#he sheds like a cat too
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Does Ilya like you touching his hair or is that a big no-no
Ilya loves his hair being played with. His hair is a point of pride and he works hard to keep it shiny and immaculate.
It took a lot of awkward fumbling around in his youth to figure out how to keep it long and not have it be a detriment in battle. He got a lot of shit for it, truthfully. The main reason he grew it out to begin with was he was very young and would 'hide' behind a curtain of hair because he was anxious. He ended up having to braid it back and as he got older, he got more and more compliments on it and his pride swelled with his ego as he aged. It was very much not the 'style' of the time-- it was more matted hair, chunky braids, and a top knot-esque sort of look going on because they were a warrior culture and it was more about practicality than aesthetic-- but he fancied himself a trendsetter and didn't really care. He learned to fight around it and eventually figured it out.
Now he keeps it remarkably long, and spends a lot of time and coin taking care of it-- not that it's really necessary. He doesn't dye it or really need to do anything to it. It's almost overkill at this point.
He will have you brush it and braid it as a sort of 'chore.' He's touch-starved despite being a bastard and it tends to make him very happy to be played with like that.
He's one of those bastard men that has effortless beauty and it's infuriating. He can drink and smoke to excess for years and years and years and it'll never show a peep. Don't let him fool you though, a good portion of it is magic, and the other portion is that he doesn't age because he's already dead.
Either way, his hair is thick and shiny and lovely and he is aware of that fact. If you ask him nicely, he'll show you how to keep yours the same (literally just don't dye it, braid it back, trim it now and again and use expensive products. He's not some wizened sage, he's just very lazy.)
#morgana and friends#ilya the bastard#I used to have long thick black hair to my waist and I was AMAZED how easy it was to grow out#it was literally years of depression and just.. leaving it alone and dumping black dye on it and nothing else#It's when you trouble your hair a lot that it starts to fight back#For me it was deciding I didn't want black hair anymore when my natural color is like white-blonde#so you can imagine that it REALLY didn't like that#It's still long but not as long as I'd like it#I don't bleach it anymore so it's healing up#The point of this is his hair is based on my experience having super long hair#he sheds like a cat too#He loves his hair and you'll notice it because he's always throwing it around and showing it off#He's annoying tbh
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Came up with this AU (subplot?) where Megs and Star struggle to care for their earth pets, the “Battle Dog” (really Megs? 😑) and, um…
*Checks TFwiki*
Sure, we’ll call ‘em Meowgatron—
While still tryin’ to survive on/take over earth ‘n stuff.
Or in other words, if Megs was just a little less of a douchebag, towards the dog that he tried to weaponize and end all of humanity with.👌
*Realizes how that sounds* (゚ ペ)
Listen, this is the same episodic manga that has an entire underground highway system that spans worldwide, an island full of predators and prey that live together in peace, and Rumble and Frenzy disguising themselves as hooded figures to hate on Autobots (seriously guys…wtf?).
Make of that increasing ludicrousness/questionableness AND the tonal whiplash case that is the final chapter as you will.
#y'all if this cat doesn't survive the comic...no#i refuse to consider this too soon to draw (#⩌'︿'⩌#)#cuz the battle dog didn't even survive the manga chapter so#they can hang out together in the afterlife#and that can be drawn as commemoration#oh right and there's megs' holoform too i guess um ( 〃..)#he’s wearin' a chapka but he’s not polish#that’s just what my mom says when i talk too much lol#yeah no he’s japanese in case you're wonderin'#i think the battle dog is at least an akita/alaskan malamute mix#both breeds shed like mfs so good fraggin' luck megs#gotta work to get those animal cruelty charges dropped#maccadam#transformers#my art#megatron#starscream#battle dog#meowgatron#transformers g1#tf g1#transformers generation one#tf fan continuity#tf skybound#holoforms#humanformers#humanization#maccadams
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Juleka & Chloe's anytime the latter's parents are awful:
I really feel like Chloe would dye and/or cut her hair just to piss off Audrey (Juleka would be helping ofc, maybe it was even her idea hehe)
#ask#miraculous ladybug#chloleka#chloe bourgeois#juleka couffaine#would you believe me that i had the chloleka hair cutting idea since i started shipping them#chris would be there too ofc theyre siblings#and like chloe is having a crisis so she cuts her hair and chris tries to make it look better#he fucks it up even more#so he just calls juleka#and she solves the issue <3#i think that there was also some tension between chloe and her#because her identity as prima queen got exposed#and she flirted with her during akumas and that shit#so chloes crisis would get even worse because now shed have to face juleka after it#yeah i hope i get to include this somehow in the au#its a cool idea#its got everything#chloe chris sibling bonding. chloleka. emotional crisis. haircuts. probably a cat#i wanna give chloe a cat#a white one with a big tail#idk about cat breeds but its definitely a pure breed cat#idk if i used the correct word idk about breeding vocabulary#wow i sure do love yapping
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the human au doctors are all ambiguously from Not Great Home Situations but i think twelve specifically was having a terrible time as a foster kid and decided this little gang of weirdos would be his new family
#he’s also faceblind and can’t tell ten and eleven apart if they’re not talking for like. two months.#that’s unrelated it’s just another thing that’s true#they’re the family twelve wants and they’re the family twelve chose. and besides: he brings with him dinosaur facts.#(also this is the point at which nine realizes this is going to keep happening. like okay. ten? that’s one kid he’s taking under his wing.#and fair is fair. as annoying as ten is. as stubborn and rude as he can be. well. mostly that just reminded nine of himself. not a good#thing necessarily. but he needed someone looking after him when he was younger and ten needs him now. okay then.#but then eleven happens and eleven is Not supposed to happen but the other option is to leave him behind living in secret in amy pond’s shed#where he will inevitably be found and sent back somewhere he Does Not Want To Go Or Talk Or Think About. so nine can’t leave him.#ten and eleven might fight like pissy cats but they also huddle together when they fall asleep while nine is watching over them.#so okay then. eleven is coming too.#BUT TWELVE? this is the third time. you can’t have a coincidence three times in a row. and twelve is the one who chases after them. who#chooses them. how is nine supposed to turn him away. plus he’s got a pragmatic streak that is extremely helpful and he fits. you know?#there’s room in their little family for him. and he fits. he belongs. they see him.#so okay then. twelve is coming too.)#human!sibling!doctors au
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based on 90% vibes and 10% facts about the characters. i do not take constructive criticism. buck ruffler never read warrior cats but he'd act like a cat and bite others and invade warrior cat larps as a rogue
#i didnt know where to put erclaim but like#hes a bit less memey than erfit#and has his rhymes and is fancier i feel like he wouldnt care or know it#erfit on the other hand seems like internet memer to me he would fucking know.#dave is a memer in general i dont take constructive criticism he probably posts deep fried memes on twitter#pacesetter emo kid is true in my heart forever. everyone was reading this so he had to be cool#holly would know what it is bc someone spoke about it and shed prolly go like WHAT IS THIS FOUL LITERATURE YOU CALL THIS READING YOU CALL#THIS ENTERTAINMENT THIS IS NO REAL BOOK OF VALUE#BRIAN Is brian .#chip also emo kid i dont take constructive criticism. projecting on mary and liking the same general things and being a wildlife enjoyer#person just leads you to warrior cats ONE DAY. redd has the vibes. you cant tell me misty didnt larp. misty defo stanned bluestar at first#cathal knows it from internet use but doesnt really care. flint knows from graham and the internet also#everyone else just wouldnt care . like one main way ppl learn abt warriors is online and if theyd see them#in person theyd like. wouldnt care. not literature for me. what is this. glances away#anyways heres my joke list taken too seriously#HEHHEAHHAHA#ITS SUCHA S TUPID IDEA I HAD IT FOR DAYS I HAD TO#shitpost#tier list#managers#redd wasnt almost included OOPS but like he has the vibes i had to put him in#i wanted litigation team here too but i know jackshit about them :skull:#listen i fought diana once. ever. one clo fight. im nowhere near oclo and a lot of stuff i still dont know et bc i dont like spoiling mysel#I SWEAR IF I FORGOT SOMEONE ELSE IM SO SORRY
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my bitterness is all consuming
#my cat is here with me. i love her. anyway vent incoming 3 2 1 go#her hatred is. too much#even when im not even there#i can feel it#i feel lucky because i got to spend my bday with my friends. thats hasnt happened in a while#my cousins birthday is tomorrow. no one invited me but thats fine i dont care#my grandma is making a huge pie for my cousin. she has never done that for me#she didnt even call me for my birthday#i wish my grandpa was here. i know he loved me. i saw him so little but i know#she hated him too. hell my own mom is convinced she hates her because she is just like him#the despised grandchild of the hated daughter#anyway i know i shouldnt shed tears for this but i feel so alone lmao#i dont want to live here anymore#delete later
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still thinking abt viv sending me her caps from uri at the vday cutscene. punching dirt about him and moen being Best Fuckign Friends. i love them so much. moen was so determined to wrangle this loser. god bless. i love moen and i would kill and die for her. so would uri except he cant. i cry every day
#also its STILL so weird to me that for a while xiv was trying to make it read as if uri was Weird about moen??#like girl you try to have that and (even before they rewrote that) saying moen is SUPER DETERMINED to be his friend??#have u ever BEEN a girl?? if someone is Weird about u..... u know. and u dont go EXTREMELY OUT OF YOUR WAY to get them to hang with u#i know this i spent a summer as a girl once for a social experiment /j#punching dirt he and moen loved each other sooooooo much. best fucking friends. his favourite food is the snacks she made. im cry#going to be ETERNALLY ANGRY about them fridging moen. for WHAT. she was TOO STRONG#revive her. i want her to be able to swing uri around by his midriff like a cat.#i love her so much she is everything to me. i would do anything for a huge purple woman.#me kicking uri out of the way move it gayboy im bout to find out if shes single#do u think shed make me snacks too. i think shed make me snacks. im only slightly less pathetic than uri#we love uri getting adopted by jocks as a fun little bestie#i am never not emotional about moenbryda my best friend#i ALSO have a good best friend of mine ive known my whole entire life and who helped me become able to socialize. i know the feeling!!!!!#i know it!!!!!!#IM LITERALLY SO NORMAL ABOUT MOEN I JUST LIKE HER SO MUCH SHE IS LARGE AND PURPLE AND MY FRIEND
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HOUSE IN NEBRASKA — Logan "Worst Wolverine" Howlett x Mutant!Reader AO3 version Spotify Playlist
WORD COUNT — 15.4k SUMMARY — Reader gets roped into saving the timeline with ex-best friend Deadpool, coming face-to-face with a variant of Logan that uproots memories she'd long suppressed, only to find that this version of him lost her in his universe, too. TAGS/WARNINGS — she/her pronouns (minimal usage), female anatomy, flashbacks in italics, angst, enemies to lovers, alcoholism, smoking, arguments, canon typical violence, cursing/bad language, Deadpool breaks the fourth wall like twice, canon behaviour worst wolverine, religious trauma, honda odyssey scene self-insert, eventual smut, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, dirty nasty talk (logan has a filthy mouth), mentions of cocaine literally once. smut is marked after last divider if you want to skip plot but i'll kiss you if you don't!
You’re smoking a cigarette on your porch when the snowfall happens. It would be normal, you think, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s dead in the middle of July. A group of nanas, elbow-deep in the community garden soil, glance up to the sky and begin muttering prayers amongst themselves.
You’ve lived in this safe house for a while now, up in the mid-west of the Appalachian mountains, surrounded by thickets of pine and opposite a bubbling creek. You grew up somewhere near here and the locals welcomed you back with open arms and a plateful of hot food when the humans started the culling— when the X-men fell apart.
It has plenty of benefits. The smell of lavender, for one, and your cat, Kevin, loves chasing the pigeons, even if he’s not the most successful hunter. The locally sourced produce means you can avoid the poisoned food they’re distributing in supermarkets.
But, most importantly, the humans can’t find you out here. You’re lucky the gossip of your… genetics, so to speak, doesn’t leave Sunday morning church.
Things have been different, lately. The trees are shedding down to dust, people are disappearing at an exponential rate, and there was a time when you’d be on the front lines helping them. You’re on the edge of your seat waiting for the call — a learned habit — but it’s never coming. Charles is dead. Logan is dead. The X-men are dead.
The snow is warm when it lands on your skin. It feels like rot, and your solitude suddenly feels lonelier and more daunting than ever.
You reach to take a sip of your steaming coffee when you hear movement. A zipping strobe light crosses your vision and you flinch against the intrusion, but you’re not afraid. You’ve surely survived worse.
Stryker worse.
A comical and confused looking figure pops out from an orange portal, scratching the crown of his head over the red and black mask on his face. You sip your coffee as you observe him nonchalantly.
He notices you and approaches with a dainty point of his finger.
“Um, excuse me, ma’am.”
“Well, well well,” you suck on your cigarette with a frown. “Look what the cat dragged in. Got a new suit, Red?”
“What, aren’t you happy to see lil’ old me?”
“You’re on my property,” you say matter-of-factually. You had a shotgun stowed away inside for emergencies, but frankly, you never had to use it. You were enough of a weapon yourself. Consider it insurance, if the corn-syrup they’re poisoning ever finally makes it way to you.
You glance sidelong at the old ladies in their aprons, clutching one another with stern gazes in your direction. The deal was that you didn’t bring trouble their way — but it looks like trouble found you. You narrow your eyes and silently hope that this doesn’t turn messy, as it so usually does where he’s concerned.
He sighs heavily and continues approaching regardless. You analyse his stature and take notes of the weapons on his holsters and back. You reckon you could take him if it came down to it, but he didn’t seem threatening.
You and Wade used to be friends, but after isolating yourself from grief, you don’t necessarily consider yourselves to have a close relationship. More often than not he brought trouble; hence your defensive response.
“Listen, ants in your pants, I’ve done this about a hundred times,” he huffs and places a hand on his hip, waving the device around in his hand. You take another drag of your cigarette and perk your brows before rising to your feet.
“I’ve had my spleen shattered by the Hulk, about eighty stab wounds…”
He rambles on about his collection of injuries and you tilt your head with amusement. Must be another one of his famous mental breakdowns. This might be entertaining, at the very least.
“…You’ve even killed me a few times in different universes!” He claps his hands together. “And frankly, I was just going to let you die here. You’re not even canon, so you won’t be missed, but you appear to be of use to me. So I need you to come with me. Now. Please.”
What on Earth was he talking about? What on Earth was he ever talking about?
You bark a laugh. “I ain’t going anywhere with you, Red and Black.”
“Will it change your mind if I add a cherry on top?” He asks with a dry laugh before nodding enthusiastically. Manically. “You’re coming. Kevin’s life depends on it.”
“What are you talkin’ about? Are you threatenin’ my cat? That’s a new low, Wade.”
“Is it? Is it really? I am certain that I can go unfathomably lower.”
You roll your eyes, half-way through turning your back on him.
“You see this?” He holds out a gloved hand and catches some snowflakes. He rubs them between his fingers and they spark and fizzle before dusting away. “That’s not snow. That’s time death. Our universe is dying, womp womp. Stay here, sure! By all means, but—”
Your cat launches out of the door behind you, chirping and meowing to himself before promptly dashing through the portal and disappearing into the blurry void on the other side.
“Well. Looks like he made his choice.”
He sighs and lets you process. You take the final swig of your coffee and huff a breath.
“You literally have nothing left to lose. Trust me. I know. I’ve seen all kinds of you and, believe me when I say this, even though I love and cherish this version of you, this—” he points two fingers at you and gestures towards you judgmentally. “— isn’t the best look on you, honey.”
You want to dismiss him. You want to turn him away, to tell him to get lost. Grief swallowed your heroism whole, turning it into a barren wasteland of bitter indifference. You used to be bright, full of light, love, and hope.
Fucking hope. It’s the reason Logan left you to help Charles in the first place. You just wanted to settle down and disappear, to live a normal life. You lost an intrinsic part of your being when he died; you remember feeling it before you heard the news. Fucking hope.
Hope, hope, hope. Nana Rose chants on about it when she clasps your hands with her wrinkly ones, dragging you to church in spite of your atheism.
“And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts,” she chants, basket of flowers on her hip. “Romans 5:5. You’d do well to do your readin’, tulip.”
You didn’t and don’t ever usually believe a word she says, but you can feel her faith. It’s solid as steel, pouring out of her like blotting light through the gaps in the trees. Undying. And you’ll be damned if you let anything happen to her.
A flicker remains. You imagine what Charles would say to you now, how you’d hang onto his every word and he’d bring out the better of you. You truly do have nothing left to lose, except maybe your cat. Over your dead body.
“Come ooon,” he pokes his fingers together. “Fancy being a hero? One last time?”
You take the final drag before stubbing the cigarette out on your railing. “Alright, Red. I’ll bite.”
“Then suit up.”
Your friendship with Deadpool was a rocky one. There was a time you told him you’d be there for him through everything, and you technically owed him one for saving your life that one time even though your ego insists that, to this day, you could’ve taken the fight. That’s what heightened cellular control of your body is for, right? Accelerated healing? Empathetic abilities? Faster reactions, enhanced strength— you get the point.
Though you didn’t realise that returning the favour meant following him through space, time and alternate dimensions, you were a person who stayed true to their word, and you hated being indebted to someone.
So, here you were, waking up in the middle of a barren wasteland that was seconded as a cocktail soup of abandoned universal relics and heroes ripped from their worlds, accompanying your ex-best friend to restore your timeline.
But, one thing about paying someone back, it doesn’t technically count if they lie to you about the terms and conditions of the agreement. Only a few mere moments after you come to, dazed by the impact and the blaring wobbly heat of the sun, you rise to watch as Deadpool takes six blades of Wolverine to the chest.
You’re still a little dizzy when you stagger to your feet, head throbbing, as you’re trying to process if, yes, that’s exactly what you were witnessing.
“Let’s see you grow your fuckin’ head back!” Wolverine growls.
Deadpool holds his hands up in surrender. “Wait, wait, wait! I can fix it! I can fix it!”
The man in yellow hesitates. “Fix what?”
“Whatever it is that you did, whatever made you so bad—” Wade pants, catching his breath. “Those pricks at the TVA, you heard ‘em. They have the power to end my universe, but they also have the power to change yours. We get back there, and we can fix your world! Together. I promise.”
You stumble from around a pile of debris, clutching your side as a rib pops back into place. Wolverine sniffs the air, face blanching as he snaps to look in your direction.
When you first make eye contact with him, it feels as though you’re resurfacing from water after being on the precipice of drowning. Your heart leaps into your throat, adrenaline boils your veins and your lungs burst with relief of breathing.
“Troubles always gonna find you, baby,” Logan murmurs, kissing his way up from the pulse in your throat as he rocks against you. “But so am I.”
You’ve never loved him more, you think, than when he fucks you slow like this. A snowstorm rages outside the cabin, howling full of glass and needles and rattling the window frames. His skin against yours burns a fire within you, warming you to the bone. He sweeps hair away from your face before capturing your mouth in his, swallowing the sounds of your pants, threading his fingers between yours.
You could stay here forever, you think.
Your fingers shake from the whiplash of the memory. You instinctively reach towards him but you catch yourself. This was the husk of him, not your Logan. The realisation feels akin to ripping open a haphazardly sewn wound right down to the fatty yellow flesh, raw and needling and sore.
He’s broader than you remember. Hair a little darker, wrinkles a little deeper. He smells of alcohol and cigars — that much is familiar. That’s him, flesh and adamantium bone, living, breathing. Alive. The physical shell of him prods alive parts of your inner circuitry that you weren’t aware had fallen asleep, like intrinsic nerves untangling within you.
You can sense that he knows you, too, based on his emotional response. His noise is extremely loud, spilling out of the cracks of whatever wall he thought he’d successfully built up. This version of Logan certainly had a lot of secrets.
“You,” he whisper-growls. It’s almost intangible, leaving him like a breath. He pulls his blades promptly from Deadpool’s chest and kicks him backwards.
You’re starting to understand that faith thing that Nana Rose was knocking on about when he strides towards you, large and tall. You certainly weren’t a believer by any means but you’re sure you’d be the picture of unbridled worship for the way you’d fall to your knees for him.
Your empathetic power lurches for him, seeking him out as you used to — like a flower to the sun — but it physically recoils from the aura that it touches. It was all your Logan but not in a familiar way. It’s tainted, dark, and it tastes like copper and screams.
All colour melts from his face and his body shuffles in a way that indicates discomfort; a dry swallow, tense shoulders and flicking eyes that refuse to meet your gaze. He omits feelings of guilt and shame that linger on the tendrils of your empathetic powers where you connect with him.
You try to zone Wade out, squinting as you attempt to navigate through his cobweb of emotions (seriously, this guy’s aura could do with a cleanup) but it’s like wading through black-tar syrup, feelings negated by years of alcohol-abuse and avoidance. Eventually, you feel something that makes your guts twist and your legs shake: a version of romantic attraction and recognition so carnal and raw that you begin to blush, a warmth that creeps its way up from your belly. A breath escapes you like a punch.
“Well. This feels awkward.” Wade glances between you both and places his hands on his hips. “Why do you both look like you’ve seen a ghost? Do I need to call Egon Splegler and tell him to bring his ghost sucky-sucky vacuum? Oh my god—” He slaps his hands to his face and gasps sharply. “Cross-Universal lovers?”
As inappropriately timed and tone-deaf his one-liners could be, you’d never been more appreciative of an icebreaker. You think you could’ve stood there for an hour, frozen in silence, staring at a reanimated corpse, basking in the noise of his emotional frequency like an addict finally getting another hit.
But then the noise stops, swallowed up like a heaving black hole had split and atomised the tension whole with its unforgiving jaws. He closes himself off from you. Connection severed. You reach out and feel a cold nothingness similar to how, on particularly rough nights, you’d try to reach out to him after his passing. You’d clung onto his plaid shirts until the smell and emotional residue wore off of them.
“You with the mouth? To fix things?”
You nod tightly. You don’t think you can find your voice in front of him.
“Let’s just keep moving. And stay out of my head,” Logan grumbles, crossing you with a cold shoulder and mumbling something incoherent under his breath. When he’s made enough distance, you turn to your old friend with a cold glare.
“Ooh, brr. Anybody else feel a chill?”
“Wade.”
He twists towards you comically slow.
“You. Motherfucker.” You begin approaching him. He backs up slowly and holds his hands up.
“I knew if I told you the plan you wouldn’t have gone along with it!”
“Are you insane? You think multiversally grave-robbing my fucking dead ex-boyfriend is going to save our timelines?!” You yell.
“Technically he’s not dead—”
You push him. “He should be! He- he was— he is!”
“Well, this one isn’t!” He pushes back. “And I’m not sorry for finding a loophole in the plan to fry — not just mine, mind you — but both of our timelines! Did you happen to forget that? No multi-dimensional depressed Logan? Alright then! No more Kevin!”
He’s talking about your cat. Anger flares.
“Don’t you dare bring Kevin into this.”
“You forced my hand!” He yells, mouth moving alien-like behind the mask on his face. “Besides, I’m not doing this for me—”
You blink your eyes closed. You might reach the end of your tether if he said her name one more time. You’ve been in his company for approximately an hour, and he’s already drilled a hole into your brain with his incessant yapping about the “love of his life”.
“Wade, you need to move on. She clearly has.”
“I will not move on from the only people I love in this fucked up dimension. This isn’t just for Vanessa.” He shoves a glossy photograph in your face. “This is for you and blind Al and even that shit-head teenager and her pinkie-pie girlfriend! They deserve their timeline!”
“I literally don’t care about any of those people!”
Even yourself?
“Well, I do! I have people I care about! Aren’t you supposed to be a hero? God, all of you X-men are so depressing. Is it the suits they make you wear? Is that it? Can’t breathe in that thing?” He continues poking at you. “Loosen up a little!”
You straighten your posture and the black leather of your suit crackles. You swat his hands away as he continues poking. “Alright! Cut it out!”
“Think of Nana Rose.” He draws a heart with two fingers. “Little old ladies like her deserve a chance, don’t they?”
And even though humans had done nothing but wage war on your kind for simply existing, you still felt obliged to help them. Besides, the thought of other mutants — kid mutants — dying when you hold the chance to save them in the palm of your hand? You were hardly managing as you were now. You’re not sure you’d be able to live with yourself if you kept going like this.
“Alright, alright!” You huff, heart pounding in your chest. You look over at where Wolverine kicks at rocks in the distance. “Fucking hell, Red. Holy fuck.”
You say it again, only this time you scream it into your hands.
“You should’ve warned me.”
“Are we good?”
“Are we go—” You scoff. You kick his ankle, feel the bones shatter and crunch beneath your foot. He lets out a short, high-pitched yelp. “You deserved that.”
“Motherfuckermotherfucker… oh you’re lucky I feel bad about lying to you or I would’ve twisted your milk bags off for that I swear to God.” He sucks in a breath. “I’ll allow it. Just this once.”
“Mhm,” you murmur, walking forward. “That doesn’t sound like an apology.”
He limps after you, floppy ankle dragging a line in the sandy dirt. “I’ll be dead before you ever get one of those out of me! And too bad I can’t fucking die!”
The difference between this Logan and your Logan is stark, minus the uncanny resemblance. Your Logan was soft and gentle, but this version is sharper and blade-edged, and your fingers bleed when you try to touch him.
Staring at him feels like throwing up a mirror and analysing yourself, a picture of what happens to a person when they make all of the wrong choices. You’re embarrassed, almost. This isn’t a version of you that you ever want him to know, but at least you can say you’re trying.
Him, on the other hand…
“Are we going to keep up the awkward silence?” You snip, awkwardly adjusting the restraints on your wrist.
You’ve been in Logan’s company for all of an hour, and yet accompanying one another through literal time purgatory didn’t seem to irk any feelings of obligation from his end. He’d been cold-shouldering and ignoring you the entire time, even though you kept catching him staring.
“I have nothing to say to you,” he spits, wriggling uncomfortably against a very unconscious Deadpool. “You got us into this mess.”
You frown, small. You can feel hatred pouring out from him, leaving a sickly bile taste in the back of your throat. You’ve lived through enough hate for being a mutant in your lifetime, enough that you’d become accustomed to tuning it out of your radio channel, so to speak, but something about it coming from the man you loved makes it a little harder to swallow.
You’re quiet when you next speak. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”
He shoots you an indistinguishable look and grunts to himself. Such a Libra.
“So, what’s the story here?” Johnny asks with a sly grin. He turns to you with a glimmer of mischief in his eye. “You two know each other?”
You cringe. “Sort of. Last I remember, he wasn’t this much of a prick.”
“Oh, trouble in paradise, huh?” His grin grows. “That’s a shame. Not often we get girls like you in the void.”
“Seriously?” You say with a side-eye.
He shrugs, all blue-spandex biceps and charming smile. “No harm in trying.”
Your breath hitches as Cassandra approaches, wide eyes and tilted head aiming for you purposefully. Logan swiftly angles his body so that he’s standing in front of you and she halts as a delighted, implicating smile stretches across her face. Your chest constricts, tendrils of yearning coiling tighter. It appeared to be muscle memory: his instinctual, protective flinch. Just like your Logan used to, despite how capable he knew you were.
“Now, I’ve always wanted a Wolverine.” Her finger moves along the crowd. “Knew I’d get one eventually. But I never even dreamed of having you.”
Cassandra zips behind you and her slender fingers delve into the crevices and valleys of your brain, lips intimately close to your neck and ear. Wolverine snarls territoriality, but he’s unable to move. The urge to reach for him is overwhelming.
“Do you know that there are so few universes where you exist?” She whispers, caressing your deepest memories. “I even asked the TVA about you, in exchange for keeping the peace. I was disheartened when I found out one of you died. But you’re here! Now, I don’t believe in fate, but this almost feels like it was meant to be.”
You flinch when she uncovers a particularly fond memory, one you hadn’t been aware was so prominently in the forefront.
In the back of his truck, a cigar between his teeth, hands sliding under your shirt. In another world, he would’ve taken the time to do this properly, but living in a school didn’t exactly grant two consenting adults any privacy.
“Waited long enough for this.”
He kisses up from your bare foot to the sensitive skin of your inner knee, lips scorching against your skin.
“Logan…”
“Easy,” he murmurs, leaning away for a moment to remove his plaid overshirt, leaving himself in that white vest you could eat him alive in. “Still wanna take my time with you.”
You’re desperate, he can tell— can probably smell it, too, but you’re far too humiliated to ask him if he can.
Logan wasn’t your first by any means, but with the way you were near trembling for him truly felt like you’d be losing all of your innocence in the back seat. You’re shy and quiet, everything he isn’t. You’re infatuated with him — have been since he burst out of the lab in his grey hoodie — and have daydreamed about what it would be like to have him. You certainly didn’t let him know that right away, and with whatever shred of composure remained around his relentless flirting and teasing remarks, you tried to play hard to get.
Until you couldn’t. Because you weren’t. He had you, and with every fibre of your being, you wanted him to.
She pulls her hands from your brain with a shlick sound, rubbing her fingers together as if relishing in the produce of your memories. She grabs a rag from her pocket and smirks knowingly.
“You’re thinking of that at a time like this?” She laughs all witch-like. “Worry not; your secret’s safe with me, naughty girl.”
Wade lowers his voice and leans towards Logan. “She was thinking of me.”
“I can read between the lines, darling,” she potters on. “This isn’t about a sexual fantasy. Deep down, you just want to be wanted. To be loved.”
She steps back and extends her arms. “After all, you’ll never amount to anything in your world. It’s such a shame that your Logan left you so abruptly. Did he break your heart?” She giggles. “Why suppress your powers in his name? For a level-five mutant, you certainly don’t act like one. You can do that, here. Freely!”
Your worn thin tether creaks with exhaustion like a dilapidated bridge under pressure. There isn’t a singular fibre of your being that desires to be stuck here, but the small, angry teenage voice in your head would love nothing more than to just let go. You’d been containing your powers for as far as you can remember, and they'd always been as irresistible as the promise of Pandora's box.
But you know how that story ends.
You take a moment’s pause. “I have no interest in livin’ in a garbage dump.”
She tilts her head and neatly clasps her hands behind her back. “Do you forget where you come from? I think we both know who lives in a garbage dump.”
“You motherf—”
You’d just managed to escape Cassandra’s lair with Alioth’s foggy storm fangs nipping at your ankles when you ran across the abandoned diner.
You’re ravenous, wrist aching from how you dig at the freezer-burned ice cream. It’s your least favourite flavour but you’ve been running on fumes for the past day or so, so you’ll take what you can get, though you begin to lose your appetite when you remember Johnny, and how Cassandra had zipped the skin from him like popping a blood-filled water balloon.
Something is rumbling beneath your surface. A distinct, constant buzzing, like two atoms slowly building up radioactive energy. You’d asked for none of this, and would certainly give Wade a talking to when the time called for it, but, for now, you’re trying your hardest to make this as easy a process as possible.
Your male counterpart, however, was doing exactly what men generally do. He was making this fucking unbearable.
Logan sits across from you, brooding, fingers gripping the medicinal bottle as if it’s anywhere near appropriate to be drinking. He throws you a particularly lingering glare when he notices you staring, but refuses to maintain eye contact when you look back at him
You toss the tub and spoon across the table with a sharp clatter, your patience collapsing.
“What? Can’t even look at me?” You snap. His eyes look exhausted when they finally meet yours. Wade, being the characteristic little fucker he is, pulls a delighted, shit-stirring grin as he glances between the two of you as if watching a tennis match.
Logan gasps as he finishes taking a drink. “Not much to look at,” he says, wiping the back of his mouth.
The words twist like a fist in your gut. For a moment, you’re rendered too stunned to respond, like he’d tossed a flash-bang toward you. His casual cruelty digs deeper than you care to admit— but you’ve had far too much therapy, too much psychological training, to know he’s deflecting.
But you wouldn’t doubt for a second that there was a more beautiful version of you somewhere.
“What, you comparin’ me to someone?” You ask. You can tell you’ve struck a nerve by the way he goes for another sip. “That it?”
He grimaces.
“Do I make you feel sick? Am I making you feel sick?”
He stares at you hard, but silently. He takes a long swig of the rubbing alcohol and you cringe as his throat bobs. His silence and feigned indifference light a fire of indignation.
“You know, you’re not the only person who’s suffered. Who’s lost people.”
He laughs like what you’re saying is funny. “Yeah, right, bub, you have got no idea what loss is.”
“Oh, you are such a fucking cunt,” you spit, slamming your hands on the table as you rise to your feet. “You know what, Wade? You’re right. I can’t do this. So fuck you and fuck his timeline and fuck every timeline that had anything to do with it! I’m done.”
A wave of uncontrolled psionic energy born from your anger blasts from you upon your final words, slamming them back into their seats and sending the cutlery, nearby debris and weapons flying. The neighbouring windows smash, shattering explosively and sprinkling outside of the diner.
The simmering stops, replaced by a stifling emptiness.
“I wasn’t finished with that!” Wade cries, crouching down to scoop up what remains of the gelatinous spam.
You pause for a moment, glance at your hands, and then grab your jacket in an aggressive fit.
Wade whines your name, halfway through gagging down a forkful of cold spam off of the floor (one of which resonates with a particularly distinct crunch, but you don’t stay to find out whether or not he just truly ate glass), and he doesn’t attempt to get up and follow you as you storm off.
You take a heaving breath of hot desert air when you leave the diner. The sandy breeze tousles your hair, and with the prickly energy of an incoming nervous breakdown, your legs kick and you’re running.
“Stryker got you, too?” Logan asks, eyebrows flicking up.
You don’t look him in the eye when you nod. You cross your arms and slouch a little, caging your heart in. Stryker — the ex-militant with a fetish for experimenting on mutants — had held you captive for several years. He’d brainwashed you into using your empathetic abilities for nefarious purposes, like seducing other mutants, and sometimes important political and militant figures.
“You like me?” He questions, quieter this time.
“No… no, not like you,” you reply. “I don’t have the fancy bones. I heal fast, but I wouldn’t survive that kinda procedure.”
“Ah.”
“I don’t remember everything. Just bits and pieces. Feelings, mostly. Nightmares,” you explain. He nods understandingly. “I’m always on edge.”
“You always seem so calm,” he observes. “Nothing seems to phase you.”
“I have to be. It took a lot of pain and damage to get this level-headed,” you respond quickly. “If I don’t manage my emotions, all the emotions that I receive, touch— it all comes out. Explosively. It has to come out somehow. I could hurt people.”
