#i got some new brushes and wanted to try them out :) it was just suppose to be a doodle so that’s why the anatomy is a bit wonky LMAO

[khioneee]

No nonono no no no. I just found Wilted 😭😭😭😭😭my heart can’t take it I think this is one of the best angst fics I’ve ever read😭😭 like it needs so much more recognition. But it can’t end like this.

Idk if you do request and if not that’s completely fine, but could you do like a part two or an au where something triggers her memories (bonus if she gets them back when she’s with her new boyfriend) and she so angry so she asked her mom then maybe she sees Simon walking or she calls him and demands he tells her the truth and that he take her home(with him) even though everyone is telling her Simon’s no good for her(including him), she wont listen and tells him the wreck wasn’t his fault and that nobody decides who she can and can’t be with that it’s her decision. And they get back together you know happy endings.

You can change some stuff if you want I just want to see Simon happy. Ok that’s all don’t forget to eat something and drink some water. Great authors have to take care of themselves too, bye👋❤️.

you got it, nonnie! been cooking this up since you sent the req, and it’s already at 3.4k words 😭. but more importantly, remember to take care of yourself too! here’s your reminder to eat and drink your 12 cups of water 🥹. hope this is close to what you were hoping for 💗 enjoy.

The days had stretched too long without him, the anticipation growing each time you glanced at the door of your flower shop. His deployment was supposed to end a week ago, and every day you found yourself waiting, feeling a quiet ache that had started to bleed into worry. Simon always visited the shop as soon as he came back, his presence slipping in like he was part of the space, a rhythm that had somehow settled into your life.

And then, finally, he arrived.

Simon stepped through the door, and the world felt like it clicked back into place. Everything seemed normal again, like he belonged there, in that space filled with soft greens and blooms. He moved among the flowers like they were as much a part of him as the silence he carried, and you thought that maybe it was just the frequency of his visits. But there was something more—a quiet sense of homecoming, of something unspoken that settled deep inside you.

“What took you so long?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light. Yet the relief that seeped through your words betrayed you, slipping out despite yourself. It was almost silly, really, to feel so much for a man you barely knew.

But here he was, standing in your shop again, and the warmth of his presence seemed to fill a space that had felt empty in ways you hadn’t known.

Simon hesitated, his gaze dipping downward for a moment before he looked back at you. “I… needed to get settled,” he murmured, voice soft. His hand reached into his bag, pulling out a small, nearly-dry purple plant, its leaves curled at the edges. He held it out with a strange kind of reverence, as if it held a secret. “Got this for you. They were all over the ground in Brazil… tried not to hurt it on the way back.”

The plant lay fragile in his hands, bruised but beautiful, and something twisted inside you. As you took it, your fingers brushed his, a moment too brief, too fleeting, and it sent a warmth up your arm.

“It’s lovely,” you whispered, your voice catching on something you couldn’t name. There was an ache there, beneath the words, an unspoken weight that hung in the way he looked at you.

He took a slow, deep breath, his gaze drifting around the shop, his eyes touching each corner as if memorizing it, as if gathering it all up in a way that felt final.

“Listen,” he began, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it, every word feeling like a struggle. “I… I don’t think I’ll be back for a while.”

The words struck you, sudden and sharp, and you couldn’t help the way your chest tightened. “What do you mean?” you asked, barely managing to keep your voice steady.

“It’s not healthy… coming here again and again,” he replied, looking away as though the words were too heavy to say while meeting your gaze. “Buying flowers, visiting her grave…” He paused, swallowing, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the grief that clung to him like an old coat. “I can’t keep holding on to someone who’s already gone. If I stay… it feels like I’ll never move on with my life.”

You couldn’t fully understand—why he felt like he had to leave you behind along with the girl he’d lost. He could still visit, couldn’t he? It didn’t make sense why he had to leave you too. But you knew better than to argue with a grieving man, especially one who carried loss in a way that had become part of him.

Your fingers tightened around the plant, holding it like it could keep you steady.

“I understand,” you said softly, though your voice wavered. “But… can’t say that I won’t miss you.” You forced a faint, sad smile, but the ache in your chest felt like something breaking, something you couldn’t quite name.

Simon’s gaze softened, his eyes meeting yours with a look that felt like he was holding back a thousand things he couldn’t say.

“Can’t say I won’t miss you either,” he murmured, his voice raw, as if he were trying to contain everything he felt. “You’ve been… well, you’ve been more than you know.”

The silence that followed was thick, heavy with things unsaid, memories neither of you would speak of. You felt the weight of it all—the quiet understanding, the way you were both holding on to something that seemed to slip further away with every breath.

You took a shaky breath, struggling to find the words to ease the ache blooming in your chest. “I hope you find peace, Simon,” you whispered, voice barely steady. “Real, honest peace. The kind that lets you finally be happy.”

A flicker of something passed over his face—gratitude, maybe, or just understanding, but it was enough to send another pang through you.

“Thank you,” he said, voice rough but sincere, like the words themselves held a weight he couldn’t release. “I’ll try.”

He turned to leave, his steps slow, each one feeling like it carried more than just distance. He paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder one last time, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it.

“Take care of yourself for me, yeah?” he said quietly, almost a plea.

You nodded, feeling a sting in your chest, like you were letting go of something you never even knew you had. “You too, Simon.”

And then, without another word, he walked out of the shop, his presence lingering in the silence he left behind. In your hands, the purple plant sat like a quiet promise, a reminder of something both lost and found.

A goodbye that felt like an ending and a beginning all at once.

You were watching your boyfriend move around the kitchen, chatting with your mom as they prepared dinner together, their voices blending with the warmth of home. Yet, despite the comfort of the scene, something kept pulling your gaze back to the small vase on the counter.

Inside, the purple flower Simon had given you was wilting. Its petals, once vibrant, were curling at the edges, their color fading—a quiet reminder that something beautiful had started to slip away. You couldn’t ignore the faint pang that stirred within you each time you looked at it.

Your mother noticed and smiled, gently suggesting, “Why don’t you press it into one of your journals? You’ve got that lovely collection of pressed flowers. It’d be a shame to let this one go to waste.”

Her words caught you off guard. A collection of pressed flowers? You tried to recall the last time you’d pressed a flower, but nothing came to mind. The idea felt foreign, yet strangely familiar, like an old habit you’d somehow forgotten.

Driven by curiosity, you excused yourself from the kitchen and headed to your room. There, on a dusty shelf, you found a stack of journals that looked well-worn, as though they’d been opened and closed countless times. You selected one at random, and as you opened it, a few pages slipped loose, drifting to the floor.

Kneeling down, you picked up the scattered pages, pausing as your fingers brushed over a pressed daisy, faded but delicately preserved. Beneath it, there was a note written in neat, careful handwriting. You held it closer, heart pounding as you read the words:

Every time I see a flower, I can’t help but think of you. You’re everywhere, even when I’m miles away.

The signature was unmistakable: Simon.

You stood frozen for a moment, rereading the words that felt intimate yet unfamiliar. Simon’s handwriting… words from him, words that seemed to speak to you in ways that went beyond the surface. You couldn’t quite place the feeling, but it was as though he were reaching out to you from a memory you hadn’t realized you’d lost.

Compelled to understand more, you flipped through the pages of the journal, finding more pressed flowers scattered among the entries. Each flower seemed to carry its own message, its own secret memory, and tucked between them were letters—some in Simon’s handwriting, some in your own.

Another note slipped out, this one written by you, the ink familiar and clear:

Home is not the same without you. Every corner feels empty, every morning too quiet. Please, come home safely, Simon. This place isn’t home without you in it.

You felt an ache spread through your chest as you read the words. These weren’t just casual messages—they were parts of a shared story, a connection you hadn’t known existed. Every letter spoke of moments between the two of you, woven together like threads in a tapestry you’d somehow forgotten.

Heart pounding, you reached for another journal, one that looked older and more worn. As you flipped through, more letters and flowers revealed themselves, each one adding to a picture that was slowly coming into focus. Memories of travels, quiet conversations, promises made under moonlit skies—all preserved, pressed between petals and pages.

And then, nestled near the back of one of the journals, you found the last note, written in your handwriting, simple yet filled with a love that resonated through every word:

I love you forever, Simon. And to answer your question… yes, I’ll marry you.

The words seemed to leap off the page, a promise sealed between petals and time, hidden but unforgotten. You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes as the weight of the letters settled over you, filling the gaps with emotions you hadn’t known you were missing.

This wasn’t just a collection of flowers—it was a history, a story of love, of quiet moments and shared dreams. Simon hadn’t just been a visitor to your shop. He had been a part of your life, woven into it in ways you were only beginning to understand.

As you sat there surrounded by journals and petals, the wilted flower on the counter took on a new meaning. It was a reminder of something fragile yet enduring, something that had managed to survive through time, waiting patiently for you to remember.

And in that quiet moment, surrounded by pieces of a love you hadn’t known you’d lost, you felt the weight of that history settle into your heart, filling it with both sorrow and a newfound understanding of the promise you’d once made—one that now, despite everything, felt as real as ever.

You sat there, surrounded by scattered journals, pressed flowers, and letters that hinted at a life you hadn’t remembered until now. The words on the pages blurred as tears slipped down your cheeks, the weight of each revelation pressing heavily on your heart. This wasn’t just a collection of flowers and notes—this was a love story, preserved between petals and pages, hidden from you until this moment.

Just then, your mother appeared in the doorway. She took in the scene—pages strewn across the floor, tears streaming down your face, and the shattered look in your eyes. Concern deepened in her gaze as she slowly walked over to you.

“Sweetheart?” she asked, her voice soft but edged with worry. “What’s going on? Why are you crying?”

You looked up at her, voice breaking as you clutched the journal close to your chest. “You kept everything from me.”

You clutched the letters tightly in your hands as you made your way to the field. You didn’t know how you knew he’d be here, but somehow it felt right, like an unspoken understanding guiding your steps. The sky was a muted gray, casting a somber light over the tall grass swaying gently in the breeze.

And there he was—Simon. Standing alone, hands in his pockets, his gaze distant as he looked out over the field. The moment he heard your footsteps, he turned, his eyes meeting yours. His gaze dropped to the letters in your hands, and as realization dawned on his face, his expression softened, then crumbled, and for a second, he looked as vulnerable as the words he’d written so long ago.

“Were you ever planning to tell me?” you asked, your voice shaking as you tried to hold back tears. You took a step closer, feeling the weight of each word pressing down on you. “Or were you just going to let me go on without ever knowing?”

Simon’s face fell, and he took a deep breath, his gaze shifting down, unable to meet your eyes. “I didn’t want to hurt you… didn’t want to put you through that again. Everyone thought… it would be easier for you to heal without knowing.”

You shook your head, the letters trembling in your grip. “But I loved you, Simon. I deserved to know that much. I deserved to know what we had.”

The words hung between you, heavy and raw, each one carrying the weight of what had been kept from you. You watched as he took a step closer, his own eyes glistening, his hands clenching at his sides as if he were fighting to keep control.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “The last thing I wanted was to bring you more pain.”

“Pain?” you repeated, voice rising. “Do you know what it feels like to find letters and memories that don’t feel like mine, but are? To feel like a stranger in my own life?”

Simon’s shoulders slumped, his gaze filled with guilt. “I’m so sorry… I never wanted this for you.” He looked down, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought… maybe I could just leave you with a clean slate, let you have a life without the weight of what we went through.”

“But it was my life too, Simon,” you replied, voice soft but resolute. “I had a right to know the love we shared, the promises we made… and you took that from me.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating, as you stood facing each other in the empty field, the letters a fragile testament to what once was.

Finally, Simon looked up, meeting your gaze, his own eyes filled with unshed tears.

“I loved you more than anything,” he said, his voice rough, each word like a confession. “And I still do. That’s why it was so damn hard to watch you live without knowing… but it felt selfish to want you back, to bring you all the hurt that we went through.”

Your throat tightened as you looked down at the letters, the words that held pieces of a love you’d somehow forgotten, promises you hadn’t known you’d made.

“But maybe that’s not your choice to make,” you whispered. “Maybe… maybe I needed to remember, even if it hurt.”

Simon’s face softened, his eyes filling with a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before, glistening with unshed tears as he took a shaky breath.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured, his voice barely holding together, each word heavy with remorse.

“You owe it to me, Simon,” you said, your voice steady despite the ache. “I have a right to know who I was—to know who we were. And if it hurts, then that’s mine to bear.”

He looked away, jaw tightening, struggling against the emotions that threatened to break through. “I just… I thought maybe if you had a fresh start, it would be easier. You could move on without… without the memories.”

“But they aren’t just memories, Simon,” you replied, your voice soft but firm. “They’re pieces of me, of us. And you had no right to decide I didn’t need them.” You held up the letters, trembling in your hands, a tangible reminder of the love you’d both lost. “These aren’t just words on a page—they’re moments, promises we shared, a life we built together. You can’t erase that, no matter how much you try.”

Simon’s gaze returned to you, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and longing that mirrored your own. “You’re right,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I owe you that, and more. I was wrong to keep it from you. I was wrong to think I could just let you go and pretend it would be better that way.”

You took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of everything that had been kept from you since the accident, the loss of something you never even knew was yours.

“My life… it hasn’t felt right since the accident,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like I’ve been living in a place that doesn’t quite fit, like I’m walking through someone else’s memories.”

Simon’s expression softened, his gaze filled with an ache that mirrored your own. He didn’t say anything, waiting, giving you space to continue.

“When you came to say goodbye, it hurt in a way I couldn’t understand,” you continued, your voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know why I felt so empty watching you leave. But the only thing that’s made sense… the only thing that felt real was when you walked into the flower shop. Every time you came by, it was like… like a part of me recognized you, even if I didn’t know why.”

He reached out, his fingers gently brushing against yours, grounding you as he spoke. “I should have known. I thought I could walk away, let you find your own peace, but it’s clear now… I’ve just been trying to hide from something we both needed.”

You held his gaze, pain, regret, and quiet understanding filling the silence between you.

And then, your eyes drifted downward, noticing something glinting at his chest. Hanging alongside his dog tags was a delicate silver band—a ring, familiar in shape and weight. It took you a moment to realize what it was, but when you did, it felt like the ground slipped out from under you.

It was your engagement ring.

The ring you’d once said yes to. An evidence of a love you couldn’t remember but somehow felt deep in your bones.

A fresh wave of emotion surged through you, your gaze lifting to meet Simon’s. He noticed your stare, his fingers reaching up to touch the ring as if it were a talisman, his face softened with both pain and something that looked like hope.

“Simon…” you whispered, words catching in your throat. “I don’t know if what I feel right now is love. I don’t know if I can call it that… yet.” You took a deep, steadying breath. “But I feel like it could be someday. Like there’s something here that could grow into that.”

His eyes glistened with something close to relief, and he nodded, his lips pressing into a faint, bittersweet smile. “That’s more than I ever thought I’d hear from you again,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You held his gaze, a strange peace settling over you as you spoke. “I know I loved you once. And maybe… maybe I’ll love you again. In this life, and whatever comes after.”

A quiet, vulnerable smile touched his lips as he reached up, his fingers brushing over the ring, the same band that held so much history, so much unspoken promise.

“I was waiting for you to come back,” he murmured, his voice breaking slightly. “Waiting for you to remember.”

You felt your chest tighten, the weight of his words settling deep within you. Stepping closer, you gently placed your hand over his, your thumb brushing against the ring he’d held onto all this time.

“I’m here now,” you whispered, meeting his gaze.

The pain, the longing, and the love that had waited in silence between you found its voice in that moment. You didn’t need memories to know that this was where you belonged, and for the first time in a long time, the pieces of your life began to feel whole.

As you sat there with him, surrounded by the stillness of the field, you noticed a lone dandelion growing nearby, its delicate seeds waiting to be carried away by the breeze. You reached over, plucking it gently, and held it out to him with a soft smile.

“Make a wish,” you whispered, your voice barely breaking the quiet around you.

He looked at the dandelion, then back at you, a tender smile crossing his face as he shook his head. “I already got my wish,” he murmured, his eyes filled with a warmth and sincerity that made your heart ache in the best way.

In that moment, words felt unnecessary.

You leaned into him, feeling the quiet reassurance of his presence, knowing that whatever lay ahead, you would face it together.

[meggie-moo]

vaska and tree

[not-neverland06]

you're not her

The 'Worst' Logan x fem!mutant!reader

a/n: really wanted to write for the worst logan so I found a streaming site so I could finally watch the new Deadpool movie (yay pirating) (this is totally hypothetical and a joke to the feds lurking) I was going to just read the wiki plot but I don’t think that was going to cut it Again, using the same superhero name/powers. It’s not an OC I swear, it just makes sense in comic book movies to have some alternate name and I’m not creative enough to come up with multiple different supe names. Summary: You hate him, you really fucking hate him at first. He’s cruel and constantly reminds you that you’ll never be the hero he knew. You’re not her and he’s made that abundantly clear. But what are you supposed to do when he’s suddenly your new roommate and you have no choice but to wake up to his face every day? I feel sad because I don’t think I did the angst justice with this one. But if I keep staring at it trying to fix it, then I’m never going to post it. (This is a long one guys) Angst with a happy ending (because I’m a little bitch) Makeout scenes and smut towards the very end 18+ MDNI

You don’t know how you got here, but you know you’re mad at whoever dragged you into this shit. You don’t think it would be wild to assume it was Wade’s fault. Usually, when something goes wrong in your life it’s on him. 

What you do know; you look like shit. Wade and Wolverine are both standing over you in their awesome ass uniforms and you’re still in your fucking pajamas. How are you supposed to be badass and save the world in pants that have Spiderman’s face plastered all over them?

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, Wade,” you growl at him. 

He places his hand daintily on his chest and waves you off, “Save that for the bedroom, pookie.”

You grit your teeth and glare up at him, Wolverine gives him a similarly disgusted look. “Fuckin’ ridiculous,” you grumble under your breath. You get to your feet and brush yourself off, finally looking around and taking in wherever the fuck he’s dragged you. “Where are we?”

“The void,” Wade responds, voice ridiculously dramatic. You look around and throw your hands up in defeat. 

“What the fuck, Wade? Why did you drag me with you into this?” You look over at the Wolverine beside him. He hasn’t stopped glaring at you both and his claws are out, clearly ready to just eviscerate you. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Okay, wow, language, Flux. I’m disappointed in you.”

“Eat me-”

You’re cut off by the knock-off Wolverine standing a few feet behind you both. “Flux?” He demands, voice so low you almost can’t hear him. Both you and Wade’s heads whip around to face him. Thus far he’s been relatively silent, you nearly started to wonder if he was mute. 

“It’s her X-Man name,” Wade tells him, gushing like it’s some big deal. “Impressive, huh?” You don’t bother correcting him that it was your X-Men name. Can’t exactly call yourself that if they booted you off the team for being a crappy superhero. 

Logan snorts and shakes his head. He stalks towards you and you nearly fall over in your attempt to scramble back from him. “You,” he demands, claws pointed at you threateningly. “You’re Flux?”

Wade hisses, watching as Logan swipes out at you. “Alright, peanut, let’s put the claws away and take a deep grounding breath.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan snaps at Wade. He turns to glare at him and you take the opportunity to scramble behind your friend for protection. At least if he gets stabbed, he’ll heal. “You,” he scoffs and it trails off into a laugh. There’s no humor behind it, he's just a dick. “You are a fucking joke compared to my Flux.”

The ground underneath you rattles, pebbles bouncing off the cracked desert and ricocheting off their boots. Wade quickly moves away from you, shoving you forward so he’s not in the line of fire. “Yeah, well you’re just an alcoholic fuck who could never hold a candle to my Logan.” 

You can feel energy brewing at the tips of your fingers, waves, and waves of hate building up within you. The man across from you feels the shift, the static suddenly permeating the air around you both. You let your power build and build…

The pebbles drop back to the ground and you stumble back from Logan, nose bleeding from overextending yourself. “Shit,” you mutter, wiping at your face with the back of your hand and shaking your head. 

Logan laughs again, it echoes through the stormy sky and you wish you had any control over your powers so you could just send him flying. Or, better yet, turn his bones into liquid and flip him inside out. “Oh,” he lets out a long exhale, glaring at both of you. “This is fuckin’ ridiculous.” The faux smile drops from his face and he raises his voice just loud enough to make you jump, “Just one big fuckin’ joke!”

You have about five seconds to dive to the side before Logan is lunging at Wade. “Wait, wait, wait we can talk about this!” Wade shouts, but it’s too late, he’s already on the ground getting his head caved in. 

You let out a rough sigh, stumbling off to the side. You’re drained from that shitshow of powers. You barely made a few rocks levitate and you feel like you’re going to pass out. You walk away from the two men and throw yourself on the ground, trying to reorient yourself while they fight like wild animals. 

You can hear them in the background, stabbing and shooting like they’re aiming to kill. Too bad neither of them can die. It’d save you a hell of a headache.  They run past you, Logan’s got his claws buried in Wade’s gut while Wade’s desperately firing off his gun into Logan’s chest. 

Your head rolls weakly to the side and you mutter out a pathetic, “No, stop. Don’t kill each other.” As expected, neither of them listens to you. They keep fighting, showing no signs of stopping. 

There’s a moment of silence after about ten minutes of nothing but grunts and insults. You peak your head up in interest. Logan got his claws posed over Wade’s throat. You wonder if decapitation would actually kill him or if he’d somehow manage to survive that. 

Wade doesn’t seem interested in testing out the theory, “They can fix it!” Wade shouts, “They can fix your timeline. I just need your help saving mine.”

Your eyes widen and you meet Wade’s masked gaze over Logan’s shoulders. The white slits widen and he minutely shakes his head, telling you not to say anything. Like, maybe, that neither of you has any fucking clue if the TVA is capable of even fixing timelines like that. 

You know Wade is desperate when he makes that promise. It’s the only reason he would say something so stupid. It’s a blatant lie, one pulled so far out of Wade’s ass you’re genuinely surprised that Logan can’t smell the bullshit. Whatever happened in his universe must have been horrible for him to ever believe anything that comes out of any Deadpool’s mouth. 

It’s a long moment before Logan finally pulls his claws out of Wade. Your friend slumps forward in relief as Logan stalks away from him. You glare at Wade from where you are on the ground, “That was fucking stupid,” you snipe at him. He gets to his feet, walks over to you, and forcefully yanks you to your feet. 

“Not a goddamn word,” he warns, but you aren’t exactly threatened by him when he's got three holes in his head from Logan’s claws. Still, you hold your hands up and acquiesce, following after him as he chases down Logan. 

Your mind is still fuzzy when you are captured by Cassandra. You're recovering from overextending yourself, eyes blurring and limbs going limp like jello when her army of henchmen circle you all. 

You finally feel yourself starting to come back to your body when you wake up tied to Johnny. “And,” Wade draws the word out, waiting until you lift your head to finish, “there she is! Happy you could join us, princess. Mind turning these ropes into dust for me?”

You groan and let your head slump onto Johnny’s shoulder. He smirks and glances down at you. “Oh fuck off, both of you. I can’t do shit right now and you know it, Wade, I’m drained.” 

Logan is glaring at you, but there’s less hate in his glare and more confusion now. “Can you do anything?”

You narrow your eyes at him, lips screwed up while you try to decide if he’s being an asshole or genuine. “Hard of hearing or something old man? I’m drained,” you reiterate, your tone a little too bitchy. 

Logan narrows his eyes, grunting something foul under his breath. Wade interferes before you can piss each other off anymore. “She had an accident, her brain’s a little broken now. But it’s fine! Whose isn’t?”

You huff and throw yourself back against the cage you’re all being transported in. You feel eyes on the side of your head and slowly look over to see Johnny grinning at you. “Hey, you know I’ve met one of your variants-”

“Don’t give a fuck,” you interrupt. You hear Wade snicker under his mask, giving you an encouraging thumbs up even with his hands bound. You were both a little disappointed it wasn’t Captain America lurking under that cloak. But at least this guy isn’t such a prude he won’t cuss. 

For the next five minutes, you’re on the receiving end of a very enthusiastically vulgar rant about just what a cunt Cassandra Nova is. He’s still not even finished by the time you reach the gates to her lair.

Your eyes widen when you see all the people lurking around the walls. Most of them you recognize as people you’ve put away or killed in your world. But there’s something just minutely different about them than the version you faced in your timeline. Their eye color or outfit is always just slightly off. 

The familiar faces are almost a relief. But there is nothing comforting about knowing you're outnumbered two hundred to four. The cage is tipped over and you go rolling out, you grunt as Johnny’s elbow digs into your ribs. 

Before you can even attempt to shove him off, the ropes are whipped off of you and you’re dragged by an invisible force across the ground. Rocks and sand scrape across your tender skin and bury themselves deep in your pores. You hiss in pain when you finally come to a stop and your body is your own again. 

A groan slips through your parted lips unbidden as you struggle onto your knees. Your pajamas are ripped practically everywhere and you feel like you might as well be naked at this point. You really wished that you at least had a chance to change before you were kidnapped to another universe. 

The woman you presume to be Cassandra Nova is currently fucking Wade’s skull with her freakish telepathy fingers. Johnny’s a pile of guts and bones on the floor and you have no fucking clue where she flung Logan to. 

You get to your feet, shaking your head and reorienting yourself. In a second she’s in front of you, head tilted to the side while she regards you curiously. “Woah,” you jump back, glaring at her outstretched hand. 

“Careful,” Wade warns her breathlessly, still clutching his head. “Flux here has a pathological fear of bald people.”

You nod, “It’s true, you can imagine how strained my relationship with your brother was.” Cassandra circles you, a devious tilt to her lips. Your eyes track her, unwilling to take your gaze off her for even a second. You feel like a rabbit, facing down a fox that’s made its way into your burrow. 

“Curious,” she mutters. “I’ve seen quite a few of you down here before. But,” she chuckles and before you can move her hand is shoving its way into your brain. You scream, there’s an agonizing burn as her fingers probe under your eyes and dig through the deepest part of your subconscious. It feels like someone’s taking a shovel and ripping up your worst traumas. “None of them have been so weak.”

Wonderful, even she wants to insult you. You can feel the way she’s plucking through your thoughts, tossing aside the ones she doesn’t like. Images of your childhood are flashing across your vision. You can no longer see the world around you, it’s like every one of your worst memories is being played on a projector. 

“Ah,” she clicks her tongue and jerks your neck around until you’re looking at something you’ve tried to forget for years. “Here it is. How easy it would be for me to simply unblock those powers of yours.” She smiles, her face appearing before you and blocking out the bloodshed. “It would make this far more entertaining for me, what do you say?”

Your teeth are clenched so tightly you’re surprised they haven’t cracked yet. It’s hard to get the words out when her fingers are still dancing through your skull. “Fuck you,” you finally spit out. She releases you suddenly, and you surge forward with a gasp, clutching at your skull desperately. 

You half expect your brains to begin leaking from your nose and eyes. But nothing happens, despite feeling incredibly violated, everything is still in its proper place. Cassandra walks past you like everything is fine and dandy in the world. “Well, as much as I would love to see those powers of yours in action again, Flux, I’m afraid Alioth must eat.”

Before you can ask what she's talking about there’s a loud rumble. Like thunder cracking through the sky and land, the ground underneath you shakes. Cracks form under your feet and the henchmen around you all start desperately racing for cover. 

You turn around, staring wide-eyed at the purple cloud of death and destruction steadily moving across the sky. A face breaks through the clouds, grinning down at you. Purple lightning hits the ground and the villain next to you explodes into nothing but dust. 

“Shit!” You shout, turning around and running to try and avoid getting zapped up next. There’s no coming back from this one. Once this monster gets you, not even god could save you. 

Suddenly, an arm wraps around your waist, lifting you off your feet. “No time for consent, we’ve got to get the fuck outta here!” Wade shouts in your ear. Logan is standing next to some robot leg, ripping out cords until a jet on the back fires up. Wade leaps onto the boot, wrapping an arm around Logan’s legs as you’re all shot into the sky. 

You’d scream if you weren’t trying not to throw up. You hurtle through the sky at speeds that have your skin nearly ripping off your skull. The rocket on the back of the leg starts to sputter out. The flames flickering out and then back to life. It steadily begins to drop until you’re plummeting headfirst towards the ground. 

Wade wraps himself around you, tossing himself off the boot so he can brace your fall. You hear and feel nearly all of his bones break under your weight. For a moment it feels like you’re laying on warm jello as you try and catch your breath. 

“Nailed it,” he mutters weakly. You’re pretty sure he can’t breathe, a rib having pierced his lung in the fall. A shadow looms over you and you glance up to find Logan glaring down at you. You stare at him apprehensively, half expecting him to unsheathe his claws and just end you right here. 

Instead, to your surprise, he holds a hand out. You look at it with suspicion, glaring back up at him. “Fucks sake,” he mutters. He reaches down, roughly grabbing your hand and jerking you to your feet. You feel the warmth of Wade’s blood on your back and grimace. 

“Thanks,” you mutter, still not entirely trusting of him. 

He purses his lips into a thin line, backing awkwardly away from you. He just nods and starts surveying the land around you. It feels less like trying to figure out where you all landed and more like awkwardly avoiding eye contact. 

The whole interaction leaves you feeling odd. “Well, that was as awkward as two virgins on prom night,” Wade loudly announces as he jumps to his feet. You whip around and send him a dirty look but his attention has already been snagged by something else. Lately, you’ve been considering grounding up Adderall and slipping it into his breakfast, you think it might do him some good. 

What’s got to be the fugliest dog you’ve ever seen in your life bounds towards Wade. He drops to his knees, ripping off his mask and opening his arms wide to the mutt. You grimace, taking a step back when she starts licking his face. “Oh, that’s just wrong.”

Thankfully dogless, you steal Nicepool’s Honda Odyssey - much to Wade’s chagrin. Logan’s in the front seat, Wade beside him. You’re sitting in the back, rubbing your temples and trying to get rid of the raging migraine you’ve had since Cassandra finger blasted your brain. 

You’ve been zoning in and out of the conversation happening in the front seat of the car. But Logan suddenly slams on the brakes and you go hurtling forward. Without even looking at you, both their arms shoot out, blocking you from flying through the windshield. 

Your face scrunches up as you look at both their arms, it feels like being saved by an overbearing soccer mom. “Buckle up, princess,” Wade tells you. He shoves you back into your seat and you look between the two men suspiciously. 

“Did you just say if?” Logan growls, glaring at Wade. Your face drops, finally realizing what you’d missed. 

Wade lets out a weak chuckle, “Slip of the tongue?” Logan growls and the claws come out. Wade raises his hands, “Okay, let’s put a brake on the crazy train. I wasn’t lying it was just an educated,” for the first time in your friendship Wade is actually speechless. You’re shocked by the silence. Until, of course, he runs his mouth again and comes up with the lamest cop-out you’ve ever heard. “It was an educated wish that they could fix your timeline, alright?”

Logan doesn’t give much of a warning except a low growl before he shoves his claws deep into Wade’s thigh. “You motherfucker!”

“Hey!” You shout, jumping forward and ripping Logan’s claws out of Wade’s leg. “Look, we’re trying to save our whole fucking universe. Can you blame him for lying?” You regret opening your mouth pretty much immediately. 

You should have just stayed out of this, it wasn’t any of your business. And if they wanted to be two dumbasses and fucking tear each other apart then so be it. But you never should have drawn attention to yourself. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan shouts at you. It’s so startling, coming from him. You’re still associating him with the man you’d looked up to growing up. Your Wolverine was a hero. He was the reason you wanted to be an X-Man. And they look exactly the same, it’s nearly impossible for you to separate this one from the one you knew. 

But it's easier now. Because the man you’d known would never be so cruel and jaded to the world. Not like this. “Why the fuck are you even here? You’re just some watered-down knockoff of a real hero. You are nothing, you’re worth nothing. It’s a fucking joke that you’re alive and the woman I knew is buried six feet deep. If there was anything right in the world you would be in a grave somewhere crawling with maggots.”

Your eyes water without your permission. You don’t know this man. Yet, he has the face of your greatest hero and the man who you’d grown up hearing stories about. It’s like facing everything you’ve ever wanted to be and having it shout your deepest fears and insecurities back at you. He’s just confirming something you’ve known for years. You never deserved the title of being an X-Man. You never deserved the uniform or anything that came with it. 

Your breaths are coming short and fast, it feels like your lungs are constricting. You worry you won’t be able to get air in but he doesn’t care. No, he keeps going. “You follow this fucking clown around and you contribute nothing to the world. You’re never gonna save your fucking timeline. You can’t even make a few rocks float.” It’s not the words that hurt you next. It’s the way he says it. “You’re pathetic.”

He spits them at you. There’s venom lacing his tone like he’s seen into you and knows there’s nothing in you to offer. For the first time in a long time, you feel seen and you hate it. Because he’s looking past the sarcasm and the faux confidence you carry yourself with. 

He sees the empty husk of a woman you truly are and he’s forcing you to face it with him. It causes you physical pain, to know that everything you’ve ever feared about yourself is true. You don’t have anything to say to him, you can’t. 

Your lips tremble and you feel so fucking small. You can hear your parent's voices in your head, screaming at you and wishing you were never born. They’d rather have a stillborn than a fucked up mutant for a daughter. You see the way even other kids at the school would hide from you. You were made wrong, even as a mutant you were never truly accepted. 

Logan’s face drops ever so slightly at the prolonged silence in the car. Even Wade isn’t speaking, he’s just staring at you both. “I,” he starts, but Wade cuts him off. 

“I’m gonna hurt you now.” Wade’s never been one to let people run over you, even when you might just let yourself fall into the background. You shouldn’t be surprised when he draws a knife and stabs it into Logan’s throat. 

But the arterial spray that follows catches you off guard and suddenly your tears are dried. Instead, you’re throwing open the car door and diving out before one of them crushes you. You make it out of the car just in time, Logan having thrown Wade right where you had been sitting. 

Music starts up in the car as a result of their fighting. Divorced dad rock and the sounds of their, borderline, sexual grunting are your soundtrack for the rest of the night. You curl up at the base of a tree, waiting for them to be done with each other. 

Logan’s words continue to echo through your head. And the longer you linger on what he said the angrier you get. Not necessarily at him, but at yourself. You’ve let yourself linger in self-pity and wallow in regret for so long. 

You look in the mirror and you no longer recognize yourself. He’s right, as much as you hate to admit it, you’re a fucking joke. You toss your head back, slamming it against the trunk of the tree hard enough for it to hurt. 

There’s this manic, cloying feeling tugging at your chest. It’s like someone’s sitting on your ribs, crushing you until you can’t breathe anymore. You keep throwing your head back, letting the pain distract you until you feel warm blood leaking down the back of your scalp. 

“Shit,” you hiss, hand coming up to cradle the back of your skull. You wince when you feel the split in your skin. The blood leaks over the tips of your fingers, running through the cracks of your palm. 

You force yourself to relax, to move your head away from the tree. As you go to stand up, possibly to get Wade and Logan to quit their fighting, you notice something odd. The air around you is still, you can no longer hear them grunting or groaning as they rock the Honda. 

Leaves are suspended in the air. They’re not trembling from the breeze, they’re completely frozen. You take a step forward and gasp when you hit something solid. The air in front of you has solidified somehow. 

The realization dawns on you slowly but surely. This is you, you’ve done this. Manipulated everything around you on an atomic level. You’ve turned something you shouldn’t be able to feel into something you can touch. Frozen the world around you. Whatever Cassandra had done inside your head, it had knocked something loose. 

You haven’t had this wide a range of control for years. Any attempt to do something like this has been met with nosebleeds and long periods of blacking out. Elation fills you, the hurt from earlier is nearly gone. 

You glance through the wall of air and try to see if you can still see the Odyssey. To your horror, it’s gone. You wave your hands and the air returns to normal. The leaves drift back to the forest floor and you run back to where you’d left the two men. 

There are tire tracks dug deep into the mud. You know Wade wouldn’t willingly leave you behind, not here. You don’t know if Logan’s just kidnapped him or if someone else has. Whoever was driving was clearly in a rush to get out of here. 

You must have missed it all while you were having your meltdown. “Fuck,” you shout, your voice echoing into the branches above. You take in a deep breath and start walking. Hopefully, you can catch up to them before whoever has them does serious damage. 

You make it to a weird cave/hideout area. The Odyssey is parked outside and when you peek through the broken windows you find the interior completely destroyed. There’s blood soaking through every surface, anything and everything has been smashed and bent the wrong way. 

You don’t even know if this is from Wade and Logan or whoever had snatched them. Shaking your head you back up and slink towards the entrance of the den. You can hear shouting inside, it sounds like Wade, but you can’t make out what he’s saying. 

You haven’t seen action for a long time. At least not any that you could actually contribute to. It feels a bit like riding a bike. You’d practiced on your way here, making things around you float or eradicating a few trees into nothing but dust in the wind. But this is different. 

Your friend (and Logan) are inside, possibly being tortured. Maybe even dead. Though, you seriously doubt the universe is going to be that nice to you. You let the energy build in your arms, it’s like a warm tingling feeling. It shoots down to the palms of your hands until you feel static in the air. 

You take a step inside and spot three people. Each of them is decked out in weapons. One of them turns and spots you. “Who is-” 

You don’t let him finish, throwing your hands out and slamming them all into the wall so hard the whole interior shakes. Dirt rains down from the ceilings while their faces contort in pain. You run inside, spotting Logan and Wade. 

You shoot Wade a big grin but he throws his hands up and shouts, “Read the fucking room!” Your brows furrow and he points emphatically at the people you’re holding, “Good guys!”

“Oh shit,” you release them immediately, a guilty look on your face. “I am so sorry.” Logan cackles in the back, doubled over laughing while the three people in front of you brush themselves off. 

You don’t want to be out here with him, but it’s better than being in that cave with the others. Laura walks past you, sending you an uneasy smile. You’d noticed her sitting beside Logan and decided they probably needed a few moments to themselves. 

They were finished now, though, and he had the only bottle of liquor left in the cave with him. You trudge over to him, leaves crunching under your boots. Elektra, after that horrific introduction, had given you a uniform a different Flux had left behind. 

She was long gone, killed by Cassandra years ago, but she’d conveniently been your exact size. The uniform is nearly identical to the one you have buried under your bed. Black leather with a dark purple X going across your chest and matching purple seams. You’d never wanted something ridiculously flashy. Just something that people would see and associate with the X-Men. 

Because that’s all you’d ever wanted to be; a hero. It feels like a pipe dream now. If your pajamas weren’t so destroyed you would have just stayed in them. You don’t feel like you deserve this uniform, not when the woman who’d worn it before you had actually been a hero in her timeline. 

“Don’t want company,” Logan snarks, without even looking back to see who’s coming up to him.

You take a seat on the lawn chair closest to him and snatch the bottle of whiskey from his hands. “Good,” you tilt your head back, downing as much as possible. It burns the whole way and you revel in the slight tickle in the back of your throat. 

“Alright,” Logan mutters. He gently takes the bottle back from you, giving you an aggrieved look when he sees just how much you’ve stolen. He looks back into the fire and sighs, “Look, I’m not interested in hearing about your sob story or why you’re suddenly drinking all my liquor-”

“Gambit’s liquor,” you interrupt, not bothering to look at him. “And I’m not looking to dump my sob story on your lap. I just want to sit in silence and that’s impossible because Wade hasn’t stopped running his mouth since we got here.”

He looks a little surprised by the brusque way you dismiss him, “Alright,” he mutters. He takes another swig from the bottle and you both stare silently into the fire. It’s like that for a while, you don’t bother keeping track of time. 

All you hear is the crackling of the flames. All you can feel is the way your eyes burn from staring into the fire and watching sparks pop off the logs for too long. The breeze rustles the trees, makes the leaves shake free and dance around the logs of the fire. 

He breaks the silence first, to your chagrin. “About what I said,” he clears his throat uncomfortably, still refusing to look at you, “back in the car.”

“Don’t,” you snap, voice low. “Just,” you let out a long breath and shake your head. You finally look over and meet his eyes. He does actually look sorry, but you don’t want to hear it. “Just don’t, I deserved it all right.”

“No, no you didn’t.” You open your mouth to argue but he gives you a firm look that has your jaw snapping shut. “I was wrong, I don’t know you. And if my Flux had ever heard me talking to you like that she would have melted my fucking spine.” He laughs a little and you feel your lips twitch up slightly. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look anything but angry. 

Curiosity loosens your tongue and knocks you out of the dazed stupor you’ve been in. “What was she like?” You ask, tone earnest. “Your Flux, I mean, you make her sound so amazing. I just can’t,” you trail off, but the look on his face tells you he understands your unspoken words. I just can’t see myself as a real hero. 

He groans and leans back on the log he’s resting on. He stretches his legs out in front of him, the liquor bottle placed on the forest floor. You’re surprised, you figured the thing was glued to his hand. 

“Well,” he reaches up and scratches at the scruff of his chin, a wry grin on his face. “She was always giving me shit, never let me get away with anything.” You unconsciously lean forward, drawn into the endearing way he begins to describe this other version of you. 

It’s not ridiculous to assume this variant meant something to him. He’s got a shine to his eye that you haven’t seen in the whole time you’ve been together. His gaze has been empty, closed off to anything and everything. But now, his eyes are crinkling at the corners, there’s an easy smile on his face that you can’t miss. 

“Ah, she was fucking feisty. And strong, she was so strong. She was always a better hero than I was. She lived for that shit,” he trails off and shakes his head. You can see you’re losing him and you don’t want this to end. You’re in your own little bubble right now, getting to pretend there’s a version of you out there somewhere that actually lived up to her potential. 

“Her powers,” you blurt out, desperate for something to stop him from retreating back into his mind. “Did she have, um, good control over them?”

Logan nods, eyes darting down to the bottle of whiskey before flickering back up to meet your gaze again. “Yeah, Charles trained her, she was right up there with Jean. She could have,” he stops and suddenly you feel guilty for making him talk about this. You can see the tears in the corner of his eyes, the way the whites of them go red. “She could have been great.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I didn’t mean to pry.” But you did. You were being selfish and forcing him to talk about it even though you knew it would hurt him. 

“Look, kid, she would have liked you. I’ll tell you that much,” he says reluctantly. Like the words hurt to force out. You suppose he isn’t used to being genuine with anyone. 

You shake your head and look down at your hands. “I appreciate the thought, but I doubt it.”

Logan grabs the bottle again, gulping it down like it's water. His words have a slight slur to them as he speaks again. “I think I would know, bub. ‘Sides, you made it into the X-Men, tells me what I need to know.”

You scoff and fix him with a sardonic look, he raises his brows in question and you roll your eyes. “They’ll take fucking anybody. And I still wasn’t good enough for them.”

Logan shakes his head and frowns. “If what I saw in there,” he points back to the den and you feel your cheeks warm as you remember what you’d done, “is any indication, then I’m sure you were plenty good.”

You lean towards him, elbows braced on your knees. He follows suit, leaning so close you almost want to back up. The proximity flusters you slightly but you shake the feeling off. “You don’t even know me and the first real thing you said to me was that I’d be more useful as fertilizer.”

He sighs, face screwing up at your harsh words. He runs a hand over his cheeks and groans, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You lean back in your chair and idly twirl your hand through the air. The leaves around you lift up and flutter through the air above your head. Logan watches and you turn back to him, waiting until his eyes meet yours to speak again. “Yes, you did. And you were right. I’m fucking useless, powers or not.” The leaves drop, a few fluttering into the fire. “We’re irrelevant, Wolverine, two washed-up X-Men who never looked good in the uniform.”

There’s a twinge of hurt on his face but you can’t make yourself feel bad about it. Since he’s such a fan of brutal truth, you’re sure he can handle it. 

You watch as the leaves curl up at the corners, the fire burning them straight through the middle. You get to your feet and move past him. You’re nearly back to the den when he calls, “The suit looks right on you,” over his shoulder.

You pause at the threshold of the door. He’s already drinking again, staring into the fire and watching it burn. You take a few steps towards him, staring at his broad back. “What happened to her, your me?”

Logan looks down at his hands, his ring finger specifically. You wonder at the significance of the movement, what exactly you’d meant to him. “She married me,” he mutters, voice cold and closed off again. 

“Goodnight, Logan,” you whisper, finally walking inside the den. 

You miss the small goodnight he sends back to you, finally turning around only to watch you leave. 

There had been a very clear plan set in place. Get Juggernaut’s helmet, put it on Cassandra, and then kill that psychotic bitch. Which is why you’re so confused when you’re standing knee-deep in guts and watching Logan and Wade leap through a portal above you. 

You don’t have time to feel angry or even hurt that they left without you. Laura is grabbing your arm and you’re both running for your life, trying to escape Alioth again. You run into Cassandra’s lair ducking into one of the rooms and dragging Laura with you. 

You’re both holding your breaths and praying that he’s sated by the others still outside. After a few minutes, the cracks of thunder stop and you risk peeking your head outside. The clouds have retreated back to their usual spot in the middle of the void. 

You take in the carnage of Cassandra’s evil lair. Most everybody is dead. You only have to skirt around a few people to get back to the Odyssey. 

You throw yourself in the driver’s seat and sink back against the bloodstained cushions. You let out a relieved breath and look at Laura, “What do you do to entertain yourself around here?”

You acclimated to the idea of being stuck in the void pretty quickly. There wasn’t exactly a lot waiting for you back home. Besides, Laura was nice enough. You had food, beer, and company. You didn’t really need much else. 

You’re pretty sure if you linger too long on the thought that Wade left you behind you’ll fall into a depression that you’re never going to be able to claw your way out of. So, you forced a smile on your face and played cards. Nothing else to do but wait to die of old age or for Alioth to kill you. 

Of course, your plans had to be ruined. There was an odd rush of air against your back and then a slight whoosh. Laura glanced over your shoulders and her brows furrowed, you turned around to find three armored men waiting behind you. 

“Flux,” the man glanced from you to Laura, “X-23?”

“Laura,” you both correct at the same time. 

The man gives an aggrieved sigh and holds his arm out, “Come with me, please.”

You stand up, energy tingling in the palms of your hands while you regard them suspiciously. Laura comes up behind you, claws out and glaring at them. “Why should we?” You demand. 

Barely a second later you hear the most insufferable voice in the world. “Hiya, peanut!” 

“Wade,” you hiss. You follow the armored men through an oddly shaped portal and find Wade standing beside a shirtless Logan, smiling proudly at you. “You fucking left me,” you hold up your hands and his eyes widen. 

His hands quickly come up, trying to assuage you, “Hold on now-”

You throw him back, his body hurtling into a nearby building and caving in the wall. Logan watches it happen with a small smile, “Been wanting to do that for a while.” 

Once Wade had recovered he filled you in on everything that happened. TVA did a general clean up and then you were standing in front of your apartment door, keys in hand like nothing had happened. 

It was so bizarre, going from a mission to save your timeline and then you’re expected to just go about your life. You stay standing in that hallway for you don’t know how long before you hear someone behind you. 

You jump and drop your keys when Logan clears his throat. “Shit,” you hiss, whirling around and glaring at him while your heart races. He chuckles and bends over to grab your keys for you. 

“Sorry,” he mutters. This is the most relaxed you’ve ever seen him, covered in blood and in a borrowed shirt. “Uh, Wade doesn’t have enough room at his place. Told me I should come over here.”

You look over his shoulder and see Wade peeking his head out of his doorway. He catches your eye, sending you a thumbs up. You almost smile but then he makes a phallic gesture with his hands, pointing at Logan and humping the air. You glare at him and he quickly backs into his apartment, but not before sending you one last encouraging shit-eating grin. 

You look back at Logan and he’s waiting expectantly for your answer. “Yeah,” you take your keys from him and unlock the door. “I’ve got a spare room but there’s no bed in it right now.” Your eyes widen when you see the mess that is your apartment. 

You quickly rush through, picking up empty take-out boxes and dirty laundry and shoving them into your room. He’s smiling at you when you come back and it's slightly off-putting. “Um,” you gesture towards the couch awkwardly. “You can take the sofa tonight and we’ll look at setting you up with something more permanent tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” he hovers by the armrest and you engage in the longest stare-off of your life. Neither of you says anything for a few suffocating moments before he gestures at himself. “Shower?”

“Oh,” you snap out of your stupor and nod your head. “Yeah, right, of course.” You show him down the hall, “Here. I’ll go get you a towel.”

You rush towards your linen closet, leaving him behind in your bathroom. You grab a few clean towels and then figure he might want some clothes as well. You grab some pajamas that Wade’s left over when he’s crashed before. They’ll probably be a bit tighter on Logan, but you wouldn’t mind seeing that. 

You walk back to the bathroom and the thought of knocking doesn’t even run through your head. It should, honestly, but you’re already so thrown off by him even being here. You walk in and immediately gasp and drop the towels. 

“Oh, I'm sorry. I’m so sorry.” He’s standing naked before you. Clothes discarded on the floor behind him. Everything on perfect display. Your eyes land on his abs, noticing a few prominent veins leading down-

You cover your face and turn around. “Sorry,” you mutter again. God, you’re such an idiot. You still haven’t even left. You’d just been shamelessly ogling the man naked and you don’t even have the decency to walk out. 

You really can’t help it though. It’s been such a clusterfuck, the last 72 hours. Your brain is fried and Wade’s little show hasn’t helped you at all.  

You hear Logan laugh behind you. “It’s alright,” he mutters. Something warm ghosts across your arm and you jump slightly. His hand firmly grasps your bicep, gently tugging your palms away from your face. 

You risk a glance over your shoulder and nearly gasp at how close he’s gotten. He's towering over you, something in his face you can’t place. “It’s alright,” he whispers again and you find yourself nodding without really thinking. 

He’s got both hands on your arms now, trailing up and down. The touch is so featherlight you can barely feel it at all. You don’t even realize how he’s gently coaxing you closer until you trip on the towels at your feet. 

You startle, looking down at them and moving to kick them aside. But he stops you, his finger nudging your chip up so you’ll look at him again. There is such blatant want painted across his face that it makes your heart skip a beat. Your breath catches in your throat when he wraps an arm around your waist and drags you closer. 

You can feel all of him. You can feel just how much he wants you. It catches you off guard, this sudden display of attraction. You don’t know where it’s coming from, what’s brought it on. But you can’t find it in yourself to care. You’ve been so lonely for so long. You just want to bask in the fact that he looks absolutely starved for you. 

No man has ever looked at you with such heartbreakingly yearning eyes - like he’s been looking for you his whole life. He dips down, lips ghosting gently over yours. Your breaths mingle together, you can nearly taste him. 

It’s unclear which one of you moves first, who pushes closer to the other. But it doesn’t matter because the second you put real pressure behind the kiss he’s all over you. One of his hands drifts down to your ass, squeezing the flesh there and dragging you closer, grinding his hips into yours. 

You moan at the feeling, your arms wrap around his neck and you press yourself even closer. He groans against your lips at the first swipe of your tongue. You part with a gasp when he picks you up, practically tossing you onto your sink. Your legs spread instinctually, making room for him as he slots himself between them. 

It’s odd, feeling so vulnerable even when he’s the one who's completely naked. It still feels like he’s holding all the power. 

His lips are moving frantically over yours like he’s terrified you’re going to disappear the second he lets go. You can taste something desperate on his tongue. Something deeply rooted inside him that you can’t identify. 

One of your hands drifts from his neck, trailing over the muscles of his chest. Your fingers carve a path down his abs, relishing in how muscular he feels under your palm. Your hand reaches his pelvis, nearly wrapped around him when he jumps back. 

He grabs your wrist in a grip so tight you know there’s going to be a bruise. A pained gasp slips out and he releases you immediately. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “Sorry, I can’t.” He won’t look at you now, backing up towards the shower and shaking his head. “This was a bad idea, I can’t do this.”

You shake your head, slipping off the sink and hiding your bruised wrist behind your back. “No, sorry, I shouldn’t have moved so fast.”

You feel too ashamed to meet his eye. He kissed you but you feel like you’ve forced yourself on him somehow. It’s a nauseating feeling and you want nothing more than to run back to your room and hide. 

He takes a step towards you, something pained on his face. “Kid-”

You just shake your head, step out of the bathroom, and grab the handle of the door. “Sorry,” you whisper again, closing the door behind you. You lean against the cool wood, trying to catch your breath. 

Your hand drifts up to your lips, still tingling from how desperately he’d kissed you. It doesn’t make any sense. He came on to you, he threw you up on the sink, and made out with you more passionately than any man ever has before. So why are you the one who feels dirty?

You rush down the hall and into your room, slamming the door behind you. You dive under your covers, closing your eyes even though you know you won’t sleep. No, your shoulders are tensed up to your ears and your bones are vibrating with an energy you need to release. 

You’re completely tuned into the other person lurking in your apartment. You can hear as he starts the shower, how he talks quietly to himself sometimes. Then when he gets out you can perfectly picture what he looks like while he’s getting dressed and it only makes you feel worse. 

You listen as he leaves the bathroom and pauses in the hall. You can see it in your mind’s eye, how he stares at your door. He walks towards it and lingers for a minute before cussing quietly and heading back into the living room. 

You suddenly remember that you didn’t lay sheets out on the couch for him. You feel guilty, but there’s not one part of you that will be dragged from this bed and face him. Not now, at least. 

He’s up for a little while longer, getting water. Turning the TV on and off. Rooting through your cabinets looking for booze you know you don’t have. Finally, he settles on the couch. You’re awake for another hour, unable to relax until you’re completely sure he’s asleep. Even as you drift off and your body finally relaxes your mind doesn’t. You keep seeing that stricken look on his face and it makes you sick to your stomach. 

It’s the smell of pancakes that wakes you up. You’re not sure when you finally managed to pass out last night but you know it was late. Which is why you’re so pissed off that you’re being forced to get up at seven in the morning. 

You’re used to being able to sleep in a lot later than that. You’re already in a pissy mood from last night and it only gets worse as you trudge around your room getting ready. You’ve never been more thankful to have snagged one of the rare two-bathroom apartments in the building.

You don’t want to have to share a bathroom with Logan. You don’t even want to use the other one after what happened last night. It’s too embarrassing and painful to think about. The emotional whiplash of feeling so desired and then absolutely hideous is making your head spin. 

You’re sure it was all just a problem on his end, but it really doesn’t make you feel any better. When you can’t stall any longer, and you know that Logan has heard you get up, you slip quietly out of your room. 

The curtains in your living room are open and he’s in the kitchen fucking around with your stove. The news is playing quietly on the TV and you’re astounded about how little he’s done and how much more homely your apartment feels. 

It’s never really been home to you. Not after you were booted from the X-Men. But he’s somehow made it ten times cozier than it ever has been. You almost resent him a little for it. 

“Morning,” he grumbles from the kitchen. “Coffee,” he motions behind him and you see a steaming cup already waiting for you. You silently slip behind him, grabbing the creamer from the fridge and pouring it until you’re sure it’s sweet enough to not actually taste the coffee. 

“Thanks,” you mutter, moving to sit at the table. You keep your eyes trained on the TV, pretending to pay attention to the news so you don’t have to look at him. He bores his eyes into the side of your head until you feel like you’re going to have holes in your temple. 

When you can’t take it anymore you finally look over at him. He doesn’t smile, his face barely even twitches, he just looks back to his pan and continues scrambling some eggs. “Didn’t know you cooked,” you offer up weakly, already growing anxious from the silence. 

It feels wrong, to be walking on eggshells in your own apartment. He grunts and shrugs, “Not really cooking. You had the mix in your pantry,” he tells you brusquely. His tone borders on rude and you scoff. 

The audacity of this man to have an attitude with you in your apartment. He was the one who threw a hissy fit last night. You roll your eyes and go back to the news, all it tells you is that the world is just as depressing as the inside of your apartment is right now. 

You notice out of the corner of your eye the way his shoulders slump forward. He leans against the oven, seeming not to care if he burns himself. You suppose it doesn’t matter, he’d just heal. “Sorry,” he mutters. It sounds like it pains him to say the words. 

“Whatever,” you mumble under your breath. You take a long sip of your coffee, slurping a little so you have something to fill the atmosphere. 

He puts some food on a plate and brings it over to the table for you. You usually don’t eat breakfast, preferring to just skip the meal and eat a bigger lunch. But it feels too bitchy to say that to him, so you just accept the food with a strained smile. “Thanks.”

He sits across from you, glaring down at your table like it insulted him. You drag your fork against the plate, letting the scrape of metal against porcelain drown out your worries. Finally, he looks at you. “Look, about last night.”

You tense up. You want to interrupt him, to stop him from explaining. You know it’s just going to hurt your feelings, whatever he says. Whether he tells you it was a mistake or he just realized he’s not attracted to you, either way, you’re fucked. But, it’s also kept you up all night so you just shut your mouth and let him speak. 

You keep your gaze trained on your plate, unable to fully face him. He lets out a long sigh and clenches his fork so tight you hear the metal bend. He drops it to the table and clenches and unclenches his fists a few times. 

“I just couldn’t kiss you, not when I wasn’t doing it for the right reasons.”

Your brows furrow in confusion and you finally look up at him. “What?” You demand, disbelief coloring your voice. 

His eyes are boring into yours, an intensity behind the stare that leaves you feeling a little shaken. “You look like her,” he whispers, and the grief is so thick in his voice it makes your throat tighten. He pauses briefly before continuing. “There are,” he clears his throat like he’s trying not to cry. It makes you lean back in your chair, arms crossed over your stomach uncomfortably. 

“There are a few differences, obviously. You’re not a carbon copy. But your mannerisms, your attitudes, you’re so similar. And I,” he shakes his head and gives you one of the most genuinely apologetic looks you’ve ever received. You can tell he really does feel guilty for projecting on you but it doesn’t make you feel any less uncomfortable. “And I just wasn’t doing that for the right reasons. I was pretending you were her and that’s just not fair to you.”

You lean your elbows on the table, head falling into your hands. You let out a rough sigh and groan in irritation. You knew the reason would hurt but you didn’t think it would be this bad. You feel gross, icky under your skin knowing that he was pretending you were another version of yourself. The version of yourself you’ve always wanted to be; the hero. 

But you also feel such a deep sadness and sympathy for him. He’d briefly mentioned that he was married to this other you. You can’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like, to see your dead wife’s face staring at you and she doesn’t even know you. 

“I,” you don’t even know where to begin. You struggle to say anything for a minute and you both just stew in the tense silence. You take in a deep breath and look up at him. You do what you always do, forcing a smile and shrugging it off. “I appreciate the honesty, really.” You stand up, bringing your still-full plate into the kitchen and busying yourself with cleaning up. 

“Clearly,” you snap, your voice crueler than it should be, “It was a mistake. We’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t happen again, right?”

Logan sits silently at the table. He looks like there’s more he wants to say but you don’t give him the chance. You can’t take it. You finally thought someone had wanted you for you, flaws and all. You’re a fucking idiot, he barely even knows you. Whatever connection you thought was there was just brought about by your own loneliness. 

“I gotta get ready for work,” you tell his back because he isn’t looking at you now. 

He nods, scraping his fork across the plate as he aggressively cuts into his food. “Right.” You wait for him to say anything else but he doesn’t. 

You walk past him and head back to your room. You don’t even have a job, you don’t have to work. But you still grab your purse and head out of the apartment. Pretending you do just so you don’t have to look at him anymore. 

You really should have let him finish, though. You should have let him keep talking to you. Let him explain how as much as he sees her in you, that’s not why he wants you. He wants you for you. Because as similar as you can be, you’re still a completely different person from who his late wife was. You’re someone strong and incredible and he genuinely wants you. But he can never really let himself be happy. 

It takes a few days for you both to ease up around the other. The incident in the bathroom is never brought up again. You take him shopping for clothes after a few days. It feels wrong to keep giving him Wade’s hand-me-downs. You would have had your friend take him, but you don’t trust Wade’s sense of fashion at all. 

After that and getting lunch together while you were out shopping things got a little easier. You bought him a bed for the spare room because you felt guilty seeing him all cramped up on your tiny couch. 

You don’t initiate any physical contact with each other. The closest you’d gotten was your hands brushing when you both reached for some popcorn at the same time on movie night. But you hadn’t really minded that bad. 

Eventually, he starts to feel like a real roommate and a friend. He lets little pieces of himself slip out. Slowly opens up about his past. You haven’t made any existential discoveries of course. But he tells you stories of what his X-Men were like. 

You try not to dance around the topic of his wife, you don’t want him to think you’re avoiding asking about her. But you also don’t want him to think you’re obsessed with discussing her. 

He’s right, you two weren’t carbon copies of each other at all. You might share a few things in common but the more both you and Logan learn about each other, the more clear it is how different you both are from your variants. 

Sometimes you think he looks at you like he’s really seeing you, not her. But you can never be sure and you don’t want to put much strength behind the thought in case you’re wrong. You hate the idea that when you’re thinking of nothing but him, he’s just seeing her reflection on your face. 

There’s nothing you can do about it but it doesn’t stop the hurt. 

Tonight, at Wade’s suggestion, you’re both up on the roof waiting for a meteor shower that you’re ninety percent sure is never going to happen. You’re also one hundred percent sure that Wade just tricked you out of your apartment so he could have sex in it. He and Vanessa don’t really get a lot of time alone with Blind Al around. You’re already mentally preparing for the absolute fuck storm you’re going to have to clean up after.  

There’s a light nudge on your shoulder and you glance over at Logan. He’s got the whiskey bottle outstretched towards you and you take it from him with a smile. One thing about being his roommate, your alcohol tolerance has skyrocketed. His liver might regenerate, but you’re pretty sure if you keep going down this route yours will give out in a few months. 

“Think this is actually going to happen?” You ask, pointing up toward the clear night sky. 

Logan chuckles and shakes his head. He stretches out in your flimsy lawn chair and you try not to let your gaze be drawn to the sliver of skin peeking out from his shirt. “Probably not, but I don’t mind being out here.”

There’s an unspoken, with you, that makes you smile. You meet his gaze, his eyes soft as he watches you. “Me either.” You lean back in your chair, pulling your legs up onto the seat and huddling under your blanket. “It’s peaceful.”

You drink together in silence for a little while longer. Then you have to tap out, you don’t want your brain getting too foggy. Tonight is nice, you want to remember it tomorrow. To your surprise, he caps the bottle and places it to the side. You don’t mention it but you do feel like you’ve noticed he’s been drinking a little less. The dark circles under his eyes seem to be easing away ever so slightly. 

He looks over at you with an odd light in his eyes. You shift uncomfortably under his stare when it lasts a little longer than it usually does. You chuckle awkwardly, “Do I have something on my face?”

There’s a soft uptick to his lips as he shakes his head. “No,” he mutters, looking back out at the night. “You mind if I ask you something?”

Ominous, but whatever. “Sure.”

He still doesn’t look at you and you worry slightly about whatever it is he’s going to ask. He doesn’t ease you into it all, “Wade said your brain was broken?” A laugh springs out of your throat from how brusque that was. He rolls his eyes. “Fuckin’ idiot mentioned it in the void, been wonderin’ about it.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him. You’re relaxed enough that you don’t mind answering. You don’t want to pop the soft bubble you’ve managed to create around each other. “Here,” you hold your hand out for the whiskey bottle. He gives you an apprehensive look before handing it over. 

You unscrew the cap, “This,” you say and point your hand at the glass. The liquid inside lifts into the air and you freeze it before dropping it back into the bottle with a splash, a simple little party trick. “This used to be enough to put me in a coma for two days. That’s what he meant. Something happened to me and I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

Logan’s eyes widen and he shakes his head in disbelief. You laugh a little, “I assume your wife never had problems like that?”

There’s always a fond smile when you mention his wife. Whether the memory is bittersweet or not. “She wasn’t perfect, much as I thought so. When she used her powers too much she,” he trails off and looks down at the floor. You frown, ducking your head down so you can catch his gaze. 

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” you promise quietly.

But he shakes his head and gives you a weak, tight-lipped smile. “No, I want to. And I don’t want you to think you’re the only Flux who struggled. When she used her powers too much she would deteriorate. Parts of her would just disappear, I don’t even know how to describe it. They were destroying her from the inside out.”

You let out a low whistle, eyes widening slightly. “Well, maybe I didn't get the short end of the stick after all.” It’s quiet and for a moment you worry your humor was ill-timed. 

But he lets out a rough laugh, “No, I guess not.” He takes in a deep breath before looking back up at you. There’s no distant sadness in his eyes like there usually is when you bring her up. It seems to only be a familiar ache now, rather than something fresh and bleeding. “But what happened to you? Why couldn’t you use your powers?”

“Oh,” you look down at your lap, picking at the strings of your pants. It would be unfair to have him talk about his wife and then wimp out when it was your turn. 

“Um, There was this mission. A bunch of kids, mutants, were being held in this warehouse. It was actually pretty normal, just go in, retrieve them, and bring them back to safety. I must have done a dozen of these before, but, I don’t know. Something was this different this time around.”

You can still hear them screaming. In your mind, you hear the way they cried for help. And you see the look on your faces when they realize you can’t save them every time you go to sleep. 

You suck in a sharp breath and almost jump when his hand lands on yours. It’s gentle, he’s barely even touching you and he’s not even acknowledging what he’s doing. But you take his hand in yours and squeeze, it’s nice, grounding. 

“Long story short, they were heavily guarded and I was pretty drained from fighting off the guards. My powers were practically gone by the time we could even get to the kids. And, I don’t know, something must have gotten knocked over or hit the wrong way because smoke was filling the place and everything was on fire. I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t breathe, and the kids were blocked off. There was nothing we could do to get to them. Everyone kept screaming at me, telling me to just use my abilities and get them out of there. I couldn’t,” your voice gets thick and you look anywhere but at him. “I,” your mouth hangs open and you don’t know what you could possibly say. 

There’s no excuse for what happened. “I just couldn’t,” you whisper. You sniffle and your eyes flutter rapidly, trying to stop any tears from coming. “Hadn’t been able to use my powers since then. Trauma block or something, I guess,” you dismiss yourself flippantly and shrug. 

Logan just squeezes your hand again. He doesn’t seem to know what to say to comfort you and you’re honestly grateful for the silence. You get so sick of people telling you there was nothing you could have done. Or that the others should have helped you. Because that’s not a fucking excuse. There’s no fixing what happened, no giving those parents their children back. You fucked up and you don’t appreciate people giving you cop-outs. 

You keep your gaze trained steadily on the ground, eyes going blurry while you try to slip into the back of your mind. You don’t get the chance, though. Logan is kneeling in front of you, hands slipping up your arms to cup your face. 

He forces you to look at him, to stay present in the moment with him. “You fucked up,” he tells you. It's so shocking that you can’t help but let out a loud wet laugh. You sniffle and he grins, wiping the tears out from under your eyes. His grip on your cheeks tightens and he makes sure you’re listening as he speaks, “You fucked up, kid. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t try your fucking hardest. And it doesn’t erase all the people you did help.”

Your eyes search him, trying to find any kernel of untruth. Trying to prove to yourself that this isn’t real. That he isn’t real. You don’t deserve this moment of such unwavering trust and faith. This is meant for someone else, for someone who deserves good things in life. 

You’ve never truly believed you deserved happiness or peace like this. But right now you don’t care because he is saying everything you’ve ever wanted to hear. And he actually means it. 

Your hand drifts up, covering his and tilting your head to press a gentle kiss to his palm. It’s tentative, a test, a way to give him an out if doesn’t want this. His grip on you tightens for half a second before he shoots forward and claims your lips with his own. 

It escalates quickly. You practically melt off your chair, straddling his lap while he leans back on the ground. Your hands tug at his hair while he moves desperately over your body. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to do, where he wants to touch you. 

You love how fully his hands engulf you, the tight way they cradle you to his chest. You’ve never felt more secure in someone’s arms than you do right now. He’s got you, and he wants you. For you this time, you can tell. You can tell from the way he holds you that this isn’t a desperation born from grief. It’s something else, something you’re not ready to identify yet. 

His tongue laves across the seam of your lips, silently asking permission. You smile against the kiss, parting your lips and deepening it. He licks into you, tasting you with a low grunt in the back of his throat. You feel your hips start to move of their own volition. Gently grinding down against his lap. You moan when you feel just how bad he wants you. 

You lean back, parting from the kiss and pressing a finger to his chest to keep from following. You chuckle at his eagerness, grinding your hips down again and watching the way he thrusts up to meet your movement. “Didn’t know I was such a good kisser,” you tease. 

But he doesn’t return the joke or play along. His face falls slightly and he pulls further away from you, the look on his face distant. “What?” You whisper. “Do I have bad breath?” You joke, trying to keep the mood light. 

He shakes his head and runs a tired hand over his face. “No,” he mutters. He repeats the word more firmly and finally meets your gaze. “I think I need to take this slow, just because of…”

He trails off but you know what he means. His wife. You don’t know if he’s still projecting her onto you, you felt so sure he wasn’t earlier. But if every time you kiss he’s gonna pull back you’re not sure that you can do this. “Of course,” you mutter with a bite to your voice. It’s hard not to feel a little rejected every time he acts like this. 

You move to get off his lap but his hands clamp down on your hips and he shakes his head again. “You don’t have to get up.”

You hesitate, thighs still hovering over his. You should get up and put as much space between you as possible. But he’s so warm and you want to be held for a little while more. You nod and he looks relieved. You lean back down, pressing your chest against his and letting your head rest in the crook of his neck. 

He wraps a heavy arm around your back, keeping you close while the other reaches up to stroke your hair. It makes you feel small, in a good way. Like you can just relax and he’ll take care of you. 

“Goddamn,” he laughs a little and you sit up. He nods to the sky above and you turn around, gasping. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, “he wasn’t lying.” For once, Wade was telling the truth. Above you, it looks like the sky is falling. Glittering stars dart across the sky, streaks of blue following behind them. You grin, “It’s so beautiful.”

Logan keeps his eyes on you and nods, “Yeah, it is.”

“Ah, look, my favorite fuck buddies.”

”Wade,” you greet tightly. You shove the bottle of wine you brought into his chest and he stumbles back. “Just let us in, you freak.”

He frowns, placing a hand over his heart. “You know, it really hurts when you talk like that. I think we all need to hold hands and have a good old-fashioned jerk circle.”

You roll your eyes and flick his thick forehead. “It’s share circle, dumbass.”

”Not the way I do it,” he moves to the side and lets you both in. “Well, mi casa es su casa, especially since Vanessa and I had rockin’ sex in your bed last week.”

He walks off before you can hit him or even begin to respond to that. “I fucking knew it,” you hiss, glaring at his stupid Hawaiian shirt while he mingles with the rest of the people at the party. 

Logan chuckles behind you, “How did you two ever become friends?”

You roll your eyes and turn to face him. “I moved in next door,” you respond dryly. “This was a nonconsensual friendship because god hates me, clearly.” You shrug your jacket off and he takes it from you, hanging it up on the hook by the door. He comes back, slinging an arm around your shoulder, and leading you towards the kitchen. 

You hear Wade laughing loudly in the background and he grunts, “I’m gonna need a drink for this,” he mutters. You nod your head in agreement. You don’t get very far, though, because without any warning Wade is in front of you. He’s got his ridiculous dog in his arms and shoves her in your face. You grimace and jump back. Logan abandons you and you narrow your eyes at his retreating back. Traitor

Wade says your name with disappointment. “You know, Mary Puppins is a part of my life now. As my best friend, you need to bond with her. I can’t have you two fighting like this.” He shoves the dog into your arms without any warning and you flinch away from her wandering tongue. 

“If this thing licks me, I’m putting her down,” you warn him gravely. 

He gasps and snatches her back. “You are no longer welcome in my home,” he tells you with a snotty huff. You roll your eyes and watch him go. When he’s out of sight your lips curl up in a grin and you glance at Logan. 

He’s by the sink, making himself a drink and taking a deep swig straight out of the bottle. You creep up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He smiles, hand coming down to gently hold your arm. “What’re you doing?”

”Come with me,” you whisper. You take his hand and lead him through the apartment. You both skirt around the partygoers, giving them vague greetings and waving them off when they give you odd looks. 

Logan leans down, lips brushing across your ear as he whispers, “Where are we going?” Your knees nearly give out when you hear that low tone of voice of his. You just shake your head and lead him down the hall. You can sniff out Wade’s room from the permeating stench of his axe body spray. 

You throw the door open and drag Logan inside behind you. His nose wrinkles up at the stiff socks littering the floor and the smell. Other than that, it’s relatively clean. You actually thought this would look so much worse. 

“Now,” Logan demands, “are you gonna tell me what we’re doing?”

“Well,” you lock the door and turn around with a devious grin. “Seeing as Wade has ruined my favorite sheets, I feel like we need to get him back somehow.” You glance around the room, trying to figure out something of his you want to destroy. 

You don’t hear Logan moving towards you. You’re too busy rooting through Wade’s desk and trying to find something good to shred up.  All you’re seeing is increasingly more disturbing porno mags. He has got a serious problem with pegging. You briefly wonder if you should set up an intervention or something for him. 

You nearly yelp when Logan’s hands grip your shoulders, whipping you around to face him. “I’ve got an idea of what we can do.” That’s your only warning before his lips cover your own. You melt into him immediately, hands fisting his shirt and dragging him closer. He grins against your lips, lifting you and placing you on the edge of Wade’s desk. 

“Mm,” you moan but shove his chest back and shake your head. “Wait,” you hop off the desk and take a seat on Wade’s bed instead. “There’s no point in this if we’re not on the bed.”

Logan shakes his head with an amused huff. He walks towards you but instead of taking a seat on the bed next to you like you'd expected, he kneels before you. Your brows furrow together and you frown. “Wait, what’re you doing?”

He gives you a gentle smile, hands coming up to rub gently over your thighs. The warmth of his palms soothes you almost immediately. “You trust me?” He asks, voice a low rumble against your chest. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. He nods encouragingly and leans forward, kissing you gently. There’s nothing expectant in this kiss. He’s doing it just to be close to you. Then you feel his hands drifting higher, fingers running over the buttons of your jeans. Your lips part, ready to ask him a question. But he just takes the chance to dip his tongue into your mouth, eagerly tasting you. You moan into it, not protesting when he presses you back into the bed. 

His fingers dip under the waistband of your jeans. You lift your hips to help him tug them the rest of the way down until they’re dropping to the floor quietly. You have a million questions dancing on the tip of your tongue but you can’t find it in yourself to actually voice any of them. You don’t want to break the moment. This is the first time he’s seemed comfortable going further than kissing and some heavy petting. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. Your hips jolt as he runs a thumb over the wet spot on your panties. “All this just from kissing?” He asks, a teasing lilt to his tone. You feel your face flush, cheeks warming when you realize he’s never actually seen just how much he affects you. “Relax,” he tells you, squeezing your thighs once before slipping a few lithe fingers under the band of your panties. 

He tugs them down, but the second he sets eyes on you he gets too impatient to take them off the rest of the way. They dangle off one ankle while he lifts your thighs, setting them on his shoulder and dipping down to press a gentle kiss against you. You gasp at the contact, head tilting back while you instinctually grind your hips up against him. 

It’s been a long time since you’ve actually been with anyone and you already know you’re going to cum embarrassingly quick because he fucking devours you. You’ve had boyfriends who liked to eat you out before, but this is something completely different. 

He drags his tongue over you, sucking on your clit like it’s his only true joy in life. You can’t even make noises, your jaw hanging slack while you cant your hips higher. He groans when you grind against his face, shaking his head and flicking his nose across your bud. You nearly come from the sight of him smiling against your cunt alone. You feel it building slowly, and it’s like your powers are swelling up along with your release. 

Wade’s knicknacks are floating off the shelves, some of them rotating in the air, others fluctuating between liquid and solid forms. You can’t control yourself, you’re barely aware of the chaos happening in the room around you. You just feel a warmth at the tips of your toes, swelling over your body, making your skin feel too tight. There’s little to no warning when you cum. He dips his tongue inside you and you let out a long moan, drenching his face. 

The sheets are soaking wet underneath you and you know you’ve ruined his shirt. You’ve never come that hard before and you would reflect on that more if he wasn’t still fucking eating you out. You think your brain is going to melt out of your ears, you're so overwhelmed by all the different sensations.

He dips his tongue into you, dragging out your orgasm and drinking as much of you down as he can. Your hips keep twitching, you’d be thrashing out of his hands if it wasn’t for the near brushing grip he has on your hips. “Fuck fuck fuck,” you reach down, grabbing his hair at the roots and tugging. He groans at the feeling, barely leaning an inch back. “No more,” you whisper, chest heaving. 

He smiles, palms smoothing across the skin of your thighs, “You okay?” 

“Mhm,” you hum weakly. Your head falls back against the bed with a dull thunk and you struggle to catch your breath. “Holy shit, where did you learn to do that?” He doesn’t answer, just laughs. You jump slightly when he presses a tender kiss on your thigh, every part of you oversensitive. 

He moves slowly up your body, hands dragging your shirt up until he’s pulling it over your head. He cups your cheeks, letting you recover while he kisses your cheeks and face. You laugh slightly at the feeling of his beard tickling you. 

You pull back, meeting his gaze for a long drawn-out moment before you lean forward to finally kiss him back. You can feel yourself slowly coming back into your body. Your limbs tingle back to life while you lazily make out with him. 

His hands drift down your chest, squeezing your breasts. You laugh against his lips, arching into his touch. You reach back, unclipping your bra and throwing it off somewhere in the room. In the far reaches of your mind, you make a mental note to take that when you go. You don’t want to think about what Wade would do with it if he found it. 

Logan pulls back from you and your lips tip down at the serious look he wears. Your fingers trace the lines of his face and you tilt your head in question. “What’s wrong?” You whisper. You’re completely naked before him and he’s still clothed, you don’t want him to leave now. 

He can’t keep doing this to you. He can’t keep forcing you into these vulnerable positions and then leaving. There’s only so much rejection you can take before you start to resent him for it. 

He tilts his head down, gaze dragging across your body appreciatively. He’s looking at you like you’re art and it makes you feel like you should be in a museum somewhere. Finally, his hand drags down from your chest, wrapping around your waist and dragging you onto his lap. 

You brace your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. He leans towards you, lips trailing lightly across your jaw. “You’re not her,” he whispers against your skin. Your mouth parts, a pained breath slipping through. You try to move back from him. You hadn’t expected something like that, not now, not when you thought you’d made so much progress together. 

To have you naked, vulnerable like this, and then say something like that to you. It was fucking despicable. You shove his shoulders back but he barely moves. You shift, trying to cover yourself and fighting off the urge to cry. Why won’t he let you go? Why does he keep doing this to you? 

He reaches out, snatching up your wrist before you can get far. “I don’t want you to be. I never wanted you to be her, I need you to know that.”

He tries to kiss you but you snatch his jaw in your hand before he can. You let your nails dig in until there’s red blooming under your fingertips. He hisses, but he’s not mad, you can feel how much he enjoys the little pinpricks of pain. 

“No more pulling away,” you warn. “I’m not playing this damn game with you anymore, Logan. You want me, then commit.” You release him with a shove and his pupils dilate with want. You appreciate the gentle way he’s been treating you, but you know you’re both holding back. 

He’s the first partner you’ve been with that can actually take what you give and vice versa. There’s something only mutants understand sometimes. You normally have to hold back, have to make sure you don’t scare a guy off by making the walls shake when you come. 

You push him down onto the bed. Hands sliding under the hem of his shirt and running over the grooves of his muscles. You haven’t had a chance to appreciate just how gorgeous his body is before, but nothing is holding you back now. 

You snap your fingers and the buttons rip open, he surges forward catching your lips with his while you both frantically push his shirt off. He throws it off to the side and his fingers fumble with his belt buckle while you trail kisses down his neck. You glance up at him for a second before biting down on a particularly sensitive spot. 

He groans, head rolling back while you grin against his skin. You make your way back to his lips. “Don’t hold back,” you tell him, trailing your hands down to his fists and running over the spots where the claws come out. 

“Sweetheart,” he starts tone apprehensive. You shake your head, shutting him up with a kiss. 

“Don’t. Hold. Back.”

It’s like a switch flipping. Even the way he looks at you changes. You’re not something to be cherished and adored. You feel like a deer pinned by a wolf. He’s got you in his clutches now and there’s a real possibility you might not survive this. 

He stands up, dropping you on the bed and dragging your hips off the edge. He doesn’t kick his jeans off, just lowers them enough for his cock to hang out. You’ll address the fact that he wasn’t wearing boxers later, you’re too worried about what’s hanging between his legs right now. 

You’re no virgin, but goddamn, there’s no way that’s going to fit. 

He laughs, the noise cruel and it makes shivers crawl down your spine. “We’ll make it work, kid.” He spreads your legs and you tilt your hips up, making it easier for him to just sip inside. 

There’s a slight stretch, but you’re already soaked for him. You’ve been waiting for this to happen since you walked in on him naked in your bathroom. “Oh, shit,” you toss your head back, taking in a deep breath while he pushes in. It feels like he’s rearranging your insides, molding you to fit him perfectly. 

You can already feel yourself clenching down, just being so close to him is enough to make that tingle in the tips of your toes start. He leans down, placing your legs over his elbows and rutting into you like a wild animal. There’s nothing gentle or slow about this. 

You’re both so pent-up, tired from the weeks of dancing around each other. Your nails drag up his back, blood following your movement. Your powers are actively surging against him, pain only driving you further into each other’s arms. 

You can hear his breathy grunts and groans in your ears and it’s music to you. Neither of you cares about the party going on just outside the door. You’re loud, skin slapping against skin while you loudly call out his name. 

God, you hope they hear you. Hope they realize just how thoroughly you’re wrecked for each other. You can feel yourself getting closer, hips stuttering against his while you struggle to match his pace. “Come on,” he mutters in your ear. He releases one of your legs to reach down and rub your clit. 

“Fuck,” you groan, reaching up and tugging at his hair while your back bows. It only takes a few more tight circles of his thumb before you’re spasming around him. He’s quick to follow behind you. 

He pins your hips to the bed, dropping your legs while he thrusts faster. He loses his rhythm, the muscles of his abdomen flexing as he cums inside you. It’s like a mini death, you feel like you’ve lost time when you finally manage to come back to yourself. 

And when you roll your head to the side you realize just how much damage you’ve done to Wade’s bed. “Shit,” You glance up at the sound of his voice and notice little droplets of blood on your hips. Logan’s claws are out, stuck in the fluff of the bed. 

You force the words out, tongue heavy in your mouth. “Do that often?”

“Not really,” he mutters. The claws retreat and he rubs his fingers over the blood. It’s not bad, you’ve honestly done worse to yourself. It’s like a big paper cut. When the rough pad of his fingers presses against the cut you hiss at the sting, nearly enjoying it. 

“Must be special,” you tell him with a cheeky grin. He shakes his head with a laugh and takes his time pulling out. You hate the loss of him inside you but it's a slight relief. He's larger than any partner you’ve ever had and it’s almost overwhelming to be so full. 

“Come on, let's get you dressed.” He pats your thighs, glancing around for your clothes. 

“Uh, Logan,” he looks up and you glance at his still very hard cock. “I thought you came?”

The smile he gives you is slightly terrifying. Because there’s a promise in it. He’s not getting you dressed for no reason. He’s taking you back to your apartment so you can have more fun where there are less people and fewer reminders of Wade. “Stamina's part of the deal, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” you whisper, voice breathless in shock. You wipe the cum off your legs with Wade’s sheets. You feel like you’ve thoroughly gotten revenge on him for destroying your favorite bed set. Maybe, you’ve gone a little farther than revenge, though. 

You feel guilty, looking around the room and seeing everything you destroyed. Once you’re dressed, you wave your hand, putting most things back where they belong. But there’s nothing you can do about the bed. The sheets are soaked with a mixture of yours and Logan’s releases and there are six holes dug deep in the bed from his claws. 

When you step out of the room with Logan, struggling to press down your hair and get it back into place, Blind Al is waiting by the door. She’s doing a line off the back of her hand when you pass by. You think you’ve almost made it scott-free when she yells, “Man, I wish I couldn’t fucking hear,” at you. 

You tense up, shoulders to your ears while you run to the door. Logan laughs, grabbing your coat for you and pressing a hand to your back while he leads you to the apartment. “Weren’t feeling so embarrassed earlier,” he teases. 

“Shut up,” you grumble, dragging him into the apartment to finish what you couldn’t on Wade’s bed. 

You’ve managed to keep any holes out of your bed, you just have to use your powers to keep his at bay. It’s nice, not having to explain why everything around you is levitating to the person you’re having sex with. There were a lot of awkward conversations that came from that. 

You’re lying on Logan’s chest, fingers idly running over the veins in his biceps. “I want to be serious about this,” you tell him. 

His hand pauses from where it’d been stroking your back. You sit up on your elbow so you can get a better look at him. “I mean it, I,” there’s no way to say this without sounding like a complete bitch. You just have to rip the bandaid off. 

You take in a deep breath, “I know that you still miss her,” you say, unwilling to say her name. Logan sits up, looking more serious now. “But I don’t want to be with you if you think that I’m going to turn into her. Or if you think that I’m the last connection you have to her. I’m not her, Logan, and I'm never going to be her.”

You expect anger on his face or regret, maybe. But you don’t expect him to laugh at you. You roll your eyes, lips pursed while you wait for him to finish. He notices the pissy expression on your face and quiets down, but you still see a smile fighting on his lips. 

“I know you’re not her. You could not be more different” he tells you with a slight smirk, like there’s an inside joke you’re missing out on. “I was married to her for a long time and I loved her. But we had our time together. Now, I just want my time with you. You’re not her,” he leans forward, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. “That’s why I want you.”

You feel your heart flutter in your chest and have to fight to keep a stupid grin off your face. “Okay,” you whisper. “Good, well as long as we’re on the same page,” you tell him, faux serious. He just rolls his eyes and pulls you back into his arms. 

You’re going to cuddle up beside him when you hear your phone going off like crazy on your nightstand. Your face pinches in confusion and you reach over to grab it. 

Wade

Did you fuckers have sex???

In my bed!!!!

And you didn’t invite me?!

….

Wade

Tell Logan I want his claws in me next

“Fuckin’ dumbass,” you mutter, throwing your phone somewhere on the bed. Logan laughs again, drawing you closer. 

a/n: i have a really weird tendency for masochism, idk what that’s about. I just feel like if you were having sex with this man, he’s taking you like a wild animal. also feel like I might be a one-hit wonder. the smut just wasn’t doing it for me this time guys nor was the angst, i’m disappointed in myself

I just don't think I did justice to his character in the movie, I might have made it too OOC/ if I did PLEASE let me know

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

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus ♡

[ashleysturn]

changing room - matt sturniolo

context: you go shopping for a new swimsuit with your best friend matt

nsfw.

<———————————————➰———————————————>

i have a huge crush on my best friend matt. he’s taking me to the mall today because he’s been out of town filming all week with his brothers. i know this isn’t a date but i wish it was. i don’t want things to be weird between us.

-

i hear matt’s car pull into my driveway. i scurry to put on some lipgloss and spray my favorite perfume. i grab my purse and walk downstairs.

i hear a knock at the door

“come in!”

my front door opens “hey y/n!”

“hey matt!” i run up to matt and hug him, i’ve missed him.

“you ready? i left the car running”

“oh yeah sorry!” i slip my shoes on and walk out to the porch. i lock the door behind me.

<———————————————➰———————————————>

“so how was the trip?” i ask matt as we approach the mall

“pretty good, glad to be home though. nicks gotta edit all weekend”

“yeah i bet” i smile at him. god i’ve missed seeing his pretty face.

“so which store you wanna go to first?”

i look around the map of the mall. i haven’t been here in forever.

“i need a new swimsuit” i point to a summer shop on the map

matt takes a deep breath “okay.” he follows behind me into the store

i start looking around at the different options. i grab a few to try on and set them in my basket.

“i’m going to try these on” i smile and hold up the few swimsuits that i had picked out.

he nods his head “alright. i’ll just wait here.” he leans against the wall outside of the changing room.

i go into one of the little rooms and set down my basket on the bench. why do they make these rooms so small?

i try on the first bikini- it’s baby pink. the bottoms are high waisted and has that scrunch that defines your butt. the top has thin straps and is almost too thin of a fabric.

i open the door to the changing room “i’m not sure about this one.” i step out to show matt

he turns around and his eyes widen as he looks me up and down.

“what do you think?” i do a little 360 to show him the back

“i- uh it’s cute” his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows

“not the one though.” i shrug, heading back into the changing room.

the next bikini is periwinkle with a floral pattern of other shades of purple and blue. the bottoms fit me perfectly, hugging my curves. the top is strapless with some frill.

“i like this one!” i say through the door as i check myself out in the mirror

“can i see?” matt says. i step out of the room

“woah”

“woah?” i repeat back, smiling

“you like it matt?” i do another 360 to show the back.

“yeah i do” he scratches the back of his neck

am i making him flustered?

“i’m going to try on the last one” i step back into the changing room.

the last swimsuit i grabbed wasn’t a bikini, it was a one piece but i figured i’d give it a try because it looked great on the mannequin. it was one of those swimsuits that had the cutouts on the sides to emphasize your curves. the back was open aswell.

i slide on the swimsuit but the straps get tangled in the back

“hey matt? can you help me untangle this?”

“are you dressed?” he asks

“yeah the straps are just tangled” i unlock the door and he steps in

he closes the door behind him and steps towards me. i’m standing facing away from him in front of the mirror.

obviously flustered, matt asks “uh what am i supposed to do again?”

i laugh “the straps.” i pull my hair over my shoulders revealing the back of the swimsuit and the twisted up straps.

matt runs his fingers over the hem of the swimsuit and starts untangling the straps

the gentle touch of his fingers brushing against my back and neck sends goosebumps raising all over my body.

“there” matt says stepping back

“thanks. what do you think?” i say, turning to face him

matt looks me up and down. he reaches out his hand to trace my curves

“i like the cut out” he says quietly.

“let me see the back again” he suggests

i turn around and he takes in the view.

“damn y/n” he shakes his head

“we’ve got a winner?” i laugh

“mhm” he nods. “i’ll buy it for you”

“oh really?”

he nods. “yeah of course”

“thank you!” i turn around and hug him. he wraps his arms around my waist

“you’ve gotta take it off for me to pay for it though” he whispers into my ear, tightening his grip on my waist.

his voice sends shivers down my spine. “can you help?” i tease

“oh of course” he laughs, turning me back around to face away from him

he runs his fingers over my shoulders and pulls the straps down my arms.

i pull the swimsuit the rest of the way down and discard it on the floor

matt comes up behind me and runs his hands up my exposed body. i reach back and tug at the waistband of his sweatpants. he promptly pulls both his pants and boxers down

he pushes on my back and i bend over, using the bench to hold myself up. he runs his hands down my back and grips onto my hips

“you don’t know what you do to me y/n” matt groans

i arch my back and he steps forward, lining himself up with me before pushing himself into me in one thrust, not giving me any time to stretch around him

“fuck matt!” i yell out from the mixture of pain and pleasure.

matt pumps in and out of me, the sound of our skin slapping together fills the cramped room.

he has one hand gripped onto my hip, the other intertwined in my hair.

“oh fuck y/n, mmmh” matt whimpers.

my stomach ties up in a knot and my walls pulsate around his dick. “fuck matt-“ i moan.

matt pumps inside me a few more times, letting me ride out my orgasm. he then pulls out and paints my. back with white, letting out low moans.

he lets his grip on my waist and hair go, his hair sticks to his forehead as he pants, catching his breath.

“let me clean you up pretty girl” he wipes off my back and gathers up our clothes. he gets dressed and steps out of the changing room, allowing me to gather myself.

<———————————————➰———————————————>

i step out of the room, now dressed, carrying the black swimsuit.

“ready to check out?” matt reaches for his wallet.

“yeah” i laugh

“i’ll have to take you shopping more often.” he winks, leading me to the checkout counter.

<———————————————➰———————————————>

quick-ish one today, i lovedddd writing this. hope yall like it 🫡

send reqs 😚

[januaryembrs]

hot chocolate!!!

what about bau!reader who’s super affectionate with spencer (and he just takes it with a blush and sugary coffee)

example; jawline kisses that are supposed to be cheek kisses instead of hello’s and goodbye’s & reader having her arm around spencer’s waist at all times cuz she’s just so used to his body warmth!!!

(for some reason i’m imagining s9 reid & new-ish reader but u can do what u want ofc!!)

FUGITIVE AFFECTIONS | Spencer Reid x BAU!reader

description: fugitive (noun) meaning escape, runaway. (adjective) meaning fleeting, brief, passing.

Length: 1.1k

warnings: fluff fluff FLUFF.

He knew what was coming the second he heard her footsteps. The coffee machine spluttered with effort as it churned out his third cup of the day, and he was already perched with the sugar waiting for the appliance to do its thing. Spencer barely had chance to acknowledge the approaching figure when he felt arms wrap around his waist, someone attaching themselves to his back with a feather light kiss to his spine. 

“Good morning,” He called over his shoulder, and you hummed, quickly squeezing the soft pooch of his stomach and releasing him. 

“Morning,” You said, and he leaned up to open the cupboard door, which wasn’t a big feat for him with his heinously long limbs. Plopping a mug down on the side, he poured coffee in your cup first before he started on his own, “Reports due today?” 

“Hotch wants the Minnesota and the Nevada cases wrapped up,” He said, sliding the milk and sugar over to your side of the counter and keeping his head down. Spencer felt his ears run hot, like they usually did whenever you got so close to him, which just happened to be always. 

He doubted the words ‘personal space’ were ever a thing in your vocabulary. It had started with Garcia, with the two of you linking arms and braiding each other's hair after two weeks of you moving to the BAU, and he’d figured that Garcia had won you over with that natural, bubbly charm of hers. But Spencer was perceptive, and he’d quickly realised the behaviour was not strictly limited to Penelope and her chirpy attitude. You tended to walk close to everyone, like you were trying to mesh you bodies in with them and the shoulder bumps and hands brushed against one another didn’t matter. In the end, rather than push you away, Morgan had taken to wrapping an arm around your shoulder as the two of you waltzed around the office together. Even Blake was succumbing to your touchy-feely attitude as you liked to cosy up next to her on the jet, usually falling asleep with your head on her shoulder, and she thought little of it now, just continuing with her crosswords unbothered. 

And then you’d set your sights on Spencer. 

He supposed you hadn’t quite got the memo about his germaphobia, or perhaps the transference of bacteria between humans during simple hand holding just never occurred to you. Yet after just a month of being desk buddies with him, he nearly jumped out of his skin the day you slipped your fingers in between his when the two of you had been paired up on a case and you were heading down the witness’s driveway to interview them. 

He’s been about to ask what the hell you were doing, or perhaps scramble to shove you off, and sanitise his hands with the emergency gel he kept in his bag at all times. But by the time he’d looked over at you, his cheeks a flaming strawberry colour with what he’d thought of as annoyance, you were simply smiling at him, and began swinging your joined hands back and forth, nudging your temple into his shoulder affectionately. 

“You look really pretty in that purple shirt, Spencer,” You said simply, and whatever scathing remark about how eighty percent of pathogens are transferred during hand holding was robbed from his gullet and he was stunned into silence. The way you’d said his name alone made his lips part in wonder, because he’d never heard it said like that. 

“T-thankyou, I like your jacket.” He cringed as soon a he said it, and the two of you looked down to your government issued FBI vest, the same one he wore, the same one Hotch wore, the same one they’d all worn for the past nine years. 

You sniggered, bumping him again with your forehead like you were a cat purring up against him, marking your territory. 

“You’re cute,”

You were full of sweet, loving words like that he realised, all buttercups and candy floss and honey and sweetie and my love and he felt himself expecting it now, biting his lip in worry if you were ever just the tiniest bit too busy to fluff him up with affection.

Like when you’d been called out by Blake on an emergency, the two of you scrambling to grab the SUV keys to go meet Morgan and JJ where they were moving into the building  after the suspect. 

The two of you had all but ran out of the precinct in the effort to catch up with the other agents, leaving Spencer, pen still in his hand as he mapped out the geographical profile, and he hadn’t realised anything was missing until he heard the door slam shut and he hadn’t felt the warmth of your hug, your hand in his hair ruffling it lovingly, not even a ‘goodbye, sweetie!’

Spencer pouted, despite the fact he’d spent the first few weeks wondering if he should be shying away from your touch because he was quickly running out of sanitizer and had yet to want you to stop. He felt like his routine had been interrupted, because that’s definitely what the source of his disappointment was, not the fact he wondered if he had done something wrong, and yet before he could think too hard about it, the door swung back open, Blake yelling something from the hallway that he could just about make out was your name, before a body crashed into his side and your lips were on his jaw, kissing him lightly through laboured breaths. 

“Bye, Spence.” You murmured, kissing up his cheek a few times to apologise for the wait, and he hadn’t even had the chance to return the favour through the fish out of water gape as he watched you run back to the door, Blake looking at you incredulously. 

“I just watched you run up three flights of stairs for that?” She asked, the door slowly closing behind you and giving him unfiltered snooping on your conversation. He smiled so wide his cheeks hurt, the same one that you had just kissed over and over again like it was a normal thing for you two, and he wondered if he could coordinate you rushing out of the office every time if it meant he’d have that again. 

“It’s Spencer, it was important,” You insisted, and he squoze his hands so tightly his nails dug into his palm, because it was too late to tell you just how much you’d made him feel in such a tiny gesture, and the electricity from your kisses had to come out somewhere. If not, Spencer worried he might explode. 

His hand sanitizer sat empty in his pocket, the same way it had been for months, and Spencer couldn’t care less.

[lovelookspretty]

what would you do for love?

exboyfriend!rafe cameron x obsessed!exgirlfriend!reader

— in which y/n spirals into a possessive obsession over her ex-boyfriend rafe. she quietly pulls the strings from the shadows, creating accidents, bribing others, and doing whatever it takes to maintain control—believing she is the only one truly capable of loving him.

warnings: y/n acting like a subtle joe goldberg asf😭, drinking, smoking, y/n missing rafe

authors note: potential series??? THIS COULD BE ITS PROLOGUE. idk much about sofias background so i cant write out a full length “dive” on her like joe would in you, but ill do what i can!! im not abandoning “waking up to you” though, just trying to figure out ideas for how to play out the rest of the week ‘til the end LMFAOOO

if u are interested in being part of the tag list, please let me know through replies, anons, dms, or reblogs !! notifications are always on <33

next

you’re rummaging through your drawers, tossing clothes to the side in a desperate search for something that feels right. it’s one of those nights—some random party you’re not really excited for but can’t help going to because, well, everyone’s going. the young adults of the island, at least.

another night of sloppy, underage drinking, messy hookups, and pointless fights breaking out over nothing, the kind of chaos that seems to thrive in a place like this. you don’t even know whose party it is, but that hardly matters.

you’ve already pulled out a pile of tops, but none of them feel like the one. too tight, too loose, too boring, not the vibe. they’re scattered across your bed now as you dig deeper, hoping that the perfect top is somehow hiding at the very bottom. and that’s when your fingers brush against something familiar, soft yet slightly worn—his hoodie.

you freeze for a second, your hand gripping the fabric, and a wave of something bittersweet washes over you. you didn’t even remember it was still there, shoved in the farthest corner of the drawer like you were trying to forget about it. but now it’s right in front of you, and just holding it feels like opening an old wound.

it’s rafe’s hoodie. as in your ex-boyfriend’s hoodie. the one he never asked for after you broke up. it’s stupid, probably, keeping it like this, but a part of you always thought that meant something.

back then, you’d convinced yourself that him not asking for it back was a sign. like he was telling you, in some unspoken way, that it wasn’t really over. that he still wanted you to hold on, just for a little longer. you’d held onto that hope longer than you should’ve.

because now, things are different. you’ve seen him around the island, his arm draped around another girl, a pogue, of all people. the whole thing feels like a bad joke, doesn’t it? rafe cameron, the toxic kook from figure eight, running around with some girl from the cut.

you wonder what her deal is. maybe she’s living out some kind of romeo and juliet fantasy. is that it, rafe? is that what you’ve become—her tragic love story? maybe she’s the kind of girl who romanticizes the idea of being with someone she isn’t supposed to, thinking she’s special because she got him.

the thought makes you frown, a bitter taste rising in the back of your throat. she doesn’t even know him like you do. she doesn’t know the way his mind works, doesn’t know what he’s like when the charm fades, when he’s spiraling, when everything he tries to hold together starts to fall apart.

without thinking, you pull the hoodie closer, burying your face in it. his scent still lingers faintly in the fabric—his cologne. that familiar, warm smell that used to make you feel safe, even when things between you were anything but. it’s been a while since you broke up, but the cologne is still there, still clinging to the material like it’s holding on, just like you are.

you wonder if he still wears it. maybe he sprays it on for his new girl now. maybe she pulls his hoodies around herself the way you used to, breathing him in, thinking she’s the only one who gets to do that now. the thought actually makes your chest ache.

you blink a few times, your throat tight, and gently lower the hoodie back down to your lap. i miss you, you think, but the words never make it past your lips. they just hang there, heavy and silent, as you stare down at the hoodie, wishing things had ended differently.

eventually, you pull the drawer all the way open and spot a shirt hiding beneath where the hoodie had been—it’s perfect for tonight. you pick it up, placing it on the edge of the drawer, but your fingers linger on the hoodie for a moment longer. then, with a quiet sigh, you fold it back up, tucking it away into the corner of the drawer once more. out of sight but never really out of mind.

you shove everything else back in, trying to get rid of the clutter, both in your room and in your head. it’s just another party, another night to pretend everything’s fine. but the hoodie still sits there, waiting, like it always has.

you’re waiting as your friend pours you a drink, eyes drifting over the skatepark around you. the party is in full swing—some are crowded around ramps, a few on their boards showing off, others slouched on graffiti-covered benches, their laughter mixing with the pounding bass.

when your friend hands you the cup, you take it with a nod, cruising through the crowds as you chat. your gaze flicks from group to group—people are either dancing, downing drinks, or getting a little too close in the shadows. you’re only half-focused on the conversation as you weave between the bodies.

you end up hanging by a ramp, watching as a few people race to shotgun their drinks. it’s messy and ridiculous, the kind of thing you can’t help but get pulled into. someone challenges you, and before you know it, you’re joining in. you win—barely—but not without nearly choking yourself in the process, coughing and laughing at the same time. sure, you won, but at what cost? still, it’s funny enough to have you and your friends laughing about it after.

while your friends mess around, you drift away from the noise, leaning back against the railing near the top of the ramp. your phone dangles loosely in your hand, and you’re resting your head on one of your friend’s backs as they chatter on. you don’t really need to be involved in the conversation—it’s comfortable just being there.

you find yourself staring at your phone screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard as you type out a quick message: hey.

it’s to rafe. of course, it is. and you know it’s dumb, you know you shouldn’t send it, but for some reason, everything in you wants to. even though it won’t do anything, even though he’s probably not even thinking about you right now.

you swipe your tongue across your bottom lip, hesitating for a beat longer before closing the app. you’re not gonna send it. you know you wouldn’t have anyway, you were just seeing if you’re drunk enough to go through with it. not this time. maybe another. maybe never. with a sigh, you turn your phone off and shove it into your pocket, trying to push the thought away.

but just then, there’s a commotion at the edge of the park, some people turning to look. a new car’s pulled up, headlights cutting through the dark, and as the doors open, your stomach drops.

yeah, of course, it’s him. rafe steps out, and your eyes lock onto him immediately. he’s got his girl by his side, and the sight alone makes you want to tilt your head back and groan. but instead, you just watch, waiting, seeing what they’ll do.

rafe moves through the crowd easily, that infamous smile on his face, flashing it at anyone who bothers to look. he looks . . . happy, which is great for him, really. it’s nice, or whatever. but as your gaze follows him, watching the way he’s moving with her, there’s a part of you that’s almost relieved. because no matter how content he looks, he doesn’t look happier. not happier than he did when he was with you. and somehow, that’s enough.

“don’t look now,” one of your girl friends mutters as she approaches, her voice low and careful. her back is to the rest of the party, which includes rafe and sofia, not that they’d even glance your way.

“you’re too late,” you say, leaning back against the railing, gripping it with a small smile. normally, you’d be dropping dead right about now, but if you did that, your friend would worry. and really, you’re not bothered. or at least, not too bothered.

“they look good together,” you add casually, waving a hand toward the crowd where rafe and sofia stand. you’re trying to sell it, trying to convince your friend that this is all good with you.

your friend gives you a skeptical look, her brow raised, and you nod, like you’re insisting she believe you. “i’m serious,” you tell her. “they’re perfect for each other.”

she rolls her eyes and glances over her shoulder to check them out herself, hand on her hip as she grimaces. “yeah, she’s perfect if he’s into . . .” she trails off, eyeing sofia's outfit—one of those looks where it’s obvious rafe bought the clothes for her, but none of it quite fits her style. “knock-off country club chic?”

it’s not that funny, but the resemblance is a little accurate. “stop,” you murmur, nudging her. you can’t help the faint smile that pulls at the corner of your lips as you lift your cup, pretending to hide it by taking a sip.

your friend's not wrong, and she catches the smirk you’re trying to hide. “told you,” she teases, a grin spreading across her face as you take the joint from her hand.

inhaling deeply, you let the smoke linger in your lungs before you exhale it in a slow, straight line. as the haze clears, your eyes fix on rafe and sofia, standing together in the middle of the skatepark. your face softens, the humor from earlier fading like something inside you has switched off. no more laughing, no more games.

just them.

just her.

you take sofia in for what she is—pretty. sure, you can give her that. you understand why rafe might’ve been drawn to her at first. she’s the kind of girl who stays close to him, like she’s tethered, like she can’t stand alone unless rafe has to excuse himself. and when he leaves, she fades into the background. disappears.

you watch her now, standing awkwardly off to the side while rafe talks to someone, looking small, unimportant. oh. interesting.

she must like attention. no, not attention, rafe’s attention. she clings to it like it’s the only thing that makes her visible. and yeah, she’s done up nice—dressed in new clothes, no doubt bought with rafe’s money. she cleans up well for a pogue.

but there’s something about the way she fidgets, like her skin doesn’t quite fit right in the fabric. you can tell she’s not used to it, this life. it’s too big for her. she’s nervous, uncomfortable, trying to blend in with the kind of people who were born into this world.

and her smile. you can see it from here, that ‘just to be kind’ smile. practiced, polite. probably something her parents taught her. good for her, really. that’s good.

she works at the pelican yacht club, doesn’t she? you live right by it. the idea that she works so close to your home, that rafe goes by your house just to see her . . . it makes your stomach twist.

she’s short, shorter than most. short hair, short bangs, and so this relationship will be short too.

just a phase. it has to be. or you’ll make it.

whatever it takes.

early tags: @iissza @lotuslovers @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @yootvi @skyslowalking @ariiwritess @beebeerockknot

[chaos-in-deepspace]

LADS Sylus: Just In Case | NSFW

This? This was supposed to be a fic inspired by how he has his middle and ring finger nails trimmed in his new outfit. And then somehow it turned into this? It still has the fingernail bit tho istg this is the Sylus fingering Reader in a Yurt fic.

❧ Pairings: Sylus x Reader ❧ Warnings: Jealousy, Self Doubt, Comfort, Words of Affirmation, Teasing, Hickeys, Nipple Biting, Fingers, Clothes Grinding, Coming in Pants, Top Sylus ❧ Synopsis: You hated the fact that you were jealous over something so trivial. Ever since traveling with the tribe, and seeing how they all swooned over Sylus, it was hard not to feel a certain way. Then there were the words Tarna has said to you: "Whoever takes them, keeps them." ❧ Word Count: 4.4k

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Sylus

Just In Case

It was already the second night that you had been in the Grasslands. You were exhausted from all the traveling you had done that day, and when you guys set up to stay the night, you had all but collapsed onto your bed roll. Your body ached from all the horseback riding you had done, but it wasn’t like it was unsatisfying. You had seen Sylus basically winning every challenge that came his way, not to mention the sweet gesture he had made when braiding your hair.

Tarna had tried to convince you to join the rest at the bonfire they had set up, but you had politely declined. Sylus, on the other hand, was a night owl. He had been more than happy to join in and had even tried getting you to join, to no avail. So he promised to rejoin you later when he got tired and let you head inside to rest.

The braid he gave you earlier had already been taken out as you laid down, curled up on your shared bed accommodation. You could still hear Sylus’ voice, speaking with some of the locals. Even if he didn’t speak their language, Tarna had been more than happy to translate. Not to mention, he just had a way of communicating with others without the need for words.

You could hear the laughter of some of the women, and flashes of them touching him went through your mind. You tried brushing them aside as you curled up deeper into your bed roll. Sylus was naturally a little more flirtatious, or at least that was your experience with him. You could only hope that demeanor wasn’t leading anyone on.

For just a moment, you even had doubts he’d be coming back to the same tent you were in. You knew Sylus wasn’t like that, but you could still have your own doubts and fears. Thankfully, those thoughts escaped as you heard the flaps of the yurt opening as Sylus came inside, along with the rustling of fabrics. He shed a few layers so he could sleep comfortably. “I thought you said you were tired, yet here you are, awake.” Sylus’ voice broke out in the small yurt and you rolled over just in time to watch him crawl in next to you.

At first, you weren’t planning on even deeming him with a reply to his little comment; maybe trying to fake being asleep would make him not talk. You made a bit of room, allowing him to have some of the blankets. Unlike the night before, you made no move in scooting closer to him. The words Tarna had spoken earlier played in your head like a bad record: “Whoever takes them, keeps them.”

Why did that bother you so much? It was clear that he had caught the eye of every single woman in the area; the way they whispered while watching him compete was enough to let you know. They made it obvious as well, one of them even going up to touch his arm and speak to him.

He had been cordial enough, but the self-doubt in your mind rolled through it like a dark storm. You and Sylus had made leaps and bounds in your relationship, but you hadn’t crossed the threshold of romance yet. Gods, you wanted to so badly. You just were too unsure about everything, and you hated that feeling. It wasn’t even like you needed to doubt Sylus. He had made it so painfully obvious he didn’t have eyes for anyone else other than you. He was just polite when the situation wasn’t business…teasing but polite.

You decided that the silence was too deafening at the moment as you spoke, “It was hard to sleep with all the noise outside,” you said, and Sylus hummed. He had already gotten comfortable, and you could sense the weariness from him. A second night of having to reassure you would be annoying, right? You kept your mouth shut, opting just to ignore the festering feelings in your gut since clearly that was a healthy decision.

“It seems it’s more than that, kitten,” He began, “You’re restless now. Don’t tell me your mind is causing you to stress again,” you felt his hand in your hair as he pushed some of it back. You didn’t even want to look at him right now, worried that you’d say something stupid. You couldn’t stop how your body responded, though, leaning into his touch like a cat.

“It’s nothing, really.” It was a flimsy excuse, judging by how your voice wavered. You hated the jealousy you felt, how it was settling into you to the point where you wanted to be sick. You didn’t think of yourself as the jealous type by any means, but here you were, absolutely upset over hypotheticals. You wanted to convince yourself just not to feel this way, but that was easier said than done as you were mentally screaming.

Sylus frowned, the look marring his pretty face slightly. You really did prefer it when he smiled, even if it was at your own expense. The teasing smirk you often found was at least focused on you and nobody else. “This is clearly something. I don’t think you’d be worried about making it home for two nights in a row,” he propped himself up into his elbow, looking at you, “My ears are always open for you, sweetie.”

Your heart began beating a little faster at his comment as you cleared your throat, “It’s…do you recall what Tarna said the day before?” you decide to test the waters and see if he recalled the information. You highly doubted the saying she taught you guys was on his mind; it shouldn’t have even been on yours.

“She said a lot of things; you’ll need to be more straightforward. What did she say that’s upsetting you?” He was speaking gently right now, making you feel even worse about your feelings. Why was he always so damn patient with you, always willing to reassure you even over something so trivial? When you first met Sylus, you had no clue that this side of him even existed, and it did things to you both physically and emotionally.

You cleared your throat, “Whoever takes them…keeps them.” You clarified, finally meeting his gaze, “That statement.” You could see the flash of recognition in his eyes when he realized what this was about. He had already seen your jealous side earlier by the river, but now it had only gotten worse. He had been nice about it back then, but would you only annoy him by bringing it up again? It’s not like you two were dating, even if you flirted and teased one another like it was some competition.

“Are you worried about that?” He asked, his hand tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “That someone is going to take me away?” he asked, and you sighed. He managed to figure it out quickly.

“I mean…I’ve just seen how the others have been looking at you,” like they were drawn to an oasis in a hot desert, “And you’re my ticket home after all…” You wanted to kick yourself the moment the words came out of your mouth. You just had to avoid telling him how you really felt, didn’t you?

He didn’t seem upset at the statement; if anything, he was amused. “I won’t be stolen away that easily.” He assured, “Though I must say I’m flattered that you’ve been keeping such a close eye on me today. So much so that you didn’t even realize that some of the men in the village have been giving you the same look.”

You had to take a moment to process what he said…people had been looking at you? There was no way. It made sense for Sylus, and he was charismatic, handsome, and strong. You were…well, you were a jealous hunter. You did recall how he had braided your hair and the way he had mentioned how only lovers should see their partner’s hair in its natural state…could it be he was jealous as well? No, you were probably overthinking things.

“I…” you said, but you couldn’t get the right words out. He had the tendency to make you speechless, and right now, it was no different. Everything you wanted to say had vanished right into the air as you looked up at those red eyes that were so damn soft at the moment. How could you even think he’d look at anyone else like this? Those sharp eyes of his looked lovestruck at times when it was just the two of you.

“If you’re truly worried, you can always lay a claim on me,” he suggested, and you flushed right away. Your eyes widened at every implication that could’ve meant. You buried your face in the pillow underneath you, now unable to meet his gaze for several reasons, “Kitten, look at me. What’s wrong? Don’t tell me your mind went to the gutter.” His voice was now teasing. Screw the gentle look he was giving you; now you knew for a fact his eyes were shining with amusement at your expense.

“Do you not listen to yourself?” you managed to hiss out the question. His chuckles filled your ears as you let out an embarrassed whine from the back of your throat. Why were you jealous of this man in the first place? He was horrible. A jerk face. Every mean name under the sun couldn’t begin to describe him when he was like this. Why did you like it? That was the real question.

“Well, now I’m curious about what you’re thinking. I was just going to say you could ride with me tomorrow, perhaps hold my arm during rests.” Lies, all of them, and now your mind was definitely in the trenches at him mentioning ‘riding’ of any kind. “What were you thinking?” he laughed again, and you let out an annoyed huff. He was egging you on, and it was working as per usual.

You sat up suddenly and turned to him, pushing on his chest until he was lying on his back. He let out a grunt, but he also had that shit-eating grin on his face as he looked up at you, waiting for your next move. You didn’t even know what your next move would be, honestly. Now that you were here, straddling the man’s waist, your mind was going almost completely blank, so you let your instincts take over.

You leaned down until your breath ghosted over his neck, placing a small kiss there before going in to suck on the skin. You felt him shifting underneath you as you marked him, doing your best to make it known that he was taken. Even if it was a small hickey, it might’ve been enough to get the others to back off, knowing exactly who shared a bed with him at night, who left a mark on his flawless skin.

When your lips finally parted, you could see the blooming mark on his skin. It was a light purple one right on his jugular, and while it wasn’t much, you doubted anyone would mistake it for anything else. Your fingers went over to touch the mark, admiring your handy work.

Sylus’ hand went up and pressed down on where you left the mark, and as a result pressed your own hand closer to him; his eyes curious and holding a hunger to them, “Oh, is that all? You know, people might just think I got a bruise from all the competing I did today. Sweetie, you might need to try a little harder than that.” He was still egging you on to get you to do exactly what he wanted.

Still, if he wanted to play this game, then so be it. You looked over his outfit and eyed something that, honestly, was the first thing you noticed when he had originally put it on. The little voice in the back of your head even supplied you with the fact that the outfit managed to look slutty on him, something you adored. Sadly, it was another reason why everyone else was eying him up and down all day. The man was well-built, and you knew why. You two had trained together, and after you were already tired, he continued on. You swore he had even managed to gain some new muscle recently.

You leaned down to his chest and glanced up at him quickly before deciding to just go all in. One of his nipples was exposed, and you were damn certain if you left a mark right there, nobody in their right mind would mistake it for a simple bruise. So you bit him, clamping down on his nipple, and, with your current position, you felt him rolling his hips up into you.

He let out a groan as you lapped at the bud in your mouth and pulled away, happy to see that there was a distinct mark where your teeth were. Your hand went over it gently, fingers barely touching him. You felt him roll his hips again in response and felt a warmth blooming in you when you felt something hard against your ass. You shouldn’t have been surprised that he was getting erect from this, hell if you were in his situation, you might’ve busted already.

“Think they’ll mistake this for an injury with your…competition today?” you asked with a satisfied smirk on your face. Sylus was looking at you for a moment, trying to process what you just did to him, and then you felt his hand on the back of your neck.

He grabbed you closer to him, and you let out a small gasp when his lips were on your throat. He was pushing down some of the garments you wore to give him access as he bit down on the skin there. You hissed at the sharp pain, realizing that, unlike you, he could commit.

As soon as he left that area of your neck, he went to the front of your throat, sucking a mark that bloomed under his lips. You were now the one who ground down onto his lap, feeling yourself growing wet as he pressed a small kiss there, “S-Sy, what are you…?” you managed to rasp out; you were already crumbling because of this man.

“You aren’t the only one who needs to lay claim to someone,” he said as he began marking another area of skin. It felt too good that you clamped a hand down over your mouth to muffle the noises, “I wasn’t a fan of the others looking at you as though you were available for them to take you. I do have a possessive streak, after all, kitten.”

He sucked a fourth mark; this one was right under your ear as you groaned, “Did you not want the others to hear you? I’m sure if they did, it would send a message loud and clear.” He rolled his hips back into you, making sure there was no mistake about precisely what he wanted to do right now.

“W-we’re guests, Sy,” you managed to get out, “We don’t want to make a scene.” And at the rate this was going, you were five seconds from pushing him back down and riding him until the sun came up. You could already imagine the dirty looks you’d get tomorrow morning from everyone who lost sleep due to your…activities.

“I guess you make a fair point,” he murmured as he let you go. Your entire neck was now covered in marks as you glared down at him. You could lie to him all you wanted, but inside, you felt a bit giddy. Knowing that the other women of the tribe would see you and just know it was Sylus who put the markings on you. You were almost tempted to leave even more on him, but he was already being nice and not pushing it. You doubted if you continued to tease him, he’d be okay with just going to bed after this. He’d do it, sure, but he might be a bit grumpy and…uncomfortable.

Still, you needed to hold yourself back for your own sanity. You carefully extracted yourself from him and rolled off to your side to face away from him. If he did anything else, you wouldn’t be able to hold back. You certainly had never fucked him, and from what you felt just now, he was…big. Riding a horse tomorrow would be a nightmare if he were to rail you right here and now. Still, if you were going to have sex, you’d rather it be back home where you wouldn’t need to cover up all your noises and didn’t need to worry about getting up the next day.

“Running away?” Sylus said as you heard the rustling of fabrics once more. He adjusted your head as he laid his arm out, allowing you to use it as a pillow. The rest of his body wrapped around you as he spooned you from behind, “After you started it, you’re now hiding. Adorable.” The way he all but whispered that into your ear had you shuddering.

“I just don’t think it’s the…place for that…” you said, hoping he’d read between the lines. Thankfully, it seemed he did, but you let out a gasp when you felt a gentle kiss on the back of your neck. He was driving you mad with his casual shows of affection; even cuddling you like this was making you yearn for something so much more.

“Of course, I understand,” he managed to murmur, “But will you be able to actually rest now, in this state?” his other hand trailed down to your stomach, pushing some of the fabric around as he continued trailing his hand further down until it was bunching at the long skirt you wore.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you muttered, a small shiver running down your spine as he began rolling the skirt up so he could press down on your bare thigh. His hand was so hot it felt like he was branding you with it.

He cupped the skin there, just trailing a hand over it as he spoke, “I need you to let me know if it’s alright to continue,” he said, clearly holding himself back. You could feel how your underwear clