. They’re not afraid to talk about the business, the music industry, and the things that people don’t understand. Nicki Minaj has spoken to the things that she’s trying to overcome and how they’re able to get in certain rooms or awards or conversations, etc. She’s very much so wanting to gun for some old ways of things being done.

And it’s the same thing with Taylor Swift when it was coming to owning her masters and just … I’ve also talked a lot about my experience in the music industry, but I just think it’s really cool when you can sit down with your peers and you can discuss the real deal that goes on behind the scenes with the industry.

To hear from us three women would be great. Obviously, I can name a whole list of people that have done similar things. We could talk about Master P., we could talk about Tyler Perry, we could talk about Beyoncé, the list goes on. But those are just two that most recently had spoken about these things. We could have a really good deep conversation and unpacking lyrics because Nicki writes down, and so does Ms. Swift. It’s giving astral projection, it’s giving lucid dreaming.

So when you’re being interviewed now, do you, ahem, judge the interviewer’s questions from a different lens?

I don’t want to say judge, but I definitely try to figure out where we can go. I’m always willing to go somewhere. When I’m talking to people, I’m obviously giving them the respect of knowing whatever their boundaries are. But when they’re answering, I’m thinking, Well, where else would they want this to lead to?Another thing I’ve learned is that pre-conversations are really awesome because you can talk to that person about where their headspace is, what kind of things are most important to them right now.

Well, then let me backtrack a little bit, because we didn’t get to have much of a pre-conversation. What’s your mental headspace and what’s important to you today?

After having my baby, I’ve just gotten so much more powerful. I’m just so strengthened in a crazy way. Strutting my stuff, enjoying. I’ll be honest, I think before I even had the baby, I was really actually quite self-conscious. In a way that you would expect, considering the kind of work that I do as a public figure. Always trying to be on point with my body and always trying to make sure I’m taking care of this and that. There’s a lot of physical attention. Being slim and being fit in a particular way was always something that I was gunning for. After having the baby, my body got so much bigger and I started getting fluff in areas I never had before.

Givenchy 3/4 Sleeve Sweater Front Crystal Chain and Embroidered Midi Skirt, available at givenchy.com. Van Cleef & Arpels A Cheval Earrings featuring diamonds set in 18K white gold and Brume de Saphir Bracelet featuring sapphires and diamonds set in 18K white gold, available at vancleefarpels.com. Photo: Micaiah Carter

Obviously I don’t know you like that, but when I see you from the outside, you have always seemed like a woman and a girl who’s always stood in her own power. Sometimes women are expected to shrink, and I feel like when I see you, I don’t see a woman who shrinks.

I think it’s important to say that both things can be true, which I’m sure you know. I’m ready to talk to you, you are also very confident, but both things can be true. I speak to my insecurities and it actually makes me feel more confident. Because I’m not trying to hide. When I really talked about my skin issues and stuff like that, it was really for me.

As I confront my issues head-on and I’m like, “Well, I feel terrible about this,” or, “This ain’t work for me,” I turn it into a joke, but I don’t ignore it. I try not to hide it. Confident people, it’s not that they’re not insecure, it’s that they just accept the fact that they’re going to have some insecurities, work on them when they can, and love themselves. Because at the end of the day, what else are you going to do? Hate yourself for who you’re not?

This is a weird question, but what would you say your brain looks like, sounds like, and smells like?

Not Jeffrey Dahmer, girl! The inside of my brain smells like vanilla or something warm and cuddly. It smells like something safe. It’s like, Hey, we are here for you. What does it look like? Colorful, shit is like synapses are going, you know what I mean? There are some gray spots. There are definitely some gray spots, but most of all, it’s neons, sparkling, it’s electric. Almost like when you have a PC gaming computer and all the colors that are going on in there. That’s how my brain is. What does it sound like? Shit, Jordin Sparks, “One step at a time, there’s no need to rush.” I’m always in some type of coming-of-age comedy.

I want to walk inside your brain, that sounds nice. On the flip side, you’ve got a lot going on in your life. You’re acting, you’re singing, you have a podcast, you’re a new mom, you’re keeping the culture consistently quenched with delightful sound bites and memes. How do you stay grounded and at peace?

My family, my friends, my loved ones. Keke Palmer’s who I am, but it’s almost like Spider-Man. I’m Peter Parker at the end of the day, and at some point, I have to take the suit off. It’s still me, I’m still there. It’s still Keke and there’s no LaurenShe was born Lauren Keyana Palmer. without Keke. There’s no Keke without Lauren. But it’s just one aspect of who I am. We all have cultural aspects of ourselves that we sometimes bring out more or less than others.

When it comes to being able to get balance in my life, it’s taking off that suit, taking off the Keke Palmer side of myself and putting her to rest. Giving her an opportunity to recharge and relax and also know that the other side of me that maybe isn’t that jazzed up all the time, has a place, is needed, is valued, and able to just breathe. It’s really awesome.

Do you ever wish that you could just be Lauren or Keke part two, Keke without the visibility?

Sure, sure. Yeah, absolutely. Sometimes I feel like I would love a little bit of more anonymity, or at least a version that wasn’t so chaotic. We live in a particular generation where the fame thing is a little bit too much. The way that celebrities are idolized. Popularity to some degree is fine. It’s normal. It could be expected, especially if you’re a public servant or someone that’s a public figure. But now it’s the desire and the goal as opposed to being the aftereffect of being good at something or being known for something. It’s just being known to be known.

Fame used to be a little bit more mayorlike, and now it’s almost gone to some type of godlike vibe. That can be quite dangerous and a lot of pressure. I don’t think any human should be that adored. I’m happy when people say that I’m their role model or I inspire them or whatever. I think the basis of anything I’m trying to do is to lead you to you, toward you. You can rock with me. You can buy into my stuff, you can support me. Obviously, that’s my career. But never do I ever want somebody to think they need to be like me. If they want to be like me in any regard, hopefully it’s to be authentically themselves. Hopefully that is the biggest message that they’re receiving.

When you said mayorlike, I pictured you in a little top hat.

Walking around, Mayor Keke, “Hello there. You know it’s your girl.”

Speaking of “You know it’s your girl,” which was a viral clip taken from your Met Gala red carpet interview with Megan Thee Stallion, how does it feel to consistently become a meme?

I felt like that was a hit movie. “Sorry to this man,” I could not have predicted the “sorry to this man” reaction. It’s crazy, but cool and dope at the same time. It’s randomized how that happens. But it’s a very humbling thing because sometimes as an entertainer, people do not have a safe space for you to be relatable. You probably live a drastically different life than them. But at the end of the day, outside of whatever our daily life activities could be, I’m still going to work. I’m still trying my best, I’m still trying to make it in this workaholic country we’re in, we both got 24 hours and we both just trying to get it done.

And so we all are the same. When people see themselves in me enough to repost a meme or use a GIF, it humanizes me in a way that I think sometimes feels lost in my life. I really do feel appreciative of being a meme. Because what they’re saying is, She’s like me, or they relate to it. It doesn’t get any better than that.

You don’t try to go viral? It just comes naturally, basically?

Nili Lotan Cami Gown, available at nililotan.com.Van Cleef & ArpelsVintage Alhambra 20 Motif Necklace set in 18K white gold and Socrate Pendant featuring diamonds set in 18K white gold, available at vancleefarpels.com. Photo: Micaiah Carter

What keeps you authentic when you are in the public eye? Especially when it could be so much easier, and so many others have gone the route of, Here’s my public persona and I’m going to do everything and be perfect. What is your motivation to be you?

There is such a thing as privacy. I’m not showing y’all my ass at night. I’m a human being. I have things that make me just a normal person. I’m flawed. I definitely try to put my best foot forward. But again, because I don’t like the idealism and I don’t like the kind of era that we are in with fame, I definitely self-deprecate, point to my flaws, constantly say I’m not perfect because I really don’t want people putting me to this unbelievable standard. I don’t live to be a celebrity. I live to do what I love, to share love, to give something positive to the world. Being under a magnifying glass for all of my life, it was kind of a surrender to realizing no matter what I do, it’s never going to be enough, so that’s okay. Let me at least be me.

Are you really online? Do you consume social media? And if so, what does a late-night scrolling sesh look like for you? For me, I’m doing YouTube deep dives of a couple that cosplays like they live in the 1800s. 

I’m always looking at weird stuff too. I’m looking at TikTok. I can get crossed in a conspiracy theory. I can be looking at some new articles online and just all types of random stuff. I’m definitely 100 percent like an internet person. I guess that’s a personality trait. A lot of my friends that I’ve met, even as kids, were online. Through chat or MySpace. I’ll see somebody’s page online or I’ll check somebody’s life out and I’m like, I want that person to be my friend. I feel like online literally gives us the opportunity to see in other people’s worlds, to reach things that we otherwise didn’t get to reach. I really do use it as a tool and I really respect it. Especially growing up, being in the entertainment industry, being homeschooled, not having a real school, I really was appreciative of online.

Now that you made me think of it, somebody else that I would love to talk to would be Tom from MySpace. What he created really helped my life because I didn’t have any other way to be friends. I might be a celebrity, but in my mind, in my world, I felt like an outcast. I turned to the internet where I could create space for me, and build my world and have friends and feel like I was normal. It all feels very full circle, me being a meme queen. The internet is a place that I’ve always loved and adored and felt like I could be myself, and in a way, that is a space that was not always given to me in real life. That’s why we all played The Sims too.

Do you think the human race is better or worse off with social media?

I think it’s better, but not when you don’t use it right. When I was talking to Will.i.am about it, he was definitely like, “Yo, I would much rather be in a world where there’s AI and all this kind of stuff than in a world that it’s not.” With the internet, the problem is that it’s extremely powerful and it can be used in bad ways and people have used it in bad ways, and that’s what scares us. But when we use it in good ways, man, we’re able to really do some incredible things.

You recently interviewed Vice-President Kamala Harris and asked her about her silk press. You also used the phrase “poop on a stick” in the interview, which knocked me on my knees. What does podcast prep before you start the conversation look like for you?

It’s different each time. I have support with my producing team. I always script out the top halves of my show. And then the other halves of them are obviously just conversation, but I have bullet points or CliffsNotes of what I want to discuss and talk to whoever I’m having on with me that may not be the actual interview guest, whether it’s my mom or whether it’s Darius or whether it’s Max. We’ll kind of discuss what our POVs are. That way we all know that we have some unique perspective on the topic. When it comes to the interviewee, as much as I have questions that I want to ask them, I also listen and just try to see where their conversation would take us.

Anyone you’ve been nervous to record with?

I was nervous for Kamala.

Who wouldn’t be?

For Madam VP, I was definitely nervous because I wanted to give respect to what she’s trying to do and have a conversation about it while at the same time humanizing the conversation because there’s a huge disconnect, in my opinion, with our generation in the government. It’s beyond just getting people to vote. There’s a bigger flaw where we don’t believe in the system. It’s how to get people to believe that there’s a reason to support our public servants and actually believe that they’re going to be good at their job or they’re going to be worth us listening to. It’s about asking important questions, but also, are you a person in there?

We need to see that these people are real. We need to know why they wanted to get into these positions. A lot of this is starting to look like a joke and has been a joke and looks like a reality show and it just seems like a big money grab and it just doesn’t seem real. But there’s no way to work in any system of anything and be perfectly perfect or do something that’s totally agreeable.

The point is to get to a place where we can at least feel like somebody is human and touchable and real, that they can be reached even if they are working within a system that is clearly flawed and corrupt. We need them to speak to that. I was happy when I was talking to Kamala, Madam VP, excuse me, about this topic. She was saying to me that she knows that people don’t believe, and that’s why she’s doing it. She knows what she’s working against. I wanted that interview to be something that we felt was real so we can actually be engaged. Because right now, honey, it’s giving, like, stale news variety show.

I listened to another episode where you talked about being a child star and you said if you weren’t an entertainer, you may have gone into politics. Would you ever go into politics now?

I don’t know what role I would play.

President?

Well, let’s think about it. What is the president’s job, really? Because he can’t change no laws for real. I mean, they can, but it’s like they really aren’t the ones that are doing that work. If the president’s job is to be a figurehead, speak to the issues, encourage the people, represent them and create a positive democracy and good morale, then, yeah, I mean, I could. This is the concept of politics I love because it’s being a public servant. Child, sign me up. I love being a public servant. I love being serviceable.

I know a lot of people don’t think about entertainment as that, but, I mean, I am still doing a service. I’m literally tapping and singing and dancing for you to laugh and enjoy. I’m trying to serve you, for sure. That’s something I’ve already been doing all my life. So in that regard, yes, the part of politics that makes things difficult is feeling like that I believe in what I’m doing and that I can actually believe that I can get something done. If I was going to ever go into politics, it would be because I really believed that I could fix some shit or figure something out. So I think that’s what it would really take is for me to feel like I could actually be useful.

Would you consider yourself America’s sweetheart?

Girl, that is crazy as hell.

Come on.

If that is what the people think, I’m truly gagged and gooped because, wow. I don’t even know what that entails, truly, what that really means. But, by golly, if you all feel like I’m America’s sweetheart, I’m fucking here for that shit all day and night. I appreciate it because it feels like a term of endearment. But what do I think? If I were to declare myself, I do feel like America’s little sister, little cousin.

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Like a lot of people in their late 20s, I feel like I grew up with you, and whatever project you were involved with seemed to mirror whatever life stage I was going through at the time. What was child stardom like for you, and what was it like to have so many eyes on you at such a young age?

Honestly speaking, initially it was traumatic when I really experienced it, like after I did True Jackson, VP. And then I got used to it and I tried to kind of control it a little bit more by setting boundaries for myself and being a little bit more realistic about what I needed from the people that would be around me. Fame is a lot. People think that they want it, but it’s intense. It could be fun and cool in certain times if it can possibly help you get quicker dinner reservations. But a good job will do that. You know, you don’t have to be famous. You just have to network.

I don’t know why anybody wants it. It’s a lot to have a lot of attention on you all the time. It gives you a lot of anxiety. It’s nerve-racking. You’re looking over your shoulder all the time. Is somebody going to try and humiliate me or use me for clicks or likes or, you know, whatever? Not everybody can handle it. It’s just a dangerous game.

Time for a few rapid-fire questions. Do you think aliens exist?

Yes.

Would you ever explore the deep sea?

No.

What would your last meal be? You can have multiple courses or just one bite of something and then move on. It can be anything. Multiple things.

A charcuterie board. I always needed a charcuterie board. I need to start off with a charcuterie board and a nice tall glass of wine. Then, I’d like to take it to a big pizza. From Little Italy in New York. A particular pizza place called Little Italy’s in New York. There’s one right across the street from Papaya Dog.It’s the sauce that they do that makes it what it is. If this is the last meal, I don’t need it to be fancy, I just need it to be good. And, lastly, some snickerdoodle cookies. We got to make it feel like home again.

What do you think happens when we die?

I think we go to nothing. And, I mean that so happily, not in a sad way. I feel like, before we come to our human bodies, we already are in a utopia. The reason why it’s a utopia is because it’s like everything and nothing at the same time. We’re beholden to nothing, we have no attachments, we’re completely and utterly free, and we know in whatever this energy space is that we are all interconnected. So there’s such a freedom and such a happiness. It’s not necessarily we’re riding roller coasters and stuff. We don’t need those things. The happiness and joy is purely innately within us as a spiritual being.

And then I think we come here and we put this suit on, and the suit is actually what makes life really hard, because what comes with humanity and being a human person, as opposed to being an animal, or a rock, or something like that, is our very heightened consciousness and awareness that is sometimes competitive with our spiritual thing that doesn’t actually need words, or language, or actions to just be and understand. And we confuse ourselves when we’re down here.

I think, when we die, we realize, Oh my gosh. It wasn’t that deep. I was always going to be okay. Everything was always going to be all right. Because, this world, this experience is everything and nothing at the same time. It’s so nothingness that it became everything. I think that’s odd. But, I mean, I grew up Catholic. I believe in Jesus. I believe in all the shits. But at the same time, I also feel like some things are like a mixture of spirituality and metaphysical stuff. I go down on the loops. But I be in church too. I’m everywhere with it.

If you could live forever, would you? Absolutely not. No, there’s nothing about that that sounds good. No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

That sounds crazy. I want to have a nice, good long life. I don’t want to be that grandma that’s holding on for dear life and her body falling apart. Let me go looking fine and sexy in my sleep naturally. I don’t want my body to be just turned inside out and I’m like, “I’m still here, kids.” No. Unplug me if I’m falling apart.

What is the most interesting thing in your bag right now?

The truth is, I only carry around one bag. And it’s the mommy bag. And you know what it has in there? My pump, my nipple cream, some contacts, and some prenatal vitamins, post-prenatal lactation supplements.

What is the question that keeps you up at night?

What is this about? I always ask myself, What’s the reason? What is the reason for this all?

That’s beautiful. Can you spell pulchritude?

Of course I can. P-U-L-C-H-R-I-T-U-D-E. Pulchritude?

What does the future look like? What does it look like five years from now, or even in the next few months?

I’m going to continue to be killing these fashions, honey. Continue to expand. I can’t really say exactly what it’s going to be, because I feel like I’m even surprised sometimes about where I end up. But definitely more hosting, and acting, and all that stuff. A lot more stuff behind the scenes too. I really do love producing, and I love helping put stuff together and support people. With KeyTV, we made a short film with a kid from L.A. Film School, supported him with a production crew, and collaborated from different perspectives. I was grateful. To be close in age with him was awesome, too. I’m in a unique vantage point to be able to communicate, and talk, and relate, but also have wisdom that is granted only through the experience that I’ve had.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

PRODUCTION CREDITS

Photography by Micaiah Carter

Fashion Director Jessica Willis

Hair by Keshaun Williamson

Makeup by Sheika Daley

Manicure by Vanessa Sanchez McCullough

Set Design by Ali Gallagher

Tailoring by Susie Kourinian

Production by Petty Cash Production

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[richardnixonbutagirl]

my crush asked me if I was a cheerleader when I was in high school and I had to admit that I didn’t even go to high school <3 just normal girl things

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

Damn, my history of taste in irl men is questionable at best, but at least the girls seem pretty normal???

[feyburner]

I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app

*

Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.

“No?” he says.

“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”

He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just… well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and they’ll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.

And Clark wants to thank him. He will. It’s just.

“It can’t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”

“Lightyears beyond, actually.”

“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”

He can feel himself flushing. It’s rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.

“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?’ to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”

“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”

Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”

Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”

“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”

There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.

“Sure,” he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”

“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”

[navybrat817]

Mr. and Mrs. Barnes

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky suggests sneaking off at the gala. How can you resist?

Word Count: Over 3k

Warnings: Unprotected v. sex, sex in a closet, dirty talk, possessiveness, established relationship, slight insecurities, mention of breeding, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes and he's a simp for you (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Sorry, lovelies. I just really wanted this. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t bother to hide his discontent as he looked around at the ballroom. Was it a gala? Fundraiser? What cared? He hated functions like these. People were either there to kiss ass and move up the chain of command or gloat about how well off they were in life under the guise that they were doing good for others. He didn't attempt to converse with any of them, but still had to go as a way to support SHIELD in some capacity and show that he was no longer the Winter Soldier.

At least Steve and Sam were excused from the event due to a mission.

Leaning against one of the pillars and tugging at his bowtie, he spaced out momentarily. No one looked his way, but he still felt judged. Like he didn’t just belong at the event, but amongst anyone. He wanted to go home, get out of his tuxedo, and get the product out of his slicked back hair. He debated sneaking away from some air until he blinked and saw the reason he was truly there: you, the only real person in the crowd of liars and cheaters.

He never understood the expression of clothes clinging to someone like a second skin until you stepped into your floor-length black dress earlier this evening, the fabric enhancing every beautiful curve of your body. His eyes narrowed as you moved around the room and exchanged smiles and handshakes with people. Your aura drew people to you, men brushing against you and their stares lingering for far too long. It served as another reminder of why he didn’t want to go tonight, especially when a General gripped your arm.

If he had a glass in his hand it would’ve shattered.

Convincing you to stay in bed didn't work since you both had to make an appearance, but it didn't mean he wanted you apart from him. “Get over here,” he whispered, craving your attention, needing you close.

As if you sensed him seeking you out, likely feeling the weight of his stare, you turned to meet his gaze across the room. Your eyes sparkled with love that he never thought he’d receive in his lifetime. The kind of love he never wanted to be without again. “Would you please excuse me?” You asked loud enough for him to catch as you removed your arm from the man’s grip. “My husband is waiting for me.”

Your hips swayed as you worked your way toward Bucky, not stopping for any other man who tried to catch your eye. Hearing you call him your husband brought the first smile to his face since he arrived. He still couldn’t believe some days that you wanted forever with him. “I was wondering when my beautiful wife would remember I was here,” he said once you were close enough, reaching out for your hand.

The moment you took it, he stood tall and pulled you against him. He was certain no one else came close to the intimidating vibe he put out, his hold on you possessive as you smiled. “As if I could forget. Practically heard you growling when General Rando touched my arm,” you teased.

“Because he has no right to touch you,” he said, your lashes fluttering as you spun away. His hands guided you back to him. “I know you’re better with people than I am, which is why you’re the one who has to socialize and I’m sorry for that. But you also said I’m not allowed to break any fingers tonight and I won't be held responsible if he tries to touch you again.”

He swore he didn’t have a possessive bone in his body until you sauntered into his life, giving him hopes and dreams and longing.

You laughed at him, a seductive sound that had a few heads turning. “You do know I can break his fingers myself, right?”

He chuckled, leaning close to your ear and tickling your skin with his breath. “I know you're more than capable of kicking his ass. One of your many wonderful qualities,” he whispered. People underestimated you and that was always a mistake. “But I still don't like that he touched you like he wanted to own you.”

You rang a finger along his bowtie. “We all know who owns me and we know I own you, too,” you said, holding up your hand to show him your wedding ring. He tried to ignore how fast his heart pounded at the sight of his ring on your finger, the pledge you two made together. “In a very healthy, non-toxic sort of way, of course.”

He smirked, glancing around at the crowd before looking back at you. “Of course, but maybe we could give everyone a friendly reminder that we’re a happily married and loyal couple.” His voice dropped lower, teasingly. He wanted to make your heart race like his. “Or maybe we could sneak away for a bit. Make this night a little more interesting.”

“Sneak away?” You feigned innocence as you blinked at him. He was certain any innocence you had before he met you was gone thanks to him. “Whatever for?”

“You know what for. It’ll be like that expo we went to a few months ago.” Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying your face closely. He easily picked up your sharp inhale, the way your pupils dilated and lips parted. It was clear that sneaking off was something that very much interested you. “C’mon, baby. This gala is boring and neither of us want to be here. My idea is much more fun. You know it is.”

He touched your cheek, your skin warm under his hand. He wasn’t able to keep you in bed earlier like he wanted, but the thought of pulling you away and having you right here and now had his stomach fluttering with excitement. “This gala is boring,” you agreed carefully.

“Then let’s make it exciting.” His thumb brushed across your lips and it took everything in him not to push his thumb inside. “You made me come to this thing. Don’t I deserve something for showing up and behaving?”

“I haven't made you come yet.” His muscles went taut when you briefly sucked the digit into your mouth, electricity crackling under his skin. He admired your boldness, how you were unashamedly yourself in front of these people. You didn't and would never care what they thought. “And I didn't make you come to this event, but I can make it worth your while.”

He held your chin and moved close until only an inch separated your faces. Your eyes gleamed with a hunger that rivaled his. The air crackled between you, daring you both to give over to your obvious desires. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?” He rasped when you suddenly pulled back and helped move him across the floor in a dance.

“My plan? I thought sneaking away was your idea,” you smiled, guiding you both closer to the open doorway. “But if we can find a closet or dark corner, you can do whatever you want with me. And I’ll even let you fuck my throat first thing tomorrow morning for behaving.”

A rumbling, deep groan escaped his throat. His fingers dug in possessively when he gripped the nape of your neck and tilted your head so he could taste your skin. Your body molding against his, soft and yielding against his solid frame, wasn’t enough. There were too many clothes in the way and he wanted to bury himself deep inside you.

“You drive me crazy, Mrs. Barnes,” he whispered, lifting his head to look into your eyes.

“The feeling is mutual, Mr. Barnes.” You bit your lip once he waltzed you for enough away from prying eyes, the heat flaring between you. “I need you.”

Every nerve ending came to life when he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue plunged past your lips, holding you steady as he devoured you. You melted against him, which only brought forth his primal hunger more. His intensity never scared you and he would be forever thankful for that.

You gasped as your back hit a wall, the sounds of chatter and music from the ballroom muffled. Your nails scraped the fabric of his jacket, both of you lost in sensations of lust and desire. As one of your hands continued its journey to his shoulder, the other wandered down his torso and didn’t stop until you gripped his thick erection through his pants.

He abruptly broke the kiss when you gave him a squeeze, his eyes wild. “Fuck,” he breathed, gripping your wrist and pushing more firmly against your hand. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me.”

With dizzying speed, he spun you so that your back pressed against his front. You panted as his hand ventured through the slit of your dress and brushed along your trembling thigh. “Wait until you feel how wet I am,” you whispered, grinding your hips back against his.

His mouth brushed the exposed column of your throat, alternating between small bites and open mouthed kisses. “Still get wet for me?” He asked, massaging your breast with his vibranium hand and drawing another gasp from you when he pinched your nipple. He marveled at how much he could feel with that hand and how he’d never harm you with it.

“Have you seen yourself? One look from you and I’m soaked.” Your back arched as he bit down again. He wished he saw himself the way you did. “And you’re my husband. That craving for you isn’t going away.”

He rocked his hips against yours, seeking out more contact and friction as his cock throbbed and heart swelled. Marriage wasn’t a constant honeymoon phase. It took work. Effort. Compromise. But you were worth every moment, every struggle, every up and down.

Laughter from a few feet away had him lifting his head, both of you looking toward where the noise was coming from. “Fuck,” he snarled, wanting to scream at whoever it was to go the fuck away.

“There’s a closet around the corner. We just need to pick the lock,” you told him, smiling over your shoulder. “I may have scoped out the place in case this happened.”

He chuckled, utterly in awe of you. “I fucking love you,” he exhaled.

Walking with an aching hard-on wasn’t easy, but he managed to get you both further away from the ballroom. He picked the lock with record speed once you got to the door and moved you both inside. He flipped on the light, wanting to see as much of you as he could. For a moment, you two stared at each other and waited for the other to make a move. He loved the anticipation.

“I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Barnes,” you said, reaching for the doorknob to lock it. He was about to ask what he possibly did to upset you when you smirked. “You didn’t mention anything about me not wearing any panties.”

His cock was ready to burst from his pants. “Because that fucking clown out there interupted me,” he rumbled, pinning you against the door and crowding your body. His nose touched yours as he hiked your dress up, desperate to kiss you again. Eager to feel your wetness. “You trust me?”

It was a question he always asked. You put all of yourself into his care, your body, mind, heart, and soul. It was only fair that he made sure you still wanted him to be the one for you today, tomorrow, and every day after that. Even then a single lifetime would never be enough for him. He wanted a thousand lives with you.

“Always,” you said, an ache in your voice that he couldn’t resist. He fused his lips with yours, building up the fire all over again when his hand found your damp heat. The most intimate part of you where you allowed him to make himself at home. Your hands shook as you went to undo his pants, wanting to free him. “And you trust me?”

It wasn’t just his heart that contracted. His very soul trembled, wanting to wrap itself up in your light and love. “With everything in me,” he promised, sighing when he pulled his cock free from his underwear. “I’ll worship you later. Those gorgeous tits of yours. Your sweet cunt.”

Once you were home, he’d slip off your dress and give every beautiful inch of your body the attention it deserved. He’d draw a bath for you, too, and hopefully join you so he could simply hold you. But he was desperate for you now. He thought he’d burn if he didn’t have you.

You hiked a leg around him, moving your hips enticingly. There was only so much he could take. And who wouldn’t fall under the tempting spell of your body? “I’m ready for you.” Your soft moan echoed in his ears as he trailed a finger along your slit to your clit, barely touching it. He knew it would shoot small sparks through your body until you begged for more. “I mean it, Barnes. Get. Your cock. In me.”

“My needy little wife,” he whispered against your lips as he gripped the base of his cock and probed your entrance. The breathy sound you made when he began to push in had his blood pulsing in euphoria. It was a wonder he fit some days with how tight you were, but your slick heat stretched and welcomed him every time.

“My needy husband,” you smiled as you enveloped him completely, your fingers curling in his hair.

“What kind of man isn’t needy for his wife?” He began to thrust in deep, deliberate strokes. It matched the rhythm of the music in the distant ballroom, the two of you creating your own sultry dance. Maybe he would go up in flames. At least he’d have you to burn with. “Fuck, your body was made for my cock.”

Each snap of his hips tore more moans and whimpers from your throat and sent shockwaves through his system. You clenched around him with a smile, looking like a debauched angel. “My pussy was made for you, so ruin it.”

He groaned, his pulse beating strongly as his grip tightened on your hips. He fucked you without restraint, just as greedy for you as you were for him. Allowing himself to feel you and what you did to him was everything he was denied for so long. His life had only been order. Pain. You let him lose control. You gave him pleasure. Even a home.

I love you.

“I love you, too, Bucky,” you panted, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone as his eyes closed against the emotions threatening to surface. “I love you, too.”

His pace picked up, urgent, frenzied. At this rate, he might explode into fragments from your declaration and how good you felt. “You love me?” He bit out, his eyes opening and breaths harsh as he felt you clench again.

You cried out, his hand flying up to brace your head before it hit the door. “So much,” you moaned as you gazed at him. You were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Fierce in love and loyalty, patient and steadfast. He feared some days he’d need you more than you needed him, but you drove that thought from his mind. “I’m yours.”

“I’m not gonna last,” he warned. He couldn’t with the way you looked at him, the way your walls gripped him, knowing you were his.

“Neither am…” Your mouth fell open as your release hit you, your fluids drenching him. It was a wonder to watch you go over the edge in a blissful orgasm. He wanted to be right there with you.

“There you go. Good girl,” he encouraged, your body still tight around his cock. He erupted in one last thrust, his head falling back with an animalistic roar. “Fuck…”

Bucky braced a hand against the door, the other holding you like a lifeline. If only the two of you were at home so he could properly cuddle with you. His breathing remained ragged for a bit as he came down from his high, your breathing beginning to steady, too. He couldn't help but smile as he took in the sight of you thoroughly ravaged and satisfied. “Worth every second of being here,” he sighed, slowly pulling out of your twitching hole. You inhaled when he moved a hand down and swiped two fingers along the mess seeping out of you. “Clean them off for me, baby,” he ordered huskily, bringing them to your mouth.

Obediently, you parted your lips and allowed him to push his fingers in. You swirled your tongue around them to taste your combined essence, moaning at the tangy flavor. He tucked himself away once you finished up, afraid that he’d fuck you all over again if he didn’t get completely dressed. It didn’t stop him from gazing longingly at you as he fixed his jacket.

And it didn’t stop him from imagining your mouth around his cock the next morning.

“Now.” You grimmaced slightly as he helped you steady yourself and straighten out your dress. He knew that look. It was the look you got for a split second whenever the sticky remnants continued to trickle down your thighs. He loved having that claim on you. “How do you expect me to go back to the gala after that?”

“I don’t,” he smirked, his hands moving back to your hips as he snuck in a gentle kiss. “I think it’s time to get you home and back in our bed where you belong. I promised I’d worship you, remember?”

You nodded, your eyes still slightly dazed. “On one condition.”

He titled his head. “What’s that?”

A slow smile curved your mouth, his heart pounding and cock twitching back to life at your answer, “You put a baby in me tonight.”

So, lovelies, was it okay? I feel rusty. And who wants a future fic of Bucky breeding you? Just me? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[not-neverland06]

Kid?

Logan Howlett x fem!mutant!reader A/N: I haven’t watched X-Men since I was a child, so I can’t promise this is going to be canon-compliant. I haven’t watched DP & W either, I’ve just been influenced by that one gif where Hugh Jackman shakes his head like a dog. I feel FERAL Also, I am not good at superhero names or coming up with creative powers. So you’re a mutant with matter manipulation and they call you Flux. I mean, superhero names are inherently ridiculous so I think this works. (Don’t judge me, I’m just here for the sexy man) Summary: You walk in on Logan and Jean in a compromising position and feel your heart break. You really thought he loved you, you were so wrong. (Or were you?)

It was your own fault, you should have knocked before you busted through the door. You only have yourself to blame as you struggle to catch your breath and swallow down the lump in your throat. The image of Logan standing between Jean’s bare legs is going to haunt you for a while. Their faces will keep you awake at night, cringing at yourself while you remember the humiliating moment. 

You rush towards the door, a stupidly giddy skip to your step. You were a mutant, a superhuman, and getting a chance to talk to your crush should not have you giggling like a schoolgirl. Still, you’re blind to all logic when it comes to Logan. 

You turn the corner, spotting the medbay and nearly ramming into the door you know he’s lurking behind. Charles had told you where to find him. Of course, you hadn’t paid attention to the odd tone of voice when he had very clearly warned you to knock. All you’d heard was Logan’s name and you’d zoned out for the rest of the conversation. 

And, of course, you don’t knock. You grab the door’s handle and bust in, “Hey!” Your eyes widen and your stomach plummets with a depressing plop to the floor. Your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see the way Jean and Logan are entangled in each other. He’s leaning over her, the muscles and veins in his neck pulsing with strain. Normally, that sight would have you nearly drooling. 

Instead, all you can see is the flush on Jean’s cheeks and the way her pupils are dilated with want. Her nails are digging into his back, bare legs twined around his waist. There’s no way to misinterpret this. No way for you to later assure yourself that this was all just a misunderstanding. 

The words stumble out of your mouth in a disjointed mess that even you can’t decipher. You stand there, jaw opening and closing like a fish out of water before you finally get it together. “Charles,” you stutter out, his name sounding like a question. You wince and finally tear your gaze away from them. “Sorry,” you chuckle, trying to play off your hurt as humor. “Charles needs us all for a mission.”

You don’t give them a chance to respond, you slam the door closed, ignoring what you think might be someone calling your name. 

You shake off the mortifying memory and groan. Your head falls into your hands and you grip at your face until the pain distracts you from the embarrassment. It’s not too hard to push it all down, to pretend what happened didn’t make your heart crumble away into nothing.

Maybe it’s because you’re a mutant that you’re so used to rejection. You’re used to constantly being disappointed by people around you. Your childhood was nothing but cruelty, your crush not liking you back can’t compare to half of what you went through. 

That’s what you tell yourself, at least, to try and pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. You shove it down until you think you can’t feel that dull ache anymore. And when Jean and Logan walk into the room, looking more put together, you smile at Logan like you always do. It doesn’t turn down at the corners, your eyes don’t water. You take in a deep breath and look utterly unaffected. 

He sits down beside you and leans towards you. “I can explain-”

You cut him off and shake your head. “Forget about it. I should have knocked.” You turn towards Charles who wheels himself to the front of the room. You dismiss Logan and ignore the way his stare burns into the side of your head. 

Charles looks to Jean and Logan, a smile starting. Then his gaze drifts towards you and your chest deflates when you see the look on his face. He knows, the old miser probably coasted over your thoughts and he knows. He sends you a sympathetic look that makes you feel like a little girl who just got told unicorns don’t exist. “Jean, Logan, glad that you’ve finally joined us.”

Logan nods and leans back in his chair. But his eyes remain fixed on you and it makes you wish you could stab a fork into them. You let out a short, irritated huff of air and frown at yourself. Maybe you were a little more angry than you would like to admit. 

You blame Logan for that. You never would have fallen so deep into infatuation if you hadn’t believed there was even a sliver of a chance with him. Always speaking so kindly with you when he would barely spare anyone a second glance. Constantly doing checkups on you after a particularly harsh training session with Charles. 

Your mind runs over all the small things with him, everything you’ve done together. And you’re hit with a sudden nauseating thought. Oh my god, what if he sees me paternally?

You force yourself not to physically react but inside your throwing up and fucking freaking out. You feel a sudden spark of alarm from Charles and quickly do your best to fortify your mind so he doesn’t see your major mental freakout. 

You’re not that much younger than him. Well, it’s not illegal, your crush on Logan. But what if this entire time, when you’ve been falling harder and harder for him, he’s just been platonically taking care of you? You’ve seen him do it plenty of times for the younger kids, as reluctant as he is to admit it. 

You’re spiraling further and further into panic. So much so that you have no idea what’s even being discussed or what’s going on. You get onto the jet and have to ask Storm what you’re doing. She gives you a confused look but tells you nonetheless. Just some recon on a potential mutant trafficking ring. Nothing out of the ordinary, as depressing as that is. There shouldn’t be much violence, which is why your group is particularly small today.

You nod your head, moving like you’re in a daze as you throw yourself onto a seat. Logan sits beside you, an alarmed look on his face. “You alright, kid?”

The nickname, which is used to make your stomach flutter, makes you want to throw up. How have you missed it for this long? It was laid out so plainly before you. Of course, he doesn’t want you. Not when he has perfect Jean. Bile rises in your throat with a vicious ferocity when you glare over at Jean. 

There’s a sudden petty, vindictive rage fueling you. The type you should have abandoned in high school, especially now that you’re grown. Instead, you feel like giving into Logan’s idea of what you are. You feel like reacting to all of this petulantly. 

You ignore Logan and instead catch Jean’s eyes. Slowly, and with as much intention as you can force into your gaze, you look from her to Logan and then Scott. Her eyes widen and Logan scoffs beside you. She shakes her head minutely, silently begging you not to say anything. You smile at her and stand up.

You take a step towards Scott and Logan calls out an irritated, “Kid.” You ignore him and Jean eyes you warily as you approach. She stands like she’s ready to fight you and take the jet down just to keep you quiet. You reach Scott and can hear the way Jean takes in a sharp breath. 

“Scott,” he looks up at you with his brows raised. There's a pause before you speak. Dragged on too long for Scott not to realize you’re planning something. 

Jean takes a step towards you and you grin, “Mind checking my cuffs?” Scott gives you an odd look and his confusion only gets worse as Jean slumps onto the seat beside him. She’s not even trying to hide her relief. Scott shakes his head and holds his hands out, fingers gently probing around the cuffs on your wrists. The ones that keep your powers in check. 

You’re still new to welding them. And they’re too entwined with your emotions for you to just have free range with them. If you hadn’t had the cuffs on this morning, you’re afraid you might have just turned everything around you into nothing but dust.

“They look fine, Flux.” His tone betrays his thoughts. He doesn’t know why you’d come to him for this when it’s Charles who usually deals with it. But this stupid, petty little display wasn’t for poor oblivious Scott. It was for the woman sitting next to him. The redhead whose still drilling holes into your skull. 

You’ve got leverage over her that you’ve never had before. Scott wouldn’t take her little foray with Logan very well. And all it would take is a flick of your wrist to give him a very clear image of exactly what you’d seen. Then, her picture-perfect relationship would be over in a matter of seconds. You’re sure Logan would be more than pleased. But he doesn’t seem to understand that Jean just wants to have fun with him, she’d never choose him over Scott. 

“Thanks,” there’s a bite to your tone that you’re not used to. You usually keep your emotions relatively in control. That way you won’t have to wear these cuffs one day. But you feel volatile today. You’re channeling your hurt and turning it into misguided anger. 

You drop your wrists to your sides and stalk toward the front, hovering behind Charle’s and Storm’s chairs so you don’t have to look at the others. It doesn’t take long for you to feel the floor trembling under heavy booted steps. 

Logan’s arms rest on the headrest of the chairs, bracketing you in between them so you can’t escape. He leans forward until his chest is pushed against yours and you can feel every ridge of his muscled torso pressing into you. You try not to suck in a breath, try not to play into the cliche of instantly forgetting why you’re angry when you’re faced with those muscles of his. It is hard, though, because he’s so handsome and so warm and you just want to melt into him. 

“Wanna explain what the hell that was?” His voice is so low, whispering against the shell of your ear so only you can hear. You feel the vibrations of it against your back, his tone more gravelly than it should be. 

You glance over your shoulder at him, face placid and blank. “What? Just needed some help.” Storm looks over at you both and rolls her eyes. 

Logan opens his mouth to say something but she cuts him off. “Put a pin in the lover’s spat, we’re landing.” Using just a bit of your power, you push Logan off of you and head towards the back of the jet. There’s a slight jolt as you land and then the ramp opens up and you’re practically running into the snowy forest. 

You don’t know where you are, mainly because you weren’t paying attention, you just know it's fucking freezing. The leather of your suit isn’t doing much to help fight against the chill. Charles stays on the jet and reminds you all that this is only meant to be recon. You’re partnered up with Logan, and as much as it irritates you, you’re not stupid enough to argue against it.

You have to put aside your personal grievances for this mission. You can’t risk the safety of mutants because the guy you like likes another girl. Logan seems pleased about it, stubbornly staying by your side even when you make it clear you want space. 

You both linger behind the other’s as Storm leads you through the forest. Jean is being more touchy with Scott than normal. Either to assuage her own guilt or to rub it in Logan’s face, you’re not sure which. You nearly gag as you watch them whisper to one another, you glance over at Logan to see if he notices. 

You’re startled when you see him already staring at you. His lips tick up into something mischievous when he catches your eye. That smug smirk on his face as he leans in towards you. “Wanna tell me what’s got you so pissed off?”

You roll your eyes and tamp down the rising tide of anger. “Nothing,” you bite out, jaw clenching the longer you stare at the back of Jean’s head. You’re surprised you haven’t chipped a tooth with how hard you’re grinding your teeth together. 

He scoffs, not believing you for a second. He doesn’t say anything, just gives you an expectant stare. You can taste the words forming on your tongue, an irritating urge to just spill your guts overcoming you. Before you can stop yourself you blurt out, “I’m a little surprised that’s all.”

“Oh yeah, ‘bout what?” You hate how amused he sounds, the chuckle just lying in wait under his words. Like your anger is funny to him, like he didn’t just break your stupid fucking heart. 

You stop walking, not feeling as intimidating as you want while you shiver and huddle into yourself. He seems perfectly at ease in his leather jacket and beater, still refusing to wear the uniform. He leans back and looks at you with a fondness that you can’t tell if you love or hate. “You and little Miss Perfect.” You spit the nickname with enough venom to make both of your eyes widen. 

Logan rolls his eyes and takes a step towards you, again, Storm interrupts you both. “Guys, really?” Everyone turns around to stare and you will the heat in your face away. “Not the time,” she scolds and you brush past Logan to catch up with the others. 

You come upon a warehouse, it’s nearly camouflaged under all the snow. You see two guards waiting outside the metal doors and you all disperse behind the trees. Storm glances towards Jean who focuses on the guards. They drop to the floor and you wave your hands, their guns melting into puddles of metal. 

Logan and Scott move forward, sliding the large metal doors open. You wince at the loud screeching as the rust flakes off the sides. There’s a collective quiet as you all hold your breath, waiting for them to give the all-clear. Once they run inside and run back out, you and the others quickly get to your feet and rush into the warehouse. Logan closes the doors again as you make it inside. 

“No one here?” Storm checks. Scott shakes his head and you frown. That doesn’t make any sense. Why would there be guards if there was nothing inside?

Your question is, unfortunately, answered a minute later. You find a pile of metal crates stacked on top of each other. A large beige tarp covers them. You tug at the corner, letting the fabric slide off. Your eyes flutter with disappointment, “Guys! Over here,” mutants sit inside the crates. Each of them stares at you with varying degrees of mistrust and fear. 

As awful as it is, you’ve gotten used to these quiet depressing missions. There aren’t usually many mutants in one place. They don’t like to keep the product in one spot for too long. There are only four kids here. The youngest is eleven and the oldest is seventeen. There’s nothing physically telling about their abilities so you assume it must be psychic powers. 

They don’t want to come with you until you all give them a demonstration of your powers. Proving that you’re not just trapping them and taking them somewhere worse. You’re nearly out the door when Charles's voice rings loudly through all of your minds. 

You wince at the volume, hands coming up to grip at your hair as he shouts, “Behind you!” A gunshot rings out, something hot rips across your wrist and you gasp in pain. There’s a clatter of metal as your cuff drops to the ground, the bullet having destroyed it. Without them both, they’re useless. One won’t work without the other. 

You glance up at Logan, a panicked look on your face. You can already feel the tidal wave of power thrashing and building in your chest. It’s been so long with the safety net that you forgot how bad it gets without the cuffs. 

“We need to get you out of here!” He shouts over the gunfire. He herds the group behind a cluster of metal shipment boxes. It provides enough cover for you all to try and figure out an escape plan. 

You listen to the other’s worried voices, each of them trying to console the kids. You don’t know their powers yet. Don’t know what might go wrong if they get too scared and can’t control their abilities. 

You can’t speak, breaths coming short and fast as you clutch your wrist to your chest. You know it’s delusional, hoping that if you keep a tight grip like the cuff you might be able to control yourself. You can already feel the energy leaking out of you, the ends of everyone’s hair stands on end. The wall in front of you warps and cracks like it can’t decide if it’s liquid or solid. 

You grit your teeth and look only at Storm. “You need to get out,” you force the words out. It causes physical pain to try and keep everything at bay. You can feel pressure building in your forehead, pushing out until you think you might explode. 

“We’re not leaving you,” Logan snaps. There’s shouting going on behind you, a pause as they all reload their guns. 

“Wasn’t a question,” you grit out. You look towards Jean and there’s a moment where you both put aside your differences. You both know how stubborn he is, how much he’ll fight against leaving you behind. Regenerative powers or not, it's dangerous to even be close to your gift now. You can see them all straining against the ebbing flow of your powers. Their skin shifts unnaturally like you’re already altering the atoms of their being. 

This is why you’re only allowed to train with Charles and Jean. They can get in your head, shut it down when you can’t. You’re not sure you’re going to survive yourself. Logan glances between the two of you and practically growls at Jean, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare-”

His words trail off into an unintelligible slur as he slumps forward, Jean having knocked him out with her powers. Scott grabs him and grunts under the weight of his body. “I’ll cover you,” you gasp the words out. Anything but focusing on your powers causes physical strain that makes you feel like you’re being tugged in a hundred different directions. “Just get them out,” you nod towards the kids. 

Storm nods and you slip out of cover. It isn’t hard to push your powers in one direction, to solidify the air in front of you so the bullets ricochet harmlessly off. You listen to the whine of the metal door and wait for the others to be gone. 

“They’re in the jet,” Charles's voice rings out. “Don’t do this,” he warns. You can’t think of a response, you’re not even sure what you would say. You never thought you would be able to approach death this calmly, or that this would be how you die. It feels almost pathetic, dying because you lost control on a recon mission. 

At least those kids are safe. It’s not a bad reason to die. Just not great. You glance down at the other cuff on your right hand, the air around it fluctuates until it melts off your wrist like liquid metal. With the last barely there tether off your powers, you close your eyes and release the tidal wave. 

It feels like a dam exploding. It doesn’t leak fluidly from you, it rips through you like a hailstorm of knives. Tears apart anything in its path and rewrites the molecular build of everything in its path. Screams echo through the air as men’s bones turn into brittle dust and their hearts morph into something inorganic. You’re blind to everything around you, vision clouded by the horrific release of energy. 

You can feel warmth leaking down your face. Blood still pours from the wound on your wrist, and fresh blood from other wounds you can’t even feel. You don’t know when the screams stop, or when you’re finally drained. But you feel like an empty husk as you drop to the floor, your head bouncing harshly against the cement as everything goes black. 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Logan says with a grin, glaring at Scott even though it’s Charles who is holding him back. He’s got a firm mental grasp on Logan, keeping him locked into place while he focuses on the warehouse. 

They’re waiting for the all-clear. The others know there’s always the possibility that they’re going to be collecting a body. But none of them are willing to say that, not with the look on Logan’s face. His muscles look ready to pop out of his skin with how much he’s fighting against Charles’s hold. 

Scott backs away from Logan with a scoff. He stands near Jean, but she can’t take her eyes off the restrained man. Nothing had happened this morning, Flux had seen to that. Interrupting them just as they’d started. Seeing the way he’s acting now, she’s starting to believe that nothing is ever going to happen. 

He’d looked like he was about to dismiss her when she started making a move. She can see the anger on his face, it seems he’s only ever pissed off. But underneath that, as much as he hides it, she can see the fear. He’s terrified that they're going to walk in there and you’re going to be dead. 

Jean can feel the fear of the others as well. They’ve only seen you lose control once and that had almost leveled the mansion. Charles had stopped you then, but the loss of the cuff had been so sudden Jean just barely had enough strength to keep the others blocked from your powers. She didn’t have enough time to shut you down. 

Jean, as much as she’s tried to deny it and dismiss her suspicions, can’t look Logan in the eye and ignore it anymore. It’s never been her that he’s wanted. The way he trails along beside you, always prodding and poking until you’re pissy and mouthing off. It’s not done because he finds antagonizing people fun, it's because he loves seeing you all worked up and passionate. He doesn’t view you through the same platonic lens he does the others. You’re something else to him, something she doesn’t want to name, afraid of the bitter taste it will leave on her tongue. 

Charles slumps back in his chair and Logan suddenly lunges forward. He looks a little surprised by the sudden freedom of movement, but before any of them can stop him he’s running out of the jet. “Logan,” Jean tries to call after him but he’s already a distant blur. 

Scott sighs and starts down the ramp. “Come on,” he mutters. He’s the last one who should be coming along. If anything is wrong with you, he’ll end up being Logan’s punching bag. Jean follows reluctantly, she’s not sure she wants to see what’s happened. 

Your powers are too similar in their volatile nature. The way they rule you and come so close to destroying you when you use them too much, is too familiar to Jean. She doesn’t want to see you lying dead on the floor and be reminded of her own mortality. But someone needs to make sure Logan is stuck on a leash. 

They reach where the warehouse should be. It’s nothing but a pile of rubble now. Throughout the wreckage, Jean can make out odd pools of liquid, some writhing, others still. She can only assume that these had been the men shooting at them. She doesn’t see your body, none of them do. But Logan isn’t giving up. 

He lifts different pieces of metal and tosses them off into the forest. Jean doesn’t sense your presence anywhere but she doesn’t have the heart to tell Logan to give up. After a few minutes of searching, she almost tells him to quit. But she can’t see him anymore. He’s disappeared somewhere behind a particularly large pile of roofing. A moment later, Logan stands up. His jacket is gone, wrapped around the body in his arms. None of them are close enough to see if you’re breathing. And he doesn’t say a word as he brushes past them, just keeps going back to the jet. Ororo, Scott, and Jean all share a silent look. None of them prepared for the potential fallout that’s going to happen after this. 

The first thing you feel is two familiar bands of metal around your wrists. The comforting feeling of the cuffs is enough to have you sinking further into the pillows surrounding you. Then you hear the beeping in your ear, feel the cool blow of AC, and become startlingly aware of the fact that you’re in a bed you don’t recognize. 

You groan, eyes peeling open painfully as your lashes get stuck on your skin. You reach up to rub at your face but your arms feel too weak to lift. You give up on the thought, instead staring up at the ceiling and waiting for your vision to refocus. 

A throat clears in front of you and you nearly jump out of your skin. Sitting at the end of your bed, arms crossed and a fierce glare on his face is Logan. His feet are propped up on the small table beside you. He quirks a brow and gives you a sardonic grin, “Finally awake, princess?”

Normally the name would have you up and doing somersaults, but there’s something distinctly negative and disappointed lacing his tone. It squashes any and all butterflies in your stomach. You grimace as you try and sit up. Logan is up in an instant, an annoyed look still on his face as he helps you up. 

You can’t help your dopey smile at how gentle his hands are on you. Even pissed off, he treats you so kindly. Maybe it’s the drugs relaxing you, or the fact that you almost died, but you can’t remember whatever made you mad at him. You can only feel the slide of his calloused hands against your arms, the way you shiver under his touch and crave more. 

He pulls the chair closer to you with a loud scratch of metal feet on the linoleum. You groan at the loud sound and he huffs, throwing himself down in the seat. “How do you feel?”

Your head sinks back against the wall and you finally realize you’re in the medbay. It’s why everything smells so sterile. “Like I got hit by a semi.”

He barely lets you finish your thought before he spits out, “What the fuck were you thinking?” He doesn’t ease you into this at all and you frown. You’re not sure why you would expect him to ever beat around the bush. That’s not his style, he’s always been blunt. Even when others wish he wouldn’t be. 

“What else was I supposed to do?” You ask, voice weak. Your throat feels like it’s been ripped apart. Idly, you wonder if you had been screaming in the warehouse or if this was just general strain from the whole ordeal. 

“Not put yourself at risk like that.” He leans forward, voice stern and bordering on shouting. You know he’s holding back. As much as he wants to lay into you right now, he’s stopping himself from going completely out of his mind. You appreciate it, but you almost wish he would just yell at you. You wish you had a reason to resent him, to finally get over him. “Not have Jean knock me out like that. You don’t get to make those decisions for me.”

It’s completely inappropriate and horrible timing, but you can’t help but scoff at the mention of Jean’s name. Can you not have one conversation that’s not tainted by the mention of the redhead?

Logan’s mouth snaps shut and he glares at you in disbelief. You squeeze your eyes shut, not willing to face him as embarrassment washes over you. No wonder he always calls you kid. You’re not exactly acting like an adult. You’re being a brat and for such a stupid reason too. 

Just because you like him doesn’t mean he has to reciprocate. You can’t just force your feelings on someone. “Logan,” you whisper his name, “Sorry. I’m sorry-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. Some of the anger, but not all, has ebbed from his expression. He almost looks like he’s smiling. “Jean? That’s what this is about? Jealous or something, sweetheart?”

You sputter, shocked little noises leaving you but no words. After a solid minute of restarting a sentence you don’t know how to end you finally land on a squeaky, “Who?” If you weren’t so mortified, you might have just thrown yourself out the window. Out of every cop-out you could have gone with you chose to just pretend you didn’t know who she was. Maybe you could make this work, like selective amnesia. 

Your shame only builds as Logan laughs. You cover your face and wish you could bury yourself six feet deep and never come up. You feel two rough hands wrap around your wrists, tugging your own away from your face. You don’t have the energy to fight back, so you keep your eyes on his chin. Too afraid to meet his gaze. 

“Come on,” he mutters, gently nudging your chin up until you’re forced to look at him. You're caught off guard by the look in his eyes. You recognize it, but you’d only ever seen it directed at Jean. It’s the same way you’ve always looked at him. Pure unguarded want and desire. 

The hand on your chin drifts back, fingers tangling in your hair and gently resting on your jaw. He tugs you forward until your lips are nearly touching, breaths mingling with every exhale. “Only ever wanted you, darlin'.’”

The kiss catches you off guard. It shouldn’t, deep down you knew it was coming, but the intensity behind it, the way you can practically taste how bad he wants this, wants you, catches you off guard. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting yourself melt into his hold. 

His free hand drifts to your waist and clutches the flimsy hospital gown until you hear it tear. You part your lips, deepening the kiss so you can finally taste him. It’s cigars and whiskey, something you should hate but is entirely intoxicating when he’s holding you so tightly. Fireworks are going off in your mind, sparks darting between your fingers as the cuffs struggle to contain all the energy suddenly pushing out of you. 

He can feel you holding back, squeezing you like it’s a promise he can take it. Take everything you throw at him. You let go as much as your cuffs will allow you. Let the energy blanket you both so you can’t hear your heart monitor going off like crazy. So you don’t feel anything other than each other. You think you’re going to devour each other like you’ll just keep kissing until neither of you can take it anymore. You don’t want to let go of him, don’t want to lose this moment. 

But you have to breathe. You don’t get to just keep living the way he does. You pull away from him slowly, every part of you dreading separating from him. His forehead drops against your own, his laughter playing along your lips as he finally hears the monitor going haywire. 

You groan, flicking your wrist and shutting it off so it can’t betray how flustered you are anymore. He gently nudges you aside so he can sit beside you on the bed. You don’t waste a second before you’re draping yourself across his chest and siphoning his warmth. He chuckles, arms coming up to wrap around you. 

“Can’t believe you were jealous of Jean.”

“Shut up,” you snipe. You look up at him and glare, “How else do you explain what you two were doing?”

He leans forward and gives you a smug grin. “She came onto me, sweetheart.” Your face screws up in distaste and jealousy. She’s going to need to learn to keep her hands to herself. He seems to feel the way you tense up, he huffs in amusement and rubs your back. “Relax, you’re gonna blow your fuse again.”

You glance down at your wrists and nuzzle further into him. You can’t believe you could have been laying on him this whole time. You never want to use a blanket again, not when you’ve got him. “I’ll be fine now that I’ve got my cuffs.”

His hand stills on your bicep. He squeezes it before his hand drifts up to your chin and he tilts your face up again. “I don’t ever want to see that again.” You’re a little surprised by the sudden shift in tone, but you knew this was coming. 

“I had to, Logan. I either took you all down with me or I went on my own.”

Logan frowns and takes in a deep breath. You place a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. He smiles down at you, “Next time, take me with you. I’m not fucking dealing with Summers without you.”

You can’t help but chuckle. Your face grows warm and your chest expands with some odd gleeful feeling as he laces your fingers together. “Deal,” you whisper, still smiling at him. 

A/N: Okay, this might be shit, I’m not sure. I sort of rushed the ending because as I was writing this I had another idea for him. I guess I’m officially off my hiatus. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[cyarsk5230]

He knows she could walk into any room and have any man she wanted and she’s going home with him. Mature,secure, and loving makes a man sexy AF.

[kentopedia]

nanami kento, who hates dating, and didn’t do much of it in his early twenties. but now, he’s almost thirty, watching all the people he works with settle down, have kids, and he thinks he wants that. so he might as well try.

so satoru sets him up on a few dates — friends of friends, he calls them. and at the end of every one of the dinners, kento goes home empty, exhausted, because he knows what they want is not the same.

still; he thinks maybe he’s being a little self-destructive, maybe too picky, maybe he just got so used to being alone. with satoru’s insistence, he gives all the women another call, invites them over to his apartment.

the first time was a disaster… kento had barely set the dinner on the table before his cat had hissed at her, scratched her down the arm in a thin gash. and though it did draw blood, it was hardly enough to warrant that reaction.

he didn’t even try to stop her as she picked up her bag and left, huffing like she’d been morally offend. kento, though, could only smile to himself in amusement.

because maybe kento was a poor judge of character, a man who was secretly hoping nothing would pan out — but his cat could certainly tell the good from the bad.

it became a little game to him, after that. seeing if anyone could win his pet over, and if they could, perhaps they were the one. his darling animal was a fickle thing anyway. a bit too defensive, quick to bite anything threatening after years on the streets.

naturally, no one came back twice.

he was close to giving up, accepting his solitude because he was tired of empty conversations over dinner. but then, he ventured out over the weekend to a new coffee shop, during hours he normally didn’t spend out of his home, and met you.

though you only talked for a moment, kento felt like maybe he’d known you in a past life. a part of him thought maybe it was strange, the way he kept coming back to talk to you, catching you at the end of your shift to see if you wanted to grab a coffee sometime.

by the second date, kento started to think you could turn out to be his best friend.

by the third date, kento wondered if soulmates were real.

on the fourth date, almost two months later, an appropriate time to get to know someone when you were as reserved as kento, he invited you over for dinner. it was, perhaps, the final confirmation he needed to let himself be with you.

he let you through the door, smiling softly as you told him about the book you were reading, and hung his coat on the rack. a moment later, you stopped, distracted, hands covering your mouth in a gasp.

“kento! she’s the cutest cat i’ve ever seen, you didn’t even show me pictures!” you exclaim, and, a few feet away, crouched down. “look at her pretty eyes…”

“careful,” kento said, “she’s not very—“

but the cat approached your outstretched hand, sniffed once, before letting you scratch her under her chin, purring loud enough for kento to hear across the room.

“shes such a sweetheart, you told me she was mean!” you smiled, making a cooing noise as you threaded your fingers through her fur. “kento’s a liar, isn’t he… you’re so precious.”

a few moments later, she snapped her jaw at you in a biting motion, and you only laughed, withdrawing your hand. “alright, i get it, i won’t bother you anymore.”

though she still brushed against your legs, just as she did kento’s, and seemed to communicate some sort of message to him.

“do you want any help cooking?” you ask, tucking your hair behind your ears. “i’m a disaster in the kitchen, but—“

“sure,” kento said, his chest tightening as he blinked back at you, only in his apartment for minutes and already looking as at home there. he wondered if it was possible to fall in love so quickly. “but only if you want to.”