“Funny. School therapist ‘n’ you’ve got the most issues,” he teases light-heartedly.
“You got no idea, lumberjack.”
You hated killing.
You’re on your knees, arms and hands and chest soaked crimson, sobbing. They’d come out of nowhere, the raiders, and they were hungry for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. All you know is that you felt their need, their desperation, their willingness to do anything to get it.
The flash of harrowing horror someone feels before they die isn’t a unique experience. It simply varies in strength — sometimes it’s a feather-like touch that careens over you, a shuddering realisation that they’re taking their last breath, and sometimes it’s like a crack of lightning. Bloodied hands gripping your biceps with fear in a final attempt to survive. They’d rather cling to you than die alone.
You hate killing. Especially this up close.
You don’t cry for them. You don’t even cry for yourself. It’s a small emotional space where they cry vicariously through you.
You were black-out when it happened, you tell yourself, and suddenly regress to the student you used to be, sobbing on your knees in front of Charles as he tries to teach you serenity and control after an outburst had caused you to kill a nest of birds. He’d done it for Magneto, he said— so he could certainly do it for you.
You should have meditated more.
The sound of a car gurgles somewhere behind you, but you haven’t the energy to look or use your powers to seek out who’s approaching and what their intent is. You’re exhausted enough that whatever they wish to do with you — turn you to processed dog kibble, send you back into the jaws of Cassandra’s lair, kill you — whatever. Just let it happen.
A slamming car door and then the crunching of boots on gravel.
“You’re easy to track.” A pause. “You look pathetic. You done throwing your tantrum?”
Logan. Of course, it’s him.
“Leave me alone, prick.”
“As much as I’d like to, you and the Mouth still have to hold up your end of the bargain,” he quips, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Now get up.”
You glare up at him and his arms unfurl as he notices your tear-streaked face. His expression drops, softens, before it quickly ticks back up into an incredulous, irritated look.
“Are you crying?” He asks with a scoff. He pauses before dragging his hand down his face and rubbing his scruffy jaw. “Jesus Christ. Get up. Get in the car.”
“I ain’t fuckin’ around, Logan. Piss. Off.”
He mumbles a string of incoherent curses and turns on his heel. You think, for a moment and a breath of relief, that he’s truly going to give up on you and leave. He could finish this without you. It’s easier this way.
Instead, a thick bicep wraps around your middle and you’re flung over his shoulder with a yelp.
“Quit your squirmin’.”
“Then put me down!” You yell, thrashing in his grasp. He promptly ignores you, unphased by the jabs you strike at his back. You quickly unsheath the small knife from your jacket sleeve, winding up your arm before you drive it into the muscly pocket by his kidneys.
“Ow! Cheap shot, you little fucker!”
Wade sighs and clutches his hands in front of his chest romantically. “Oh, the newlyweds.”
Logan dumps you into the front seat of the car carelessly, grumbling something as he slams the door shut and applies the child locks. Petty motherfucker.
You rub the sore spot on your tailbone where you landed on a seat buckle funny. You want to bite your tongue but you’re flared up.
“We should switch places. I’m a better driver than you are.”
Logan doesn’t bother looking at you as he starts up the ignition. “Just shut up.”
“You can go on ahead and smoke a cat turd in hell, then.”
“So fuckin’ immature. Grow up.”
“Mom and Dad can you please stop fighting!” Deadpool cries out from the backseats.
You just roll your eyes, resigning into your chair and folding your arms.
At some point along the ride, Wade falls asleep, snoring soundly to himself. You’re silent in the front, drumming a beat on your knees, awkwardly thinking of something to say. You have the impulsive need to fill the silence, even if you were trapped in a crappy car with a man who had made it vehemently clear that he irrevocably hated you.
“So, if they can fix your world, what’s the first thing you’ll do?”
Logan rips his eyes towards you. “What did you say?”
“I said when you get back, what’s the first thing—”
“No, no, no— before that.”
You hesitate, wondering if you’d landed yourself in a trap based on the sharpness of his tone and the way that anger crackles off of him like static lightning.
“If… they can fix your world?”
He slams his foot on the brake and you just about catch yourself before your nose goes flying into the dashboard. Wade is thrust out of the front window, smashing through and promptly falling unconscious underneath a tree, neck broken at an awkward angle.
Your eyes widen.
“What do you mean: if?”
“That’s what Wade said—”
“I don’t give a fuck who said what. He promised me he would fix things—”
“Well, I didn’t promise you shit!”
He laughs, low and devoid of humour. “You don’t have a clue if they can fix things, do you?”
Well, no. You’ve been operating on a hunch the entire time and had half come to accept that you might be stuck in the TVA void forever. Who knows how much time has passed elsewhere?
Regardless of the fact you truly had nothing to do with whatever came out of Wade’s mouth, you weren’t about to let Mr. Worst Wolverine shit all over him and his plan to save his friends.
“Is it really that far-fetched? We made an educated wish!”
Something dark flashes across his face. You can feel hate pulsing off of him in dizzying waves, doubling with each passing moment.
“You made… an educated fucking wish?”
“What’s your problem with me, huh? Got a stick up your ass?” You reach for the car door handle, but he snaps up your wrist, holding it high. “You better let go of me right now, old man—”
“Or what, huh? Gonna run away again?” He threatens.
“You geriatric, alcoholic motherfucker. I’ve done nothin’ but try and be civil with you and you treat me like I’m the one who ruined your life! I don’t know what version of me you knew but you need to stop actin’ like I ain’t worthy of being here because of what you did!”
“Listen, I’ll tell you what my problem is with you—” he leans closer, eyes roving over you with a disgusted look on his face. “I mean, you are a ridiculous, emotional, immature crybaby. I have never met a sadder, more attention-seeking, foul-mouthed little bitch in my entire life and that says a lot because I’ve been alive for more than two hundred fuckin’ years.”
“And I’ll tell you, that bald chick was right about one thing: you will never amount to anything. You’ll never save the world. You couldn’t even save a relationship with me. I’d say you should’ve died alone but it’s one of God’s best jokes that in this universe you didn’t seem to fuckin’ die, except that ones on the rest of all of us!”
He breathes heavily when his rant finishes. You’re taken aback, jaw slack, eyes warm with the onset of tears born from shock.
“What, you got nothin’ to say, empath?”
You suck in a deep breath, blinking slowly as you flick the emotional switch off in your head.
“I’m going to hurt you now.”
He snorts. “Oh, are you?”
In a swift manoeuvre, you raise your slap him around the face. You knew better than to punch a metal skull, but you still wanted him to sting. His eyes slit, nostrils flaring in challenge.
“That all you got?”
“Not even close,” you snap back, knuckles whitening from the way you curl your fingers into your palm. “You want to play this game, Logan? Fine— but I’m not gonna sit here and keep on provin’ myself to you. I’ve had enough of your Christ-born-again superiority complex. Did you forget that you’re the worst Wolverine?”
“Oh, yeah? Well, at least I’m honest about who I am. Look at you— you’re a fuckin’ joke, pretending to be some hero in a suit made for a dead team,” he barks back, voice rising with each word. “I don’t need your bullshit “wishes”— you should know, I’ve buried people for less.”
“Yeah, because you’re so perfect, ain’t that right?” You yell, voice cracking from the power of your anger. “The almighty Wolverine— the unkillable bastard who can’t seem to hold onto anythin’ good in his life! You’ve had centuries to get your shit together, and look at you—” You look him up and down with disgust. “—still just a bitter, lonely, broken man, takin’ it out on everyone else and a goddamn bottle.”
His eyes narrow, muscles in his jaw twitching as he appears to fight and keep his temper in check, but there’s an obvious crack forming, the dam of his unbridled rage near overflowing.
“You think you know me, huh?” He murmurs, voice a deadly whisper, the calm before the storm. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about what I’ve been through. You’re nothing but a lost woman playing make-believe and hiding in the shadow of a fuckin’ merc. You’re pathetic.”
Something inside of you breaks. “I’m pathetic? Look at yourself! You’re so goddamn desperate to feel anythin’ that you’ll lash out at everyone around you for some semblance of warmth. There’s a fine line between hate and love, after all! You think you’re so strong because you can heal, because you’ve lived forever? Yeah, right— you’re the weakest, most cowardly man I’ve met in a loong time.”
The blades between his knuckles shoot out with a shink! For a moment, you think that he’s going to attack you. Hell— you even hope that he will, just to diminish some of the unbearable, stifling tension. Instead, the blades retract with a deep breath, and he grabs you forcefully by the collar of your suit, yanking you so close that you can feel the heat of his breath on your face.
His voice is low and rough, each word dripping with venom. “Go on, keep psychoanalysing me. You wanna talk about cowardice? How about leaving people who need you, just because it’s easier to run? Better yet, how about the fact that you abandoned the X-men to hide away in the mountains, huh?”
Your eyes widen with recognition.
“Yeah… Wade’s got a big mouth. Told me everythin’. You’re no hero. Hell, you’re just a selfish, reckless hillbilly who failed at pretending to be human.”
Your heart palpitates in your chest, each word coiling and slicing like blades in your intestines, but you refuse to let him see how much it hurts. Instead, your lips curl into a cold, bitter smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.
“And you’re just a sad, angry old man who can’t handle the fact that he’s lost everythin’. Go ahead: keep pushing people away! Keep hidin’ behind that anger o’ yours! It’s got you this far, ain’t it?! I’ve treated kids with trauma worth double yours and they were nothin’ but kind and selfless. I won’t let you project your failures onto me. I’m done with this.”
“Yeah, why don’t you walk away!”
The argument reaches a fever pitch, tension sizzling in the air between you. You’re so close, glaring at each other with so much anger, so much resonating heat, that it feels like something’s going to break. And then, suddenly, it does.
Before either of you can think, you close the gap between you, lips crashing against his. It’s not gentle, it’s not soft— the kiss is rough, violent, a clash of lips and fury. His grip on your collar tightens, and for a moment, you’re both frozen, caught in the shock of what’s happening.
But then something more fiery in nature than anger ignites, and he kisses you back just as fiercely, and maybe a little more desperate— like he’s trying to pour out all of his pain and resentment, into this one moment. Your tongues slide against each other and his teeth catch against yours as he groans into your mouth. Your hands thread through his hair, yanking him closer as if trying to hold onto something real and tangible in the chaos of the kiss, reeling from the sudden spinning in your head. It’s angry, raw, filled with all the things you’re not capable of verbalising: grief, love, yearning, reconciliation.
The result of a painful reunion.
The world falls away and all that’s left is the taste of him, the feel of his lips against yours, rough and demanding. You hate him right now— hate him so much that you can’t help but want him. The sheer intensity of it all overwhelms you and makes your fingers shake against the nape of his neck, but you can’t pull away— not now, not when you’ve tasted the wine. You’re too far gone, caught up in the storm of his intoxication, fantasising about ripping that yellow and blue suit off of him and riding him until there’s nothing left for him to regenerate.
And then, just as suddenly as it started, the bubble of the moment bursts with the sound of slow clapping coming from outside the car. You jerk back from Logan, breath coming in ragged gasps. Logan is equally as stunned, still tight-gripping your collar as if he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands.
You both see Wade sitting up, hands together, eyes wide as saucers as he takes in the scene.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Did I just wake up in a telenovela?” His voice is laced with amusement. “I mean, I know you two clearly had some unresolved sexual tension— but this? Oh, this is gold. Please don’t stop on my account, just let me get the camcorder first!”
You’re too stun-locked to respond, lips parting and closing as your brain scrambles to formulate a response as you’re still reeling from what just happened. Logan (for once) seems equally as lost for words, his typical scowl replaced with a look of confusion.
“Shut up, Mouth,” Logan barks, but there’s no real heat behind it. There can’t be, really, not when you’ve both been caught red-handed. He releases your collar at once.
Wade, however, is having none of it. “Oh, no, no, no! You don’t just get to brush this off like it’s nothing! That was a full-on makeout session! I only interrupted because I thought you were about to rip each other’s clothes off.” He sighs wistfully and crosses his legs. “Here I was thinking that you two hated each other— but I guess all that anger was just foreplay, huh?”
Your face burns with a mixture of shame and something else you’re not quite ready to admit. “Wade— cut it out.”
He grins, not deterred in the least. “Oh, but I’m loving this. All that pent-up aggression finally coming to fruition. It’s beautiful, truly.”
Logan shoots him a look that could melt iron, but Wade just simply shrugs, unfazed. “Hey, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. Everyone being me.”
“Wade,” you warn through gritted teeth.
“Well, unless you want me to watch (which I am not opposed to, by the way) maybe next time the two of you should get a room,” he tilts his head. “Or, you know, a couples therapist.”
He then turns to address Logan directly.
“And I must’ve missed the AO3 tags because I did not peg you for the enemies-to-lovers type, Mister. Who knew all it took was a bit of hate-kissing to get the sparks flying? Don’t look so ashamed! I’m just jealous I didn’t get to you first.”
He stumbles towards the car and collapses into the back seat. “Next time you wanna bump uglies, just ask for some privacy! You can save me the broken neck!” He gets himself comfortable, man-spreading and laying his hands on both of your shoulders as you stare dead-forwards, unable to look at each other.
“Gosh, you’re both so tense.” He begins massaging. “Look— props to you both for not letting all that angst go to waste. This is a safe space, and there’s no shame in a little hormone-induced—”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Logan interrupts, revving the car back to life and shoving his prodding hands away. “Just be quiet back there.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll keep the commentary to myself. But just so you know— got that bad boy playing on repeat, right here.” He says, tapping the side of his head.
You bury your face in your hands. This was going to be a long car ride.
As the car starts moving again, you muster the bravery to risk a glance at Logan. His expression is hard to read but his energy thrums with uncertainty. The boiling hatred seems to have dialled down to a gentle simmer, mostly redirected towards himself rather than you. There’s something else— something that wasn’t there before. You rip your eyes away quickly, mind racing.
For somebody so in tune with emotions and the literal ability to manipulate them if you so desired, you were horrendous at navigating your own. You don’t know what this kiss meant, or if it even meant anything at all.
If there’s anyone you didn’t expect to come across in the void, it’s X-23— Laura. She’s taller, now, with hair down her back, but she’s still got that stern, mean look on her face that intimidated you the first time you met her.
The weak front door squeaks when you open it a crack. A girl, maybe in her small teen years, blinks up at you.
“Can I help you?” You ask, wiping your flour-dusty hands down on the front of your cooking apron.
“Are you—” she says your name.
You attempt to swing the door shut, but she jams it with her boot. You flick your eyes up, glance around for any signs of threats, and then lower your gaze to her. You wrap your cardigan around your mid-section.
“I don’t go by that name anymore. Who the Hell are you, kid, and what do you want?”
“I’m here about Logan,” she says, matter-of-factly.
Logan. A name followed by your own, both of which you hadn’t heard in years.
“He’s not here, kid. He died years ago.”
“I know,” she answers, unwavering. “I was there when it happened. Your name was the last thing he said.”
You’d let her in for a glass of sugary sweet tea that day, but once stories were exchanged you told her not to come back. She respected your wishes— she said she simply wanted to put a name to the face, to get closure, but you’d felt her desperation. Perhaps she was seeking out respite, or family, but you were in no position to be sharing your space with someone who could put another target on your back.
After introductions were made with the others who had been ripped from their timelines (Elektra, Blade and oh my god a Gambit variant with muscles so huge he could pop your head between his biceps) you excused yourself to sit outside. The buzzing emotional energy made your collar feel a little tight around the neck, your head a little fuzzy with noise, so you decided to reignite the small campfire a few yards away from the safe-house and rest there, instead.
You hadn’t realised you were being followed.
“It’s not safe here.”
“It’s not safe anywhere, Logan.”
He looks defeated, raising and clasping his hands behind his head.
“I gotta leave, baby.”
“If you leave, I ain’t lettin’ you back,” you whisper. “You don’t heal the same anymore, Logan, and you promised me—”
“I know what I promised,” he rebuts, but not angrily. You can already see on his face that he’s made his choice. He’s not coming to you to discuss it. “But I owe it to him. To Charles. He gave me everything.”
“So then what did I give you?” You ask. “Not a home, not my love, not everything?” You slam the tea towel down and turn away from him as the tears form. He’s quiet, perhaps processing everything, but you’re too impatient.
“If you’re just gon’ get up and leave, do it now. I won’t beg you to stay, Jimmy.”
“I love you.”
You don’t say it back.
You wake up with a start, damp clinging to your forehead. You immediately sense another presence and glance over to see Logan watching you with a steady gaze. His expression is soft and almost reverent at first, but his facade hardens with a quick tick of his jaw.
“You talk in your sleep.” The bottle in his hand sloshes as he takes a drink. “Nightmare?”
You sigh frustratedly when you realise it’s him. Of course, it’s him — his energy reeks of whiskey and self-loathing. You prop yourself on your elbows, massaging the sore spots on your temples where sleep fog forms.
“I can’t even get some rest without you botherin’ me? You’re leakin’ self-hatred everywhere.”
“Quit hogging the fire then.”
“Fuck you,” you murmur, but it’s without bite.
A moment passes before he fills the silence again. “What are you even doing out here, alone? Trying to get yourself killed? Pretty stupid.”
“Do you know how hard it is to sleep when nobody shuts up?”
His brows knit. “They’re all dead asleep.”
His hand runs up and down your back.
“Can’t settle?” He asks after you sigh.
“No.” You turn so you’re lying on your back, shoulder touching his, staring up at the ceiling. “Everyone is feeling so loud. It’s like a frequency I can’t turn off.”
He hums. “They’re grieving, I s’pose.”
“Even you and you always said you hated the guy.” You shuffle to lie on your side, facing him. You place a hand on his bare chest. “I can feel it, you know.”
“I didn’t hate Scott. Just found him… obnoxiously irritating.”
“Tough guy.” You giggle and stroke his cheek. “You’re turnin’ soft, old man.”
He pulls you flush against him and presses a kiss to your hairline. You lay in verbal silence for a while, soaking up his presence (god, you were so in love), but you’re interrupted when he abruptly sits up and grabs the white vest he discarded somewhere near the bed.
You lean on your elbows. “Where you goin’?”
“Let’s go for a ride.”
“What?”
“You can’t sleep here. Let’s go somewhere quieter.”
“But Charles said—”
“Screw Charles. You comin’ or what?”
He hadn’t told you he loved you yet, but at that moment you felt it.
And so you do, clinging to his mid-section on his motorcycle, head stuffed into the helmet he affectionately forces you to wear. It’s a warm night in New York, soupy with heat, but the further you get away from the compound with him by your side the more you feel you can breathe.
“’Course, you don’t understand.”
You reach for the small pouch on your hip and retrieve a cigarette. You light it between your lips, taking a seat a few paces away from him, hands still shaking a little with the aftershocks of the night terror.
“Since when did you start smoking?”
You perk a brow. “I’ve always smoked.”
He seems to realise something and simply shakes his head before returning to the vice in his fist.
“Right.”
You stare at him for a long, passing moment, before pulling out your lighter again and offering it towards him. He perks a brow.
“I know you got a cigar in there somewhere,” you say. He pauses, sighs, and then retrieves a thick cigar from one of the pouches on his suit. You lean closer, flick the lighter, and cup your hand to protect it from the breeze, shamelessly glancing at the dancing glow that bathes his face amid the firelight. You feel the urge to kiss him again, and when his eyes flick up to yours, you think for the briefest second that he wants to kiss you, too.
Swallowing, you collapse your lighter and clear your throat. You sit quietly, smoking and drinking in a silence only negated by the distant sound of chittering bugs around you. Once you’re finished with your cigarette, you toss the butt into the fire.
“We’re infiltrating tomorrow morning.”
He laughs dryly. “Yeah, good luck with that.”
Your lips tighten into a thin line. “We won’t make it without you.”
“Sure you will. I’m not him, you know,” Wolverine grumbles, slugging another shot of alcohol.
You scrutinise him from across the log. You wonder if he feels as pathetic as he looks.
“No— you got that right,” you answer. You pry the liquor from his hands but the grip he releases from the neck of the bottle must have been a mercy on his part because you knew he was extraordinarily stronger than you. “He was much braver than you.”
His eyes flicker from the flames to you as you take a long swig.
“Although probably just as stupid.”
A pause. Crackling and popping firewood fills the silence.
“But, he was a hero. And so are you.”
A beat before he spits a dry laugh, “what gave you that idea?”
You give him a once over and offer a half-smile. “That suit, for starters.”
He looks down at himself like he’d forgotten he was wearing it and wipes away a stray speck of blood from the bright material that you’re sure you might be responsible for.
“What, you like it?” He grunts.
You can’t help but smile. “Yellow suits you.”
“This is all I had left to remember you— them by,” he says, tone turning more sombre as he reminisces.
You decide it’s not the time to make another jab, so, instead, you play back and forth with the bottle for a while until the alcohol stops stinging your throat.
Something small shatters inside of you when you watch him muster the strength to look into your eyes, and his look a little glassy.
“Did you love him?”
Woof, that needed a healthy drink of courage to answer. When you hold his gaze, there’s a hollowness to his expression— an unasked question. Was there truly a version of him worth loving?
“Yeah.” You wipe the back of your hand across your mouth to cover the crack in your voice. “Yeah, I did.”
He’d insisted he hadn’t wanted you around yet he’d kissed you and now followed you to where you’d been sleeping. That had to count for something, so you extend your arm and gesture the bottle towards him— an olive branch in the form of shitty Jack Daniels. Your fingers touch when he accepts it and the brief glimmer of eye contact you share sends shivery energy zipping between you.
“I loved him,” you repeat, as if convincing yourself. A repeated balm to soothe the pain of letting him leave.
“He’s an idiot for leaving you.”
You bite back a sob-laugh, imagination caught somewhere between wondering who you’d rather beat up more: him, or yourself.
“Maybe I’m an idiot for not followin’ him.” You sniff deeply to push back the incoming sob-induced mess. “Not that he woulda let me.”
He hums resignedly.
Clearing your throat, you tuck your hands between your thighs. Swiftly moving on. “What was I— she like?”
He takes a long drink and sighs thickly when he comes up for air. He looks down at his hands when he talks as if choosing his words thoughtfully and carefully.
“Strong, smart. Stubborn. Far too fuckin’ stubborn.”
You force a smile over the flinch of pain in your chest. “Guess we got that in common.”
You reach up and twist the dog tag around your neck, feeling for the ring you’d slipped around the chain. You were never married legally but were in all the ways that mattered. Your heart aches for the brief moment of domesticity you shared with him. You expect him to be finished, but he once laughs, a smile cracking on his face.
“She loved kids— had a soft spot for the weird ones.” He squints and rubs at the flesh between his knuckles where the blades typically protrude. “Put me in my place. Stood up for what was right.”
His words strike a chord in your heart, playing the familiar tune of yearning and guilt and grief. A swelling sensation rises from your stomach and you’re not sure if you’re going to scream, cry or throw up.
“Were you—?”
“In love with her? What, like you can’t tell?” He interrupts, face hardening. Another drink. “It doesn’t matter. We argued one night and I refused to follow her back to the school, ‘bout the same time the humans went mutant hunting.”
Logan takes a moment to catch himself.
“When I came back, shit-faced from the bar, I realised I’d gotten my version of you murdered, along with the rest of them. Laid up like a fucking log pile. That’s what loving me got you.”
The gruesome imagery sours the liquor in your stomach. You push the nausea down with a hard swallow.
“I’m sorry.”
“Wh—” He jolts back, face pinched. “I got you killed, and you’re fuckin’ sorry?”
“There’s a world where you didn’t make that choice. You know, I’m not proud of who I am, either,” you answer, softly. “After you left and I lost you… I got bitter, stopped pulling my punches.”
“You never liked hurting people.”
“I didn’t.” You take a deep breath, willing away the warmth that pools behind your eyes. You quickly regain composure with a short cough. “Whatever woman you’re comparing me to, I stopped being her a long time ago. Like you told me— I’m no hero.”
He grunts, looking like he regrets saying that now. Checkmate. You’re not what either of you expected or yearned for in one another, but maybe you’re exactly what you both need.
“You know, your accents thicker.”
He says it as if to draw a line of separation, but you take it as an invitation. Your head swims from the alcohol, and against what probably is your better judgement, you inch closer to him until your knees bump against each other.
“That’s what I get for hidin’ in the mountains. Got adopted by a scary old lady and her church friends. I reckon she rubbed off on me. You’d like her, I think,” you tell him fondly. There’s something wistful about it, imagining a life with him. You grieve a life you never had but somehow, in his company, the melancholy loosens its grip.
“Maybe we got lucky,” you add flatly.
He lifts the bottle with a dry laugh. “You have a very funny idea of what lucky means, bub.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure. Y’see, they didn’t get lucky. They died, ‘n’ we lost each other,” you explain, glancing up at the stars as if either version of you would ever be in heaven, as if it was as loving enough as a mother’s womb to stretch wide enough to allow space for mutants.
God probably hated you just as much as they did down here.
You lower your head onto his shoulder. “But, we’re still here. Maybe there was always space in my universe for you.”
“You’re drunk,” he observes flatly, but he doesn’t move.
“A little.” You get more comfortable against his tense bicep and close your eyes. “Humour me, why don’t you?”
He sighs, but it’s gentle. “Just for a while.”
“Good, because you’re not very good at keeping your feelings quiet. I know you like this.”
“Keep that to yourself.”
You sigh, eyes remaining closed. “We ain’t gonna talk about it, are we?” You ask, in reference to the kiss.
“Nope.”
A high-pitched whine resonates in your ears, vision blurring as if lying underneath a rippling river current. Paradox has just explained the stakes to you — to stop Cassandra, somebody would have to lay down on the wire and make the sacrifice play. This wasn’t a matter of regeneration anymore— it was being ripped apart from the seams, atomised.
It just so happens that your cat, Kevin, has been loving his little journey around the TVA. Cheater.
“You won’t survive it,” is what you say in response to Logan offering himself up for the job. What you really meant was: I don’t think I can survive losing you again.
“I know,” Logan answers. His eyes drip to where you palm at the slow-healing wound on your side, courtesy of the Lady Deadpool variant. You’re winded, running on fumes, and know you’re in no position to start throwing yourself out there as a suicide volunteer. You’d never make the journey, let alone succeed in your venture.
“That’s why it’s gotta be me,” Deadpool interrupts, peeling the mask from his face to address you both. “Neither of you asked for any of this. You were right. I lied. I lied right to both of your faces — just to get you to help me, and you did.”
“You didn’t lie,” Logan replies, throwing you a glance. “You made an educated wish.”
He reaches into his pocket and slaps the bloodied Polaroid of Deadpool’s friends against Wade’s chest. The gesture is a final, silent acknowledgement of why any of you are here in the first place, and everything that’s led to this moment.
“I got nothin’ back in my world,” he explains, the sharp arrow of his words striking a sting straight through your heart. “Let me do this. For you.”
You could see that this meant more to him, that he would only deem himself worthy and die a peaceful death if he could do it knowing he saved at least one variant of you. This is more than just a mission. This is his only chance to redeem himself, and you know you’re in no position to start trying to convince him that you’d have him either way. Fuck redemption.
You’re parallel from one another, standing just outside of touching distance. It was a cruel existence— reaching out and never quite being able to hold on. It’s inevitable, the pull you feel. You’re dictated by his gravity but cursed by the narrative.
Your chest rises and falls with shallow, laboured breaths as you attempt to process what’s happening, what he’s asking you to let him do. The pain in your side ebbs only from the comparative pain of watching another version of the man you love sacrifice himself for you.
His voice is a quiet whisper. “Give me this.”
But I love you. The words are there, hiding behind your clenched teeth, gnawing at the bars like a feral animal caged in the reminder that this isn’t — shouldn’t be — the man that you love.
Something shifts and as you’re running on the delirium of your battery running low, healing resources drained, you decide that you don’t actually care to make the distinction any more.
You’re in no condition to fight; you barely had the energy to argue with him, let alone stop him. But you can’t just let him go.
One wobbly step forward. You poke his chest, mustering whatever energy remains to express your feelings in the only true way you know how. “I…” you stammer, but you suddenly can’t find the words.
His hand reaches up and he splays yours flat against his chest. Faintly, buried deep behind the armoured layer of his suit, you feel the distinct thunk, thunk of his heart. He exhales deeply when your empathetic energy transmission reaches the other side. Your eyes connect, and even through the sharp whites of his mask, you can feel the psionic pulse resonating between you two— strong enough that the wound on your side begins to sew itself together.
“I know,” he whispers.
And you believe that he does.
He nods shortly, releases your hand, and turns on his heel. You collapse against the control centre, eyes needling through the camera footage, desperate to watch the final moments and know that his sacrifice was worth it.
It’s about the same time that Deadpool yanks his mask back on and barrels down the hallway after him.
“Wade!”
You glance back at the party as you creep towards the apartment door to leave. Your consciousness has only recently slipped back into place, having hovered somewhere above your body for the entire time you witnessed your friends atomically ripped apart, only for them to return mere moments later.
You think it might’ve been witnessing Wolverine sweaty and shirtless that was finally the last straw for you. You’re not sure you’ve recovered since.
You thought you were being sneaky about your departure, but a flat hand reaches from out of view, splays and then holds the door closed.
“You sure I can’t convince you to stay?” Logan asks, voice slow and tentative.
“I ain’t runnin’ this time, I promise,” you answer. He rests his arm on the beam above him, making him appear even taller and maybe even more imposing. Your pulse quickens as you look up at him, trying to find the right words, ones that you hope won’t give you away. You nearly squeak. “I um— just—”
He arches a brow, a hint of a micro-smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He shifts, getting closer by just a fraction. “Yeah?”
Trying to keep your distance is proving to be immensely hard when he’s gotten himself this deliciously close. His energy tastes of confidence, a stark contrast to the self-loathing only a mere few days prior. It’s magnetic. If you make eye contact now, you’re not sure you’ll be able to control yourself.
The atmosphere crackles with tension, like the static energy right before lightning strikes. His gaze is intense when you look at him, and with the way his eyes glance purposefully down at your parted lips—
Jesus. Pull yourself together.
You gently pull away from him and feel the spell of the moment dissolve. “I just… need time.”
Recognition flashes on his face, as well as a tick of disappointment, but he seems to understand.
A beat, then he taps the door before stepping aside. “Alright. Don’t be a stranger.”
Wade bursts around the corner, arms wide and voice booming. Vanessa hangs off of his arm, white teeth gleaming with mischievous joy.
“Whoa, hey there, lovebirds! What’s going on here— a secret rendezvous? Looking for somewhere to sneak off? Should I cue the romantic music or just give you two some privacy?”
You jump in surprise at his sudden entrance, flinching away from Logan as if you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Logan’s expression shifts from whatever tender moment was brewing, spell broken, to a mix of exasperation and resignation, jaw tightening.
“Wade,” he grumbles, voice sharp, but you can acknowledge there’s a level of begrudging affection beneath the steely surface. “Timing, as usual, is impeccable.”
“Um, actually, I was just leavin’,” you answer, tugging on your bag.
“WHAT!” Wade exclaims, face dropping. “We haven’t even gotten to our favourite part yet!”
You tick a brow. “Our favourite part?”
“The cocaine part,” he says, matter-of-factually.
“Wade, that was one time,” you pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry. Thank you for inviting me. I just can’t miss my flight.”
Dogpool jumps at your ankles, whimpering and chewing on the hem of your jeans. You give her a gentle scratch on her head, deftly avoiding the lick of her impressive tongue. Wade scoops her up, holding her against his shoulder and kissing her affectionately on her wet nose.
“You, ah, need a ride?” Logan offers.
Your heart stutters at his chivalrous attempt. “Oh, um. That’s okay— I called a cab. So.”
That was a lie. You hadn’t— not yet. You just weren’t sure if you were going to make the right decisions if you were alone in his company for an hour. Probably wouldn’t make it to the airport without fighting or crying or making stupid choices.
He rubs his jaw. “Right.”
“I’ll… see you around?”
“I better!” Wade yells, using two fingers to gesture that he’s keeping his eye on you as Vanessa yanks him around the corner gleefully.
A magnetic tether — or red string, whatever you want to call it — seems to strain when you walk away from Logan. You feel the pull in your chest, a fluttering of electricity, but you swallow the urges and ignore the way they scratch like glass on the way down.
You call an Uber, squeezing your bag tightly for a source of comfort as you crowd yourself into the back seat. You spare one last glance at the apartment and think for a brief moment you see a silhouette of someone watching you from the balcony, but they slip away into the light before you can discern it.
You know, though. Of course, you know.
You expected relief when you arrived home, but, instead, the aching, gnawing black hole in your chest seems to grow exponentially. You go through the motions— feed your cat, tend to the garden, eat the food with no appetite, go to Church.
The fixture of Jesus pinned to the cross gives you pause for the first time. You wonder if he was a mutant.
You weren’t sure how much of this “time” thing you were going to need to heal or make a decision on where you and Logan stood after everything, but only after your second night, sleepless and alone, do you start to doubt that this will be an easy process. You communicate like you know what you’re doing, but you haven’t stopped shaking since he kissed you, like a newborn foal traversing ice.
You want to do things right. You’re not trying to replace any missing pieces or live up to any expectations he might have of you. The girl he knew seemed to be a softer, sweeter (less traumatised) version of you, and you worry that you’d be constantly comparing him to a ghost of himself.
The rain lulls you as it patters on the window by your bed, but sleep doesn’t take you.
You hear thunder, you think, and wonder if the chickens are frightened in their coops. However, the distant grumble continues to grow, reverberating through the floorboards of your rickety cabin. As it creeps closer you discern that it’s not a brewing storm— but the growling engine of a motorcycle.
Awash with a deep sense of knowing, you throw yourself out of bed and knot a silk robe around your middle. The sound of the engine dissipates, replaced only by the hammering rain and the rushing pulse in your ears when you tear your door open.
You see him— all leather jacket slick with rainwater and tight jeans, brows pinched against the onslaught of the weather as he dismounts his bike.
Logan.
When your eyes meet, there’s a palpable shift in the air, and the storm, angry as a howling spirit, mirrors the turbulent emotions within you. You don’t speak, you don’t think, you just act.
Barefoot, dressed in your slip of a robe, you race down the short path and meet him halfway.
“Logan? Logan?” You call out. “What are you doin’ here?!”
“Had to see you,” he calls out between strides, voice nonchalant as if what he’s said was obvious.
You’re closing the distance. “That’s a day’s ride, and the weather—”
Instead of letting you finish, he grasps your face, kissing you suddenly and with a reverence so sincere that your knees feel gelatinous and weak. His thumbs brush away the raindrops— tears? —that drip over your crystallised lashes. His touch is both grounding and electrifying; the warmth of him pressed against you is a stark contrast to the chilling downpour.
Your fingers curl against the front of his jacket, clinging with equal fervour as if it’s the only thing keeping you anchored from floating someplace else. The strength of his body crowds over you, arm sliding down to capture you by your waist as you lean into him, syrupy-decadent and entirely reliant on him to keep you upright.
The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding over yours tasting both bittersweet and intoxicating in equal measures, like cigar smoke and peppermint gum. There’s a distinct sharpness of liqour and you wonder if he had a shot (or bottle) of courage before coming here. You breathe deeply against his skin, smelling rainwater, musk and gunpowder; your senses are completely overwhelmed by him and you’re not sure that anything could pull you away.
The red string knots.
When you both eventually take pause, gasping for air as the rain continues to pelt, his eyes lock with yours. He radiates relief, desire, and a raw vulnerability that makes your heart ache.
“You’re freezin’,” he murmurs, peppering kisses against your lips, your cold nose, and pulling one of your hands to his face to peck along your palm. You feel dizzy in his embrace, drunk on his lips.
“You should come inside,” you whisper, “before the neighbours start askin’ questions.”
He quietly nods, kissing your fingers before following you inside and ducking away from the rain.
Once inside, he shakes the rain from his hair with a flick, eyes immediately roaming around the innards of your respectable (tiny) house, the size of him immediately proportionally shrinking the interior. He absorbs your surroundings, chivalrously pretending like he can’t see every curve of you in that wet material.
You lead him towards the heath, lighting a small fire to help dry you both off. You leave, pottering around to gather some towels for your hair, and arrive back to see he’s peeled off the top layer of his clothes, leaving him half-exposed, his back an impressive marvel of rippling muscle. He glances at you over his shoulder.
You’re lost for words, but can’t just stand there ogling him. “Um, I don’t think I have any spare clothes that’ll… fit…”
When he turns to face you, his rain-slick torso shines in the firelight, skin glistening on the taught muscles of his biceps as he accepts a towel from you. Your words lag, entirely distracted by the realisation of one thing when you glance down at his v-line and dark, coiling hair that creeps down into his jeans: you’re absolutely going to have sex with this man.
You might’ve decided that when you watched the way his jeans clung to him when he dismounted his motorcycle, but that’s beside the point.
“That’s alright,” he answers, towel slung over his shoulder, eyes roving shamelessly over the damp, silky robe that clings to your silhouette effortlessly. “Don’t need ‘em.”
Your mouth dries when he steps closer to you, head angled, lips centimetres apart.
“Logan…” you breathe, tone edging toward a warning.
He presses against you, tilting you back. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop. I’ll get back on that bike and I’ll leave.”
You creep further away, trying to catch your breath. “I—”
The words don’t manifest, simply because you don’t have it in you to lie— to deny yourself of this.
He cages you in against the wall, shrinking you underneath his frame, eyes narrowed and dark as they search for yours through lowered lashes. “Tell me you don’t feel somethin’, and I’ll walk away. You won’t see me again.”
His bare-chested proximity was overwhelming you. You’re acutely aware of every inch of his skin that touches yours, pebbled nipples hard against his warm flesh, stubbled jaw nuzzling against your neck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. You feel like a teenager again, anxious and hormonal, a ball of puppy fat and unrequited crushes. The space between your thighs positively aches with heat, throbbing like a second heartbeat.
“I can’t… I can’t tell you that I feel something.”
He leans back, lips quirked with a flash of disappointment.
You blink up at him. “Let me show you instead.”
He ticks an eyebrow.
You use your empathetic influence to decrease his heartbeat, relaxing him down to the bone. He sighs, nosing against your shoulder, arms flexing as he holds himself up against you.
“Just with a little influence…” you stroke your way up from the slow pulse in his neck to his jaw, capturing him swiftly. You use your mutation to increase his heart rate this time, hiking it up to an excitable level. His cheeks begin to flush, pupils dilated, lips parted with the anticipation of your kiss. His eyes darken with something intrinsically primal and hungry.
“Does it excite you?” You ask, innocently.
He shakes his head all dog-like as if to regain control, canine showing as his lips curl into a wolfish grin.
“You’re not the only one with… tricks. I can do that, too— in other ways,” he says, tone low and suggestive. He lifts a hand, tracing a knuckle over your exposed collarbone, shifting the soft material of your robe just an inch. Your breath hitches.
“You know I can hear your heartbeat, right?”
You blush. You hadn’t known that.
You challenge his eye contact, feigning self-control and authority. The stare-down has your pulse spiking, arousal ricocheting down your spine and sitting low and syrupy in your belly.
“Your heart’s beating pretty fast, too.”
Oh, Hell. He’s got you melted like butter in a pan.
You rest your head against the wall, breath quickening. “If we do this, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”
“Good,” he growls. ���I don’t like to stop.”
The teasing back-and-forth game of teetering towards nearly touching finally gets the better of you. You’re weak, as malleable as soft dough, so you invite him against your mouth with a sigh-wine and a tug on the nape of his neck.
He positively devours you, a hand palming at your breast as you kiss desperately and feverishly. The shoulder of your robe slips and you’re half-exposed, the slip barely holding itself together by the loose knot on your waist. He pulls you impossibly closer, the skin of his chest flush against yours as he reaches and digs fingers into the globe of your ass, hips twitching together.
You fumble between your bodies, yanking on his belt buckle and zipper impatiently. He pulls backwards, a wet string of spit snapping between your lips as you separate, helping you with steadier fingers to remove his jeans. With equal passion, he swiftly tugs on the waist-tie of your robe and discards it somewhere on the floor.
When you’re both bare, nude silhouettes sharp and soft in the firelight, he stumbles you over to the plush rug in the centre of the room. He nods to the couch.
“Legs up.”
You obey without hesitation, taking your seat and spreading decadently for him. He kneels below you of you, hips between your ankles, and gazes at you like a hungry, stalking animal. You feel impossibly sexy and dangerous.
He peppers kisses along the bone of your ankle first, foot hiked up onto his shoulder, only breaking eye contact to flutter his eyes closed. He moves along the inner length of your leg, pausing keenly against the sensitive parts— the thin stretch behind your knee, the soft plush of your thigh. He lowers himself, scruff tickling between your legs, and then licks a molten stroke between your folds, parting you with his tongue and burying his face deeper.
You clench around his skull, mindfulness of your heightened mutant abilities long forgotten. You can’t crush metal between your thighs. Or can you?
He groans into you, varying suckling and kissing you on your clit with long strokes on the blade of his tongue to your hole, lapping up the nectar of your arousal, fingers digging bruisingly into your hips. The sting of his grip and the relentless lave of his tongue entice moans from you, fingers raking into his hair for some semblance of reality grounding in your pleasure-lapsed consciousness.
Jesus. With as filthy as his mouth was, you should’ve known he would be this good at eating pussy.
You come quick, orgasm pulsing on his lips. The burn of overstimulation seizes your muscles, writhing against his onslaught, but he shoves your hips down.
“Not done with you yet,” he murmurs possessively, leaning back to wipe his chin. “On all fours.”
You bite your lower lip, suppressing the humiliation of the intimacy (vulgarity) of it. You turn, belly still clenching with the aftershocks, arching with the anticipation, whining moments later when his mouth reconnects with you. His hands palm at your ass, spreading you wider, tongue slipping dangerously close to the tight ring of muscle.
He slides a finger knuckle-deep, miming fucking you in a rhythmic pulse. His other hand massages you, thumb sliding down until you jerk sensitively against his nudging intrusion.
You feel impossibly full and tingly, clenching around the burn of his thumb and the velvet of his finger, second orgasm surging and bubbling over with your face pressed against the couch cushion, lips agape. You’re slick, drip-dropping onto his cupping palm, every nerve in your body burning raw as his wrist works you through the pulses.
You turn over, relishing in the sight of his scruff glistening with the aftermath of your orgasm, his eyes dark with lust— a hellish man, seraphic on his knees for you. Your insides clench at the sight as he quite literally shatters and redefines what worship means to you.
“Tired already?” He hums, massaging your hips.
You perk a challenging brow. “That was just the warm-up, old man.”
“Alright,” he seethes, sucking on his lower lip as he lifts himself up to your level. “Show me what you got then, baby.”
When you kiss, his mouth slides against yours, drenched with the taste of yourself. His cock steels against your belly when you pull him close, tip pearl-smooth with precum when you reach down and grasp him with a hollowed fist. The feel of him, heavy and warm in your grip, fans to life the flames of your briefly quenched arousal, and you hungrily pull him down onto the couch beside you.
Moisture pools on your tongue as you rub him. You spit on your hand before stroking him from the base to tip, lathering him silky with your drool. You tuck your hair behind your ears, narrowing your cheeks as you slide your mouth up and down his length, fisting the inches that remain.
“Christ.” He twitches in your mouth as you gently massage the warm weight of his sac, lewd sounds emanating from where your lips and tongue meet him. “Just like that. Good fuckin’ girl,” he snarls, gripping your hair in a fist at the crown of your head. Your engine purrs with his encouragement, revving with newfound enthusiasm.
You always gave as good as you got, after all, and you’re certainly not one to back away from a challenge.
His head lolls onto the back of the couch, thighs tense beneath you, cock hot and hard on your tongue. He growls when he comes, pulsing strongly in your mouth as you lap up the produce of his orgasm, salty and molten down your throat.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”
“Put those regenerative powers to good use, why don’t you?” You ask, working him through the over-sensitivity with your wrist. His eyes don’t once leave yours, even as they glaze over and flinch from the pleasure burn. There’s a sharp look of challenging determination on his face— a grit of his teeth, the furrow in his brow. He remains hard in your hands and you perk an impressed brow. Not bad for an old man.
There’s a sweet moment of vulnerability when you crawl over him, a brief sobering in the cloud of lust, a clarity of two not-quite strangers and their shared grief and yearning.
You’re not sure where this moment will take you, but the love of somebody scraping together the shards of a shattered heart for a brief time, even as it cuts their hands, holds you with a semblance of human connection so sincere that you’ll carry it with you for a lifetime.
His thighs spread to accommodate you. You hold your fingers against the thick chords in his neck for support as you fumble between your bodies, slotting him against the catch in your cunt before lowering yourself entirely.
You hiss against the intrusion and he steadies you with a hand on your hip.
“Easy. Don’t hurt yourself.”
You laugh-moan, laying your palms against the coils of hair on his sweat-shimmering chest.
“I can take it.”
The fire, intended to help dry you off, creates a heated environment that beads sweat on his temple. The only brain cells that remain coherent bounce around on lust in your skull — so you lean forward, lick the salty droplet clean, and sigh-whine as you begin rocking against him.
You fall into sync quickly, a desperate rhythm of desperate bodies. The delicious ache of him inside you is a masochistic thrill, similar to the irresistible press on a day-old bruise. The squelching shlick between your bodies is an animalistic reminder of your flesh and blood as you chase the pleasure, bouncing with vigour.
“Christ— I can feel you…” his jaw clenches with resolve, fingers digging into the meat of your ass. “…dripping all over me. You wanted this bad, huh?”
“Wanted to ride you in that fuckin’ Honda,” you straighten your posture, leaning away from him to hold your breasts, panting words between bated breaths. “Thought it might shut you up.”
His hand snaps up and grabs you roughly by the chin. “Mm… mouthy, aren’t ya?”
You grin. “You got no idea, lumberjack.”
He pulls your face against him, meeting your mouth halfway in a sloppier, fever-driven kiss that shoots arousal to your core like a shot of his favourite whiskey. Something feral stirs within you: a primal, cellular-deep need to connect with him further. Your empathetic power roils off of you like steam on a hot spring, surging into and merging with him until there’s nothing but one feeling, a black hole of unquenchable desire.
You suddenly feel as though you are him: navel-deep, a throbbing muscle with an aching desire to dive further into the serpent-clutch of your cunt, gliding through tingly, honey-silk velvet, blades hanging onto a tether of self-control as they threaten to slide out of your knuckles in ecstasy.
Well. This was certainly new. Add “voodoo sex doll” to your list of mutations.
You gasp, ripping away from the kiss, your powers recoiling back into you at whip-lash speed, dizzying in its ferocity. His eyes meet yours with darkened curiosity.
“Did you—”
“I felt that,” he grunts, tongue darting out to roll over his lips. “It always like that for you? Feelin’ so fuckin’ full?”
You half-laugh blissfully. “Only the good times.”
“I’ll show you a good time, alright.”
He isn’t gentle when he manhandles you, forcing you into an arch as he repositions and aligns himself behind your thighs, one foot planted firmly on the floor, the other bent to accommodate the new angle. He reinserts himself inside of you with ease, hands palming your hips and ass.
You feel him nudging cervix-deep and you reach out, clawing at the couch to hold your jerking body steady against the relentless slap of his hips. There’s no need to tell him faster or harder when you feel the metal plate of his adamantium hips pressing against your ass, pounding and vulgar with the sound of sweat-damp skin-on-skin.
It’s involuntary, the way you pant and cry out, intoxicated by the relentless drag and pull of his cock. He says something to you but you either don’t hear him or have enough conscious space in your sex-drunk fog to process words and respond. He slides a hand down your spine and pulls on your hair until you’re upright, breath hot when it fans against your neck.
“Where’s that mouth gone?”
You lick the drool from your lip, throwing him a glance over your shoulder. “Fuck you.”
The half-lidded up-and-down look he gives you as satisfaction grows slowly on his lips turns your bones to jelly. “There she is,” he growls back, offering a sharp slap of encouragement on your ass as he drops you back onto your front. You involuntarily grip around him, puffy clit throbbing with the almost-but-not-quite-there anticipatory build. “You gonna come for me? Yeah? I can fuckin’ feel it.”
You slide a hand underneath yourself, reaching for the swollen nub with two fingers. You’re overwhelmed with kinetic energy akin to a fizzy champagne bottle— two more shakes until you’re ready to pop.
You hear a Snikt! behind you, accompanied by a throat-caught groan, and then the distinct ripping shred of blades impaling your couch. You finally come, hard, when you feel him throbbing inside of you, followed by the decadent syrupy flood of his orgasm filling you up. He ruts into you one, two three more final times, milking himself dry, before collapsing over your body in a sweaty heap, sparing you the weight of his metal bones with a forearm propped next to you.
Shared fluids drip to the couch when he eventually pulls out of you, blades retreating into his clenched fists. The fluffy innards of the chair spill out beside you, and, while you were in no financial position to afford another, the sight entices a humoured smile from you.
“Sorry,” he says with a wince, helping you sit up when your unreliable legs shake beneath you.
“That’s alright. It’ll make for an interestin’ story,” you retort, fanning yourself with a hand. You both let out a shared laugh, mostly from the relieved delirium of it all. After a beat, you lean into him, massaging a hand across his belly. “So. We really doin’ this?”
His face softens. “If you’ll have me.”
You cup his face and kiss his cheek. “I’d take any version of you I could get.”
divider credits: @/vysleix and @/cafekitsune tag list: @bearwithegg, @uhlunaro, @sseleniaa, @jxssimae, @autumnsymphony
#logan howlett x reader#wolverine x reader#james logan howlett#wolverine#x reader#deadpool and wolverine#honda odyssey#logan x reader
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NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO EXECUTION DAY DECIDED NOOOOOOOOO
#new opening damn#very 2000#also boa hello????#ace in the intro AGAIN#but angsty this time. i cannot... considering seppuku. do not message me#alos garp must know ace is imprisoned and hes just gonna let it happen. old man i will end you#WHAT DO YOU MEAN TWO LEGENDS AT ONCE WHAT IS GOING ON#i hate this set up i am going to shed all my hairs like a cat#is this the worlds most boring auction or what. yodel a little#pick up the pace man!!!#sanji smoking three cigs out of stress lmaooo#he should self combust again#i love seeing him stressed riled up etc. its like a chihuahua#zoro is going to end up right where he needs to by going to the wrong place. amazing#did zoro use haki too or is he just super scary lmao#the crew are like: entering the human trafficking auction but shaking my head every time someone bids in#nami buying keimi.... hashtag feminism#SO THIS IS WHAT GARP WAS TALKING ABOUT YOU OLD FART ILL KILL YOU!!!!!#LUFFY MOOOOOOOOVE#sanji feminist moment lmao#also where tf is robin. wasnt she with nami#people in the comments saying they were surprised by nami paying for kaimi.... are we dumb are we stupid?????#talking tag#watching one piece#episode 395
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hehehehheheheee pretty birb bf
winged bf who pick you up into their arms, gently cradling you as if you were made of glass and the finest jewelry as they tell you to “hang on” before unfurling their wings and taking off into the sky
winged bf who show you the beauty of flying, holding you securely in his arms as you take in the way how the world below you looks so small and beautiful. who only has a gentle smile on their faces as you point out the big apartments and parks where you go to for a picnic date. who only has eyes on you as you admire the twinkling lights of the world under you
winged bf who wrap their wing around you whenever you shiver, even if it was one of those annoying sudden ghost bump things you get out of the blue. he’s still worried, let him worry for you in peace😠
winged bf who plucks a feather out of their wing, gently tucking the soft feather into your hair, or on your jacket — wherever you want. he wants you to carry a piece of him to remind you by even though you regularly steal his clothes
winged bf who allows you to be only person to touch his wings, to care for them, to brush them, to just… well, touch them to your heart’s content really. he doesn’t care if you put the tip of his long feather ends over your lips, mimicking a mustache, he doesn’t care if you want to use it as a blanket, he doesn’t care if you wanna use the ends like a cat toy in front of his face. he’ll indulge in your silly shenanigans
winged bf who sheds at least once a year, filling your shared home with the old feathers. who is either smug about it or is apologetic as he helps you broom the excessive fallen feathers. at this point you could probably make a plushie or some sort of art project from the amount of feathers that he shed. to which he objects, saying these are all old and weakened feathers, offering his wing for you to pluck feathers from if you really wanna make an art project
winged bf who hides the two of you under his wing when cuddling in bed, the added layer of his own extra limb making the scene feel more intimate than it is. as if the entire world is blocked out, just a meager existence passing by as you two enjoy this moment of comfort as his wing becomes a curtain to give you two privacy
winged bf who sometimes gets too sexually frustrated and pent up with your curious hands constantly touching the place where his wing is connected to his back, the skin and muscles there are sensitive, making him jump in his seat whenever you do it to tease him
winged bf who knows that it isn’t your fault. you probably don’t know, you don’t have a wing after all, so you don’t know what it means when someone touches your wing. who only calms your worries with a forehead kiss, usually handling his problems himself
winged bf who lets out a whine into his hand, muffling the embarrassing noise as your hand wraps tighter around his cock. he was way too sensitive than usual and it was all because of your wandering hand on his wings. he probably should have explained it all to you but right now, he found his words escaping him, mind melting into a muddled mess as he finds his hands clawing at your own in desperation
winged bf who mumbles out a weak protest of being “s-sensitive! aaah… f-feels too sen—♡︎ sensitive! y-your haaandd♡︎” as his legs start to shake, staring through teary eyes as you coax out yet another climax out of him. his tip an angry cherry red from the continued torture of your hand, his slit weeping precum over and over again despite having just came, getting hard in your hand embarrassingly fast
winged bf who gets tortured by your loving hands for who knows how many times. his eyes are getting blurry and breathing started to hurt. even more, his dick was stinging, twitching every time your tight fist comes up to the tip, letting go briefly as if to taunt him, touching the dripping slit with the tip of your finger and making him whine loudly before fucking his cock into your hand again and again. this was just pure torture, he wanted to escape and run away but you were whispering such nice words to his ears. calling him your good boy, your angel, how you loved being with your beloved like this… could he really ever refuse you?
winged bf who gets more and more twitchy in your gentle hold as your hand picks up speed, the filthy wet noise of his earlier cum being used as a lube filling the room alongside his loud moans. who begs for you to not to touch his wing as it flutters around, dropping a feather or two onto the floor due to moving around so much. who only lets out a pathetic whimper of a “cuz’ ahh haamgh—! [n-name], please! please don’t—♡︎ d-don’t touch them...? they’re sensitive too aanh haagh mfgh♥︎!!” when you ask him why
winged bf who felt like his skin was on fire. everything felt too much but felt too little at the same time, his cock painfully hard again in your hold the moment you ran the tip of your finger over the bane of it. his muscles were getting tense, a strange sense of feeling coiling around in his stomach as you kiss the place where his wing and back connects, shifting around frantically with a chirp or a preen falling from his swollen lips
winged bf who weakly paws at your hand around his dick, wanting to push it away but chasing right after it with his hips as the strange feeling in his stomach just continues to grow worse. it didn’t felt like his usual orgasm, the way he would just fall apart in your hands. it felt more intense and that scared him. who cries out through loud whines and bitten back sobs that “f-feels weird!! aanhh haah [n-name]—! it mnggh♡︎ feels weird! my c-cock feels unnck haah ahh amhh weird♥︎♥︎!!”
winged bf who throws his head back into your shoulder, hands covering his beet red face as a scream tears through his lips, muscles tightening, body going taut in your arms when you gently bit into the base of his wing, your other hand keeping his wing in place so it wouldn’t flutter and knock you away as he fucking squirts into his stomach, painting his muscles and your hand white. who lets out soft chirps and noises, legs twitching and hands struggle to decide whether to hold onto you or to muffle his embarrassing noises
winged bf who only lets out weak noises and chirps when you try to communicate with him, asking him if he was doing alright and if your angel was with you right now after that overstimulating experience. who immediately hides within his wings the moment a sliver of sobriety hits him, too humiliated to even look you in the face because what was that? and why did he felt… so good?
winged bf who gives you a weak glare that you know isn’t exactly serious, pouting at you and complaining about how you messed up his mind and stuff. who lean into your touch as you push his hair away from him, getting to see the still reddened face and the few tear stains on his cheeks. who grumbles about how you have too much power over him when you chuckle, leaning in to plant a kiss to his pouting lips. who chase after you with a demand for a proper kiss this time
⇨ sephiroth, genesis, angeal, hawks, xiao, venti, angel devil, vash, knives, sunday, simeon, raphael + anyone you can think of!
#nobu.writes#sub character#sub hsr#sub genshin#sub genshin impact#sub chainsaw man#sub trigun#sub bnha#sub mha#sephiroth x reader#genesis x reader#angeal x reader#hawks x reader#xiao x reader#venti x reader#angel devil x reader#vash x reader#knives x reader#millions knives x reader#sunday x reader#tw overstim#tw monsterfucking#trigun x reader#dom reader#gender neutral reader#obey me x reader#sub obey me#nobu.brainrots#sub final fantasy
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.
#I’m like the lowest I’ve ever been in my life :)))#so many things have changed in such a short time I don’t know what’s up or down anymore#said goodbye to my childhood home 4 weeks ago#moved in with my girlfriend and her mom but I sleep in a storage shed in their backyard with my cat#my mom couldn’t keep Dino with her in the apartment so I’ve lost him too and that’s what hurts the most#I miss him so much#he has a new family and he’s doing great there and I’m so happy that he’s alright but it’s hard to accept that I can’t be with him anymore#everything happened so fast. all the decisions. I didn’t have time to react#and now all the grief is washing over me#at the same time my new medication is likely giving me side effects so I have this extremely intense anxiety and I’m constantly sad#I have to stuff myself full of promethazine in order to function somewhat normally#last week my anxiety was so bad that I almost had to go to the emergency psychiatric ward#also it sucks having to take physics and math rn it’s so draining and difficult and it feels so much harder cause my mental health is shit#really these classes make me wanna die but I have to take them if I’m gonna reach the education I have in mind#just venting I guess#sorry#I’ve been away from here for like a month? I barely have the energy to check my dashboard
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Itoshi Sae has far more feline traits than those narrow turquoise eyes of his. At the top of your notes app titled “I don’t need a cat, my boyfriend already is one,” is the fact that Sae will never, ever be clingy, will never ask for your touch, and is coy about romance as a whole—but he just has to be near you.
Manshine City is playing Ubers. Ubers cannot resist having a yellow card every time they step on the pitch, and Manshine City pisses Sae off more than even he knows. You’ll press him about that later, because he’s watching the match in your shared bedroom and not the living room television which is not only bigger, but louder like he likes. Why is he fixing your temperpedic to be a damn near 90 degree angle when there’s a perfectly good couch in another room?
“Who’s winning?” You call from the bathroom. You’ve chosen to grab a bar stool from the kitchen to make yourself comfortable as you part your hair into four sections. It’s a hard ritual, but it pays dividends; you noticed that you were shedding a lot less hair when you sat down and pre-detangled before the shower. And you were a little optimistic about your last style and ended up stretching it out a few days longer than you should have. The end result wouldn’t be good to your heart.
You’re half way through finger detangling your section when you realize Sae hasn’t answered you. You lean back, the open door to your bedroom allowing you to catch a glimpse of him. There’s something off about his expression—Sae’s normally indifferent looking, sure, but there is a harder frown etched into his face. And he’s not even looking at the game. He’s glaring at…the door frame?
“Babe,” you say, and it breaks his trance. He looks up at you, but you’ve once again disappeared from his line of sight. That lean back was killing your spine.
“Huh?”
“I asked who was winning.” You carefully two-strand twist the now slippery section together, then use an alligator clip to keep it off your back. It’s kind of crazy how long your hair is now compared to the beginning of the year. You take down your next section, looking up from your lap and-!
“Holy shit!”
Sae gives you an unimpressed look in the mirror. You look at his reflection instead of him when you demand “When did you get in here?”
“While you were daydreaming.”
The tv is off. Or it’s paused. The vacuum of silence is a little uncomfortable. You were doing your hair in an old tshirt; a reprint of Sae’s U20 match jersey. It would make plenty money on the internet, and here you were getting hair products all over it. Sae looks at the front of your shirt with a wrinkled nose. Other reasons your boyfriend is a cat: he needs a fucking collar, and he pulls faces instead of vocalizing.
“What are you doing?”
“My hair.”
You can see his roaming gaze trying to piece together the exact routine you have, but he’s struggling. Before another quip can leave his mouth you elaborate. “Pre-detagnling. That way when I wash my hair it has less breakage.” You squeeze your detangler into your hands and slather it into the wetted section of hair you were working on. “I wanna keep what little hair I have.”
You get a real reaction this time—a snort of disbelief. “You have more hair on your head than Aiku has on his entire body.”
You blink. “That’s not really a metric I’m privy too.”
“He’s like a gorilla. It’s gross.”
You hum, but you love Sae’s endless opinions. You can tell he still has some rattling around in his brain that he’s having trouble spitting out. Perhaps he’s finally using a filter around you, or he’s really trying to find just the right delivery to piss you off. It’s 50/50.
He finally settles on, “You hair has gotten really long,” as he’s transfixed by the quick motion of your digits twisting the hair into a long rope. When it drops against the side of your head and he sees where it reaches, he shakes his head. “Like, really long.”
“Thanks,” you smile, and warmth spreads in Sae’s chest. “Weren’t you watching the match?”
“I paused it.”
“Why?”
He doesn’t answer. “I thought long hair bothered you?”
“It does,” you answer slowly, really trying to keep up with this conversation. Sae pings questions at you like the midfielder he is, but this is a little too quick. “But I think when I was growing my hair out the first time I never shaped it, or did styles with it. There was this girl at a restaurant I went to, like, years ago when I was at the beach with my parents who had long natural hair. She had it pulled back in a satin scarf and had like two little front pieces sticking out.” You create the style by gesturing your hands over your head. Sae’s gaze melts, the usual hard line of his mouth settling into something content.
“She was so pretty.” You have a distant look on your face, and Sae doesn’t doubt you have that crystal clear memory in your head. “I wanted to be as pretty as her. But I didn’t really know what to do with my hair, and it has really hot all the time, so I cut it. I think about it all the time though.”
Sae acknowledges your story with a nod. He traces shape of your curls with his finger, careful not to pull too hard. A soft tug elongated the spiral, and then it snapped back.
“Your hair is beautiful,” Sae suddenly spits, making eye contact with you in the mirror. “I liked it when it was short, and it’s pretty now that it’s longer. I don’t know if I ever told you.”
He hasn’t. Not so bluntly, at least. Sae never needs to occupy his hands, so he doesn’t touch your hair at all, ever, but now he coils the strands around his finger like his own personal fidget. Something stupid balloons in you lungs and press hard against your ribcage. Pride, maybe? Love, probably. You twist your neck and the piece of hair slips from his grasp.
“‘Preciate it,” you reply, adopting his casual air to force down your excitement. Sae’s face stays the same though, and he even goes so far as to press a little kiss to your exposed shoulder blade. He must feel the heat of your skin, because a smirk curls across his face. Oh, you could kill him.
“Alright, alright,” you shoo him. “I gotta get to work. This is just the pre-wash, so I’m going to take a minute in here.”
“I could shower,” he says absently, and before you could even protest, Sae is opening the shower door, rearranging products around the wall to make sure your shampoo, conditioner and wide tooth comb are front and center. “It’ll be warm though, and not scalding hot like you like it.”
“Then don’t shower with me.”
The pipes turn on, Sae’s funger’s dipping under the water the check the temperature. “It’s bad for your skin anyways.”
You don’t even mention it. You probably will halfway through when he’s “unknowingly” doing your hair for you, but it could wait.
#I hate itoshi sae if yall were wondering#blue lock#bllk#bllk x you#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader#blue lock sae itoshi#bllk itoshi sae#itoshi sae#itoshi sae x reader#itoshi sae/reader#itoshi sae x you#itoshi sae x y/n#sae x reader#sae x y/n#sae x you#shout out to anyone who predetangles you’re a legend
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can we have like a pov of like what MOB would do if something did happen to simon..? luv you!
mail-order bride
your tea is cold when you pick it up to drink it. it burns you, how cold it is, and you cough a little as you set it down, grimacing as you wipe your lips.
maybe it's just one of those days. the rain is hitting a little too hard against the window. the cats have been restless. the dark one shredded your yoga mat by clawing at it under a doorway, and the orange tabby managed to knock over all of simon's plants from the windowsill (which you frantically put back inside their little pots--would plant murder be his last straw?). you left a red shirt in when you washed the whites (you apologized to all of simon's white tees), and when you noticed holes in your favorite sweats in a pattern that matched a cat's claws, you called it a day and decided to make tea (another fail).
you rub your pounding head, taking a deep breath, but you aren't given long to count down from five when your phone begins to ring.
you pick it up, not recognizing the number, but you put it to your ear as you get up to boil more water.
"hello?"
a throat clears on the other end. "do i have mrs. riley 'ere?"
you frown, leaning your hip against the kitchen counter as you turn a burner on and put the kettle over it.
"uhm...yeah. this is she," you say finally. you look at the clock; it's late, much too late. "who is this?"
"this is john. ah...captain john price, ma'am."
you clench your jaw, closing your eyes. "um...i'm sorry, i...what can i do for you? simon's not--"
"we had to call for medevac," john says lowly. "ahh...should be headin' into surgery soon. i--"
"wait--what?" you cough a little, shutting the stove off, and you're scrambling as you make your way to the bedroom. he's talking again, you realize, but you can't hear what he's saying. your eyes are moving around the room, and you frantically start to pull drawers open, grabbing a sweater, jeans, actual clothes to put on. you shed your pajamas, hopping as you slide your jeans on, and he's still talking, but you still hear nothing.
you run into the dresser, the furniture rattling, and you let the phone go, realizing you can't see because there's tears blurring your vision. you wipe them away, looking around for your purse, and when you realize what this is, an emergency--right?--you head for the bookcase in simon's study.
you toss a few books down onto the floor, your hands shaking as your fingers curl around the spine of a leather bible. you set the book down on simon's desk, flipping through the pages before you find your prized paper nestled between the pages of the book of john.
you head back to the bedroom, picking up the phone again, and you shakily dial the number that's on the back of the card. you take a seat on the bed (because where would you go anyways?), and you close your eyes as you wait for someone to pick up.
it rings for too long. you gasp a little, clutching the phone tight, and you beg for someone to pick up, please, please, please--
"'ello?"
"johnny--" you hiccup, standing up. "johnny, he...he told me--"
"wha--who--" on the other end, johnny shouts at someone to get a move on, "--bleedin' christ, who is this?"
"it's me," you whisper. "i'm...simon's--"
"ach...fuckin' hell..." there's a long, deep sigh on the other end. "oi, lass, listen, he's alright--"
"he's...b-but someone said surgery."
"right, i..." he sighs again, and you hear a door shut on the other end. "ye sit tight, luv. i'll come get ye, okay?"
you sniffle, wiping your face, "just tell me he's gonna be okay. tell me i'm worrying for nothing."
johnny chuckles a bit, and the sound soothes you just enough. "gonna be alright. lad's fuckin' dramatic, i'll tell ye tha', big brick fuckin' stepped in front of--"
"okay, johnny, please don't tell me how simon almost killed himself and get your ass over here, okay?" you snap, and johnny halts his laughing.
"right, yeah, forgive me." you hear the rattle of keys. "'m coming."
"mrs. riley?"
your head lifts up. you blink the sleep out of your eyes, rubbing them gently, and there's a petite woman in scrubs smiling at you with her mask hanging around her neck. you have two sergeants at either side of you, captain price settled leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. you have a blanket around your shoulders, and when you slip it off, johnny takes it from you gently.
"you can see him now."
you get to your feet, and when you pass simon's captain, he tips his hat at you respectfully. you hurry and follow the doctor down the hall, and when you see simon's name scribbled on a makeshift sigh on the wall, you eagerly pick up the pace until the door is opened for you.
he looks peaceful laying there. the monitors beep quietly around him, little wires and tubes falling around him, and you let out a breath when you see him blink those dark eyes awake blearily.
"tha' an angel?"
you start to cry. "you're such an asshole."
you come close to the side of the bed, taking his outstretched hand, and you clutch his big hand to your chest. you curl his hand into a fist, pressing your face against the back of his hand, kissing his knuckles there gently. he uncurls his fingers and wipes at your tears gently, shaking his head.
"gave ya a right scare, didn't i?"
"yes, you dickhead," you sniffle, and simon chuckles lowly, wincing a little as he clutches his lower stomach. you use your foot to bring the chair behind you closer, taking a seat in it as you look up at him. he turns his head to face you, giving you a pained smile, and you let out the breath you've been holding since johnny came to get you. "what's the matter with you, simon?"
"shit happens."
you try not to roll your eyes, but the anger is not lost on simon. he squeezes your hand gently, his eyes flicking up to the clock, and he grimaces when he realizes it's nearly six in the morning. you must have been here all night, waiting for him.
"is this how it's gonna be?" you ask in a whisper. when he meets your eyes again, it's more difficult this time. what you're asking isn't predictable. it isn't a straight answer. and if he gives you anything that isn't the truth, it feels like a lie, and he can't do that to you. "w-waking up in the middle of the night? hoping that the call isn't...that...hoping that--"
"not that simple," simon interrupts gently.
"well, make it simple, simon," you say firmly. even through your tears, your voice doesn't shake this time. "make it very simple for me, then."
simon purses his lips, and for the first time since you've met your husband, he hesitates. he doesn't have an answer, at least a good one.
"don't wanna lie to ya, swee'eart," simon murmurs, and you stare right back at him.
"then don't."
he sucks on his teeth, looking away, and you tug on his hand, pulling his eyes back to you.
"look at me, simon," you say, and he looks sad. he's going to tell you something that you won't want to hear. he's going to tell you something that's been the truth since he enlisted, a reality that never bothered him until he realized he had a responsibility to keep a roof over your head. there's someone waiting inside of his house. there's a place that's waiting for him on one side of the bed he shares with you. there's someone else's shoes always next to his, and someone else's name that will always be beside his own.
family.
he has a family.
"i'll try and keep ya outta here," is all simon murmurs. you smile at that. it's a promise, but he won't lie to you. always honest, your husband. he tells you things as they are. he doesn't pretend. everything with simon is the truth as he presents it, and it's eerily comforting, even if the truth isn't one that you like.
"i love you, simon," you whisper, and when you touch his face finally, the sting of the gold of your wedding is a welcome distraction.
he vows to make this the last time you see him this way. nothing is worth seeing that face of yours like this--tired, disheveled, the angry crease in your brow. you're not meant for these things. for the waiting, the crying, the worry, it's not a life he meant to give you.
for a moment, he wonders if you'd ever ask him.
will you hang it up for me? will you leave for me?
the most terrifying part, he realizes, is that he isn't sure of what his answer would be. and he isn't sure of what you would do if he told you no.
#oof angst#it betrays me#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost mw2#ghost cod#ghost call of duty#ghost mwii#ghost x reader#cod#call of duty#order up
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Something a lot of people mistakenly believe is that Akechi enjoys the work he does for Shido and that he takes the orders to kill without any resentment or regret. These text messages shed some light on the way he thinks and show that this is not actually the case. Unfortunately, these texts are entirely missable if you finish the treasure route to Sae's Palace too early. As a result, this crucial characterization is often overlooked and people take what they know about characters like Persona 4's culprit and Persona 3's traitor and assume that Akechi is playing it straight.
But even without these obscure texts, it's not like the game is subtle about this. Akechi's lack of freedom and agency is a recurring aspect of his character that people will often cast aside because it's much easier to boil him down to "crazy serial killer" than actually look at the complexity of his situation and his own victimhood.
Throughout his Royal confidant, Akechi's perfectly crafted mask cracks several times. Moments like this show him offering an out, even if he's MUCH happier if you don't consider it.
He doesn't WANT Joker to change. As much as he claims to hate Joker, he admires his convictions. Wishes he had what Joker had. Wishes he could have been more like him. See: the Gun About rank up where he mentions how he used to want to be a hero of justice.
The creepy smiles and shit you see on 11/20 and in parts of the engine room are another mask Akechi wears. Akechi ALWAYS swaps out his masks to best serve his situation. Yet he still tells Shido not to kill the thieves, that Morgana is just a cat, and is perfectly content to leave them alone, and after his fight in the engine room, when the mask literally breaks...
We see his regrets on full display. He isn't proud. He's done making excuses. All those little times the mask broke in the Royal confidant were ways to set up this moment. He genuinely cares SO much about Joker, but that caring was dangerous to his objectives, so he HAD to hate him. He HAD to want to kill him to achieve his objective, and yet...
He still cares. He's putting out spikes in third sem, no doubt because he suspects his own fate should they destroy Maruki's world, but...
#goro akechi#persona#persona 5#p5#p5r#p5 joker#ren amamiya#akira kurusu#character analysis#meta#akechi goro#p5 akechi#p5r spoilers#persona 5 spoilers
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Humans are weird: Cats
Alien: Thanks for inviting me over. Alien: I’ve never been in a human’s home before so this will be- *sees cat sitting on couch* Alien: What is that? Human: That is Fred. *Turns to cat* Human: Say hi Fred. Fred: *MEOW* Alien: I was not aware you had a roommate. Human: What? Human: No, he’s my pet. Alien: You keep a sentient being as a pet? Are you a monster? Human: No; but Fred is. Fred: *MEOW* ----------------------
Alien: *goes to sit down, accidentally steps on fluffy ball* *Cat’s head shoots up* Human: You need to run. Alien: What? Why? Human: You just stepped on Fred’s favorite toy. Alien: So that means I am in danger? Fred: *low growling sound* Human: It’s too late….. --------------------------
*Thirteen stitches later* Alien: How can something so fluffy be so angry!?!?! Human: Domestication probably. Alien: Is that not meant to breed out the violence? Human: Normally yes, but with cats it just condensed it. ------------------------
*Next day* *Door slowly opens* Alien: Is it safe to come in? Human: Let me check. *Picks up Fred and holds him in front of alien* Fred: *Low growling noise* Human: No it is n- Alien: *Slams door shut quickly* ---------------------
*Two days later* Alien: *Sipping drink* Alien: What can I do to win over your furry slave? Human: First off, he is a pet not a slave. Human: And even if that was the situation I technically am Fred’s slave. Alien: *Surprised* You are one of the most advanced species in the galaxy; having mastered space travel and the manipulation of matter itself. Human: And yet I am the one cleaning up his shits. Alien: *Opens mouth to counter, then sips instead when nothing comes to mind* ----------------------
Human: Why does it matter that you want Fred to like you? Human: I thought you hated him? Alien: Were he not an animal I would have sworn a blood oath to destroy him and his family for what he has done to my face. Human: I ask again; why does it matter? Alien: Because for reasons beyond my understanding I feel compelled to have that little death machine love me. Human: Welcome to being a cat owner. ------------------------
*Three days later* *Door slowly opens* Alien: Are you ready? Human: I’ve got Fred. Alien: And you’re sure this will work? Human: Positive. *Alien walks in and Fred starts growling* Human: Get ready; I’m releasing Fred. *Puts Fred down who begins sprinting towards alien* *Alien holds out tiny tube with goop pouring out end* Fred: *MEOW!* *Stops murder sprint and begins sniffing and licking tube enthusiastically* Alien: So you bribe him with food? Human: Works on us humans as well. ------------------
Alien: Do you think I have won him over? *Fred walks up and brushes against Alien* Human: I think you’re good.
Alien: It felt like being embraced by the goddess herself. --------------------
Alien: So besides eating, sleeping, and acts of disproportionate violence; what else do they like to do? Human: Fred loves to play. *Picks up laser pointer and flashes it around room* *Fred’s head shoots up, does the butt wiggle, then lunges at the laser* Alien: What fascinating technology. Human: Yeah; we also use this to guide missiles for air strikes in wars. Alien: Your pet enjoys playing with tools of death? Human: I think that’s one of the reasons he enjoys it so much. ------------------
Alien: *Looks down at shirt* Alien: What is this? Human: Oh yeah, forgot to mention he’s a heavier shedder. Human: Sorry about that. Alien: Do not worry, for I too shed my skin. *Proceeds to peel off skin until raw muscle and bone is left* *Casually tosses aside empty skin suit which Fred walks over to and cuddles in* Human: Thank you for that fresh nightmare material. Alien: *slurring words due to no lips* Yoooou’re welllllcoommme.
#humans are insane#humans are space oddities#humans are weird#humans are space orcs#writing#original writing#niqhtlord01#funny#cats#cat owners
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across the room
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jeon wonwoo x f!chubby reader
I caught your eye across the room. No one can feel the tension between me and you. There's no need to mention all the things I wanna do. You wanna do 'em too. We both know we'd be over if they knew
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): friends to lovers, mutual pining, secret lovers, romance, angst, smut
𝐚𝐮(𝐬): nonidol
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6k
𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: lots of body insecurities, cussing, mentions of drinking, angst, having to keep a “relationship” a secret, so much making out, open ending, wonwoo is kinda a former fuckboy.
𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dry humping, oral (both rec), handjob, fingering, protected intercourse, multiple positions, couch sex, cum eating, snowballing?
𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ nsfw
𝐚𝐧: wrote this a while ago and decided it was time to fully rework it.
🎧: hush hush - the band camino | talk fast - 5 seconds of summer
𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.
His hands held your face as your lips moved together. His lips were completely intoxicating as they moved against yours. There was something about this touch that just drove you absolutely wild. You’re sitting next to each other on your couch. Your fingers gripped his shirt holding him closer to you. He pulls his lips ways from yours and smirk plays across his lips. He well aware of how much he’s turning you on.
“What’s your endgame here?” You ask with your voice low.
“My goal is to have you naked on this couch,” he says completely serious.
“Is that right?” you ask raising your eyebrow.
You and Wonwoo had started this flirty thing a month ago. You’re complete opposites he’s a drop dead gorgeous man with the body of a Greek god you’re a chubby girl who hasn’t ever fooled around outside a relationship.
You felt like this is a game of cat and mouse and once he gets what he wants he’ll be done. This wasn’t the first time you had shared a steamy make out session. Normally things between you got a little handsy but nothing more.
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours for a gentle kiss and pulled away resting his nose against yours.
“I think we’re wearing too much clothing,” his lips brushed against yours.
You were so turned on you were trying to think logically and not tear off your clothes and jump him.
“I think you need to behave,” you reached up resting your hand on his cheek.
“Baby you’re killing me,” he groaned, pulling away from you.
“I think you’ll live,” you smile as you rest your hand on his thigh.
“You’re giving me blue balls babe,” he leans forward and presses his lips to yours.
“I think we can have fun without taking our clothes off,” You say as your hand moves to his jean covered bulge.
A groan passed his lips you massaged him. Leaning forward he placed his hands on your soft sides and pulled you onto his lap.
You hadn’t ever sat on his lap before and you felt extremely self conscious about your weight. Your hips starting grinding against his. His lips were connected to your neck gently nipping at your skin. He pulls his lips away from your skin and holds your doughy sides helping move your hips. Your hands held his face so he was looking at you. Pulling off his glasses they set them on the table next to the couch. His dark eyes lust blown as he stared at you. His lips pressed to yours and as he pulled away he gently bit your bottom lip.
“Even if we don’t have sex can we shed some clothes?” his voice is low.
“Sure,” you say with every intention of keeping your clothes on but making sure he feels good.
Crawling off his lap you sit on your knees on the floor between his legs and look up at him with big doe eyes. His bottom lip is captured between his teeth as he stares down at you.
“What do you want to happen from here?” he putting the ball in your court.
“Take your pants off,” you say, attempting to sound sexy.
He stands up in front of you and quickly pushes down his jeans and boxers. His already hard cock springs free, he’s bigger than you imagined. You had seen Wonwoo shirtless, but you hadn’t ever seen him fully naked.
His pants are pushed down to his thighs and he is sitting there watching you in anticipation. He silently removed his shirt so he’s basically naked.
Sitting up you’re still sitting on your knees. Your hands rest on his thighs. You were going to be brave right now. Wonwoo’s one of the hottest men you have ever seen and he wanted you. Right then you wanted to make him feel good. Reaching forward you stroked his hardened length. A groan passed his lips as he closed his eyes.
Leaning forward you licked the underside of his excitement. His eyes popped open as he watched you take him into your mouth.
You take him as far back as you fully can until he’s touching the back of your throat.“Baby that feels so good,” he pushed his fingers through hair. Gently you bobbed your head as your hand helped work his length.
A slur of curse words passed his lips letting you know he was getting closer and closer to coming. You hadn’t given someone head in a really long time and you were worried you wouldn’t be good at it, but by the way he was saying your name he seemed like he was really enjoying it.
“Fuck-fu-“ you’re getting wet just by the sounds of his moans. “I’m coming-“ You have zero desire to pull off. You want him to fall apart in your mouth. You feel the warm liquid from his release in your mouth and swallow without even thinking about it.
He tugs your hair gently pulling you away. Looking up at him you run your tongue across your bottom lip.
He pulls you onto his lap and presses his lips to yours for a heated kiss. He doesn’t even care that he can taste himself on your lips.
“That was so hot,” he groans with his lips ghosting against yours.
“I wanted to make you feel good,” you say, feeling proud of yourself.
“You made me feel amazing,” he smiles as his hands move up your sides resting under your breast.
“Let me make you feel good,” he says, pulling your shirt up.
“It’s okay, how about next time?” you say as you push your shirt down.
His eyes brows knit together as he looks at you with a confused look. “Did I do something wrong?” He asks.
You shake your head and say, “I want to have sex with you, but I want to take this slow.”
You were taking things slow because you were afraid that he was going to run once he got what he wanted. You also had a fear that once he saw you naked he wouldn’t want to be with you. He was known for liking pretty skinny girls.
“Okay we can take it slow, but can I at least touch these,” he asked as his eyes were locked in your large breast.
Silently you nod. Reaching forward, his hands hold your breast. His bottom lip is captured between his teeth as he looks at you with a lust fueled look. As his hands grope your chest you fight back moaning. You want more desperately but you’re too afraid. His hand moves to the edge of your shirt and your eyes pop open quickly. You’re terrified of him seeing you without your shirt. You watch as his hand crawls under your shirt. His hand rested on your breast under your shirt and his touch felt electric. Hungry eyes stay locked on yours as his hands massages your breast. His lips connected to your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses.
The sound of your phone ringing caught both your attention. Wonwoo looked up at you with wide eyes for a moment.
You wanted to ignore the call, but Wonwoo reached over and grabbed your phone. It’s Seungcheol’s name on your phone.
“I can send it to voicemail,” you say, still caught up in the moment.
“Answer it, he’ll start asking questions if you don’t.”
-
This whole “thing” between you and Wonwoo was a secret. Nobody in your friend group is aware that you two have something going on. Before this all started Wonwoo had been extremely vocal about not wanting to hook up with anyone in the friend group. You weren’t even exactly sure how this all started. It still blows your mind that he’s interested in you. You’re far from his normal type, and the moment you met him you couldn’t lie you had a crush on him. In the beginning it started with longing looks on your part. You couldn’t help but stare. He's just so pretty. It wasn’t long before he started staring back at you. You were completely caught off guard the first time he walked over and talked to you. Shortly after the longing looks he started touching you. They were innocent touches, like he would touch your arm while he spoke to you. When he started resting his hand on your thigh that’s when things started heating up.
You were at a party at Seungcheol’s house when things started to really change between you. It had been a couple weeks of him touching you, and you were standing in the kitchen talking while everyone was drinking throughout the house. You’re leaning against the counter and Wonwoo is standing right in front of you. You’re telling him some random story about when you had to take care of a very drunk Soonyoung. He seems like he’s barely paying attention to what you’re saying. His pretty eyes seem to be locked on your lips.
“Did you hear anything I just said?” you ask.
He shakes his head and lets out a nervous laugh. His little laugh always gave you butterflies.
“Should I leave you alone then?” you are curious as to why he isn’t paying attention to what you have to say.
Reaching up he pushes a piece of your hair behind your ear and you can’t help but smile at this simple gesture. He leans forward and his lips brush against your ear, “I can’t pay attention to you because I really want to kiss you.”
Your heart races at his words as you pull away from him and look up at him unsure if he’s being serious. He tilts his head to the side and gives you a smile. He is well aware of the effect he’s having on you.
“Why is that?”
“Because I can’t seem to think about anything other than what your pretty lips will feel like against mine,” he reaches out and touches your arms and you immediately get goose bumps.
“Then are you going to kiss me?”
He bites his bottom lip and pulls away from you. He takes his hat off and pushes his fingers through his hair. He seems oddly nervous which is extremely unlike him.
“I would like for that to be something private with us alone.”
You look around the house and see that it’s filled with all your friends, and you really didn’t want them in your business when it came to your “relationship/friendship” with Wonwoo.
“Well you can always meet me at my place later,” you say trying to be confident.
He smiled and nodded his head, “I’ll leave in ten minutes and then you leave in thirty minutes. I’ll meet you at your place.”
From your first kiss you knew you were in trouble when it came to Wonwoo.
-
You answer your phone and Seungcheol is asking if you can come over for a party he’s having. He mentions that Soonyoung and Mingyu are on their way and he’s gonna call Wonwoo next. You tell him you’ll be there in twenty. Hanging up your phone you slowly crawl off of Wonwoo, who is still basically naked on the couch.
He gives you a strange look as you reach on the coffee table and grab his phone that has just started ringing.
“He wants to hang, we probably shouldn’t show up together,” you trying to act like it doesn’t bug you that this whole thing is a secret.
Wonwoo takes the call and agrees to head over. He hangs up his phone and pulls his boxers and pants up and finishes getting dressed. You head off to your room to find something to wear. You were in nothing but a pair of leggings and a big shirt. Wonwoo stands in your doorway watching you as you pull out a sweater to wear.
“Did you want to head over together?” he asked.
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” you ask knowing that the group will wonder why you drove over together.
“Probably not,” he says walking towards you.
“You should probably head over and I’ll meet you there,” you say as he stops in front of you. He looks down at and holds your face for a long moment before he leans down and presses his lips to yours for a heated kiss. Pulling away from you he smiles and says, “thank you for earlier. I need to return the favor.”
You stare at him unsure of what to say. Your body is screaming at you to tell him he can return the favor whenever, but your mind is too self conscious to say that.
“I’ll see you at Seungcheol’s,” you say, changing the subject.
“See you there,” he says before walking out of the apartment.
You hear your front door shut and you sit down on your bed and let out a heavy sigh before rubbing your face. You kept telling yourself that you needed to be confident when it comes to Wonwoo, that he clearly wants you, but you can’t help the walls that you have built up. You’ve had a few shitty ex boyfriends that have drained any self confidence you had.
Ten minutes after Wonwoo left your place you drove over to Seungcheol’s place. You’re greeted by Soonyoung and Mingyu hugging you, and Wonwoo gives you a simple hello as if he wasn’t naked on your couch not even a half hour ago. A bunch of the other boys have showed up. Vernon just arrived with his girlfriend and her roommate. In the living room everyone is sitting around drinking beer and hanging out. Standing in the kitchen with Soonyoung you can feel Wonwoo’s dark eyes on you. The tension between you is thick and you can’t help but wonder if the group has any clue if anything is going on.
Walking back into the living room you sit across from him.
You’re sitting on the couch when you feel your phone vibrate. Opening your phone you can’t help but smile as you read the text Wonwoo.
From Wonwoo: I would much rather have you naked right now.
Your cheeks burn as you read his text. You shoot him a look and he just smiles at you, well aware of what he’s doing.
“Come here,” Seungcheol says to catch your attention.
The rest of the evening you continue to hang out with the group. Wonwoo leaves long before you, he has dinner plans with some friends. The moment he leaves you feel all the sexual tension in your body is relieved.
You head home when the little party starts to die down. You head to your place and lay down in bed and scroll through your phone. You smile as you see you have a text from Wonwoo.
From Wonwoo: are you going to Soonyoung’s place tomorrow for the party?
From you: Yes I’ll be there.
It takes less than a minute before you receive another text from him that reads,
From Wonwoo: okay good. I think you should wear that pretty pink dress.
You know the exact dress he’s talking about. You wore it the night you shared your first kiss.
From you: Why should I wear that?
Another text quickly comes in that reads,
From Wonwoo: Because I’ll reward you with something that makes you feel good.
Butterflies flutter in your stomach as you read his text. You know exactly what he means and you have every single intention of wearing that dress. As you lay in bed you can’t wait to see Wonwoo tomorrow at the party. You know this is probably just a game of cat and mouse, but you think you’re finally ready to let something more really happen.
-
Loud music played throughout the house. Standing in Soonyoung’s backyard you watch your friends and lots of strangers were drinking and having a good time. Yuna standing next to you holding her drink she’s telling you about some dance audition she had earlier. Looking across the yard you find Wonwoo talking to Chan. Your eyes lock and he smiles at you. His dark eyes stay locked on you as he’s listening to Chan.
Yuna Notices right away that you aren’t fully paying attention and looks at you with a curious look. She asks you, “So who has your attention?”
You try your hardest not to panic as you look at her.You need to lie you can’t let her know you’re staring at Wonwoo.
“I was looking at Chan, he's over there talking with his hands and I was wondering what he was saying,” you lie.
“Oh,” she says, not bothering to ask you any more questions.
She walks inside to find Vernon and you make your way through the crowded house heading over towards the kitchen. You reach into the fridge and grab a bottle of water. You weren’t the type of person who really ever drank at these parties other than maybe one beer. Your friends tended to get a little crazy and sometimes needed someone to take care of them. Your whole life you had always been dubbed the mom friend, and from the moment you met Seungcheol and all your friends that didn’t change. You watch as Wonwoo and Chan are walking towards the kitchen.
“Hey (Y/N),” Wonwoo smiles.
“Hey boys,” you say looking over at Chan who is holding a beer.
“Where’s your drink?” Chan asks, noticing that you’re holding a bottle of water.
“I don’t feel like drinking tonight, and someone is going to have to make sure Soonyoung gets put to bed safely,” you say with a little laugh.
“Let’s be real, someone needs to take care of all their drunk asses,” Wonwoo says, shaking his head.
“I thought you were sober and not drinking tonight?” Chan asks.
“I think all of you need more than one person to take care of you,” you let out a little laugh.
“True,” Chan said before taking a drink of his beer.
Chan heads over to Swungkwan leaving you alone with Wonwoo. It’s rare that you and Wonwoo ever get a moment alone at an event with your friends. That might be why people don’t actually think something is going on between you. Literally nobody even has the slightest idea something is happening.
You’re leaning against the counter as he’s watching you. The tension between you is thick and you wish you could kiss him, but you knew that wasn’t an option. You don't need everyone in the room to know what’s going on between you.
“I see you wore the pink dress,” he says as his eyes travel up and down your soft body.
Looking down at your feet you can’t help but blush,”I wore it just for you.”
He steps closer to you so there isn’t much distance between you. Looking around you look to see if anyone is paying attention.
“I think I said that I would reward you for wearing this,” He leans closer as he whispers loud enough for only you to hear.
“Is that promise?” you look into his dark eyes that already look lust blown.
He nods and steps away from you. A shiver runs down your spine as he smirks at you.
“I look forward to that later,” you walk away from him. You feel his eyes on you as you walk off towards the bathroom. You need a moment alone, he managed to leave you feeling extremely flustered without even trying.
Walking into the bathroom you shut the door and took a deep breath. The sound of someone knocking on the door catches your attention.
“One minute,” you say softly. Whatever drunk girl that needed to use the restroom could wait a minute.
“It’s Wonwoo, let me in,” you hear him say on the other side.
Reaching forward you unlock the door and step back. He steps inside and shuts the door and locks it. You know this is dangerous that someone could have seen him come into the bathroom with you.
Leaning against the bathroom counter as he walks towards you like a hunter stalking his prey. He grips your soft hips and helps you sit on the edge of the bathroom counter. He stands between your legs and his large hands rest on your soft thighs.
“I need to kiss you,” he says leaning forward so his lips brush against yours.
“Then kiss me,” you say feeling bold.
He leans into your lips and wrapping your arms around his neck. Your lips move together and you thank god that he joined you in the bathroom. You weren’t sure if you would ever get over the feeling of his lips on yours. Never in your life have you ever felt the sparks you felt when you kissed Wonwoo. Pulling his lips away from yours he gently tugged on your bottom lip and you couldn't help the soft moan that passed your lips.
“You’re so beautiful,” he groans with his lips ghosting yours.
“You’re beautiful too,” you say. You aren’t sure you’ll ever get out how pretty he is.
“As soon as this party is over I’m going to make you feel good,” he says as he rubs your thigh under your dress. He leaves you wanting more as he pulls his hand away from your skin.
“Okay,” you say softly.
He leans forward and presses his lips to yours for another kiss before stepping away. You watch as he leaves the bathroom and you stay in there for a couple minutes hoping people wouldn’t notice you’re in there together.
Walking out of the bathroom you look around hoping nobody noticed you leaving shortly after Wonwoo.
The house is filled with too many people you didn’t know and loud music. You wander around alone contemplating how long you had to stay before acceptably being able to leave. You look off into the kitchen to find Wonwoo talking to Chan once again. As he watches you walk by you can feel his eyes burning into you. You find Yuna and Mia sitting on the couch and you walk over and sit next to them. They’re talking about Mia and Seokmin’s wedding and you know this is the perfect topic to keep your mind off of Wonwoo.
An hour passes when you notice Wonwoo is no longer at the party. He’s always been the type of person who leaves a party without telling anyone. You thought this situation might be a little different though.
At midnight you take this as your opportunity to say your goodbyes to the group. You drive home and you can’t help but feel a little nervous about seeing Wonwoo.
-
Laying in your bed you can’t seem to fall asleep. You’re on edge waiting to hear from Wonwoo in some capacity.
At two in the morning you butterflies fill your stomach at a text from him.
From Wonwoo: Can you pick me up?
You know that he wants you to pick him but because if anyone drives by and sees his car at your apartment at two in the morning it will be obvious that something is going on.
From you: can be there in ten. Meet me outside.
You’re playing with fire and you’re well aware of that. Since this thing started between you and Wonwoo you hadn’t ever picked each other up in the middle of the night. You knew that this wasn’t just going to be you guys hanging out and making out. Wonwoo had promised to make you feel good, and you knew that consisted of you taking your clothes off.
The drive to Wonwoo’s apartment is short and you find him outside waiting for you. You pull up to the curb and he jumps in and leans over to press his lips to yours for a soft kiss.
As you start driving he reaches over and rests his hand on your thigh. His thumb gently brushes against your skin sending a shiver down your spine.
The short drive to your place seems to drag on. It feels like an eternity as you pull into your parking spot.
Slowly getting out of your car you shut the door and take a deep breath. You watch as Wonwoo walks towards the front door. You’ve never been happier that you live alone.
Opening the door you walk inside. Looking over at the clock near the door it reads 2:45am. You know that this isn’t going to be an innocent make out session. He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at you with lust filled eyes.
Taking a deep breath you tell yourself that you are ready for this. That you’re brave, that you’re a confident woman who loves her own body and is ready for this.
“Why do I feel like you’re overthinking this?” He steps towards you.
“Because I totally am overthinking everything right now,” you nervously smooth your dress down.
He reaches up and rests his hand on your arm and his dark eyes lock on yours, “what are you thinking about?”
Silently you stare at him for a long moment. You know you need to be honest with him. “What happens after tonight?”
He pushes his hand through his hair and stares back at you before he says, “what do you mean?”
“What happens after I finally have sex with you? Are we over because the thrill of the chase is over?” you hated that what you were asking was so brutally honest but you needed to know.
“Do you really think that little of me?” he says as if he is pretty hurt by your question.
“I’m trying to be realistic here. I know damn well I’m not your type,” your building up a wall in an attempt to save yourself.
He takes your face in both his hands and says, “this isn’t some game to me. I want you, because I really like you. This isn’t just about trying to have sex with you.” Butterflies flutter around your stomach as he leaves you at complete loss of words.
“Okay,” you say softly.
Leaning forward he presses his lips to yours while he’s still holding your face. Your lips move together for a heated kiss. The room feels like it’s spinning as you get wrapped up in his touch. His hands slowly move from holding your face to resting on your neck. Pulling your lips away from him you take a slow breath as you stare at him with lust blown eyes. He licks his lips as a smile plays on his face. He steps back and pulls his shirt off. The sight of him standing shirtless in front of you makes your mouth water.
“God how are you even real,” you groan as you reach out dragging your hands down his abs that seem to be cut from marble.
“I workout a lot,” he says ever so casually.
“I’m well aware,” you shake your head and look up at him.
“I see you’re still wearing the dress,” his hand moved up so they’re playing with the edge of your sleeve.
You nod silently.
“Can we take this off?”
You want to say no, but you need to be brave. He’s made this very clear that this isn’t some game to him.
“Yeah.”
He steps behind you and slides the zipper slowly down the back of your dress. You feel the cool air against your skin. You close your eyes as he reaches up and moves the dress of your shoulders. You stand in a pool of fabric and the cool air against your skin is a reminder of how bare you are.
The feeling of his lips against your bare shoulder snaps you out of your thoughts. Instinctually you wrap your arms across your stomach. His lips move to the side of your neck kissing the right spot that he knows drives you wild. With his lips ghosting your skin he says, “you’re so pretty.”
Your eyes pop open when you feel his lips move away from your skin. He stands in front of you as his dark eyes travel up and down your soft body. You’re on full display, and you’re worried he isn’t going to like what he sees.
“Thank you for trusting me,” he says as he works on unbuckling his belt.
You reach up and unclasp your bra, and work on taking it off as he takes off his pants, and his shoes.
You're both standing there in nothing but your underwear and your heart starts to race at what is going to come next. His lips are once again on your neck, but this time his hand hungry hands are roaming your curvy body. Biting your lips you hold back a moan as his lips move down to take one of your hardened nipples into his mouth. Your back arches against him craving his touch.
“We need to get to my bed or the coach,” you moan.
He removes his lips from your skin and smiles. Reach down, he takes your hand and leads you over to the couch. You sit down on the scene of your earlier crime where you gave him head yesterday. You watch as Wonwoo quickly walks over to his jeans that are on the floor where you had just been standing. He pulls a condom out of his wallet and tosses it back into the puddle of clothing on the floor. He walks back over to the couch and sets the foil packets on the coffee table and looks over at you for a moment.
“Do you want to continue?” he asks. You silently nod. “Please tell me you want more,” he says.
“Wonwoo I want every single part of you.”
“Okay,” he says as he pushes his boxers down. He once again stands in front of you completely naked and you aren’t sure if you’ll ever get over the sight of him naked. You fully understand why all women and men that encounter him always talk about how hot he is.
You stand up taking this as your cue to lose your own underwear. Hooking your fingers into your panties you push them down your thick thighs.
“Sit down on the couch,” he says.
Silently you listen and sit down on the couch. He kneels in front of you and looks at you like he’s about to eat you alive, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on to no end. His hands rest on each of your knees and push them apart slowly. He reaches up and grabs your butt pulling you closer to the edge of the couch. He kisses his way up your inner thigh until his lips brush the top of your mound. Closing your eyes you fight back moaning as he licks your already wet slit. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he laps at your bundle of nerves. He adds one of his long fingers into the mix. It’s not long before he has you completely on the edge and moaning his name. Another finger is added as he sucks on your clit. This man is very good with his fingers and his mouth. Your eyes about roll back in your head as the coil in your stomach feels like it’s tightening.
Tangling your fingers in his dark hair you hold him close to your wet core. “Won-“ his name is a broken cry as you're so close to the edge you can taste it. “Please-“
Your orgasm feels like a white hot wave as you come against his mouth.
Coming down from your high you stare at him with lust filled eyes. He stands sporting a proud smile at his handy look.
“I promised you I would make you feel good.”
Reaching down he picks up the foil packet and tears it open with his teeth. Your breathing is still uneven as you watch him slide the rubber down his hardened length. Sitting his glasses down on the coffee table. He sits down on the couch next to you, and automatically connects his lips to yours for a searing kiss. His fingers tangle in your hair as he moves to pull you onto his lap. You’re hovering over his cock as your lips continue to move together. Pulling your lips away from his you bit your bottom lip as you rest your hand on his tone chest. His hand moves to your soft hips and stares into your eyes as he guides you down his straining cock. Closing your eyes you moan as he stretches you in the best way possible. He bottoms out leaving you sitting on his thighs. Silently you stare at him taking in the feeling of him stretching you. He feels as if he was made for you. Reach up, taking his face in your hands and say, “oh my god you feel amazing.”
“Baby you feel incredible,” he groans.
Slowly you start moving your body up and down his length. His hands stay resting on your sides helping to guide your movement.
Your lips crash together and you roll your hips into his. This felt just like you hoped it would. Your hand talon into his shoulders as you moan into his lips. With each movement he’s pushing you closer and closer to the edge. He’s so big he’s stretching in the most delicious way.
His lips move down your next leaving a trail of gentle nips and wet kisses. All the oxygen feels like it’s being sucked out of the room as the coil in your stomach is tightening. Your finger snakes down and rubs your sensitive clit. All the nerves in your body feel like they’re alive as you’re getting closer and closer to the edge.
His dark eyes are locked on yours as he reaches up, taking your face in his hands. You close your eyes you roll your hip faster. Your knees are starting to burn but you don’t even care. You desperately want to come. “Look at me,” he groans. Opening your eyes. You stare at him as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. He thrusts up to meet each of your movements. He’s hitting just the right place as he lifts his hips thrusting into you.
When he pushes you over the edge you see stars. Your whole body burns and everything feels so warm. Throwing your head back you moan his name riding out your high. You roll your hips trying to help him find his own release. He catches you off guard when he moves both of you so you’re flat on your back and he’s hovering over you. He pauses for a moment. Leaning down, crashing his lips into yours. Pulling away he slides into you again. He rolls his hips into you over and over as you high wash over you.
Reaching up you tangle your fingers in his hair pulling him close to you. Your lips move together as his thrust grows sloppier. He groans your name as he finds his release.
He collapses on top of you and you can’t help but smile. He stays there for a long moment before he pulls himself of you. Slowly he walks off to the bathroom and discards the condom before walking back over and sitting on the couch next to you.
“Did you maybe want to lay in your bed together?” he asks, catching you off guard.
You nod your head and smile. You take his hand and lead him off to your room. Laying down in bed Wonwoo lays close to you and pulls your soft body close to his. It’s not long before you fall asleep in his arms. You aren’t sure what any of this means but you hope maybe one day you and Wonwoo can have something more than secret little moments together.
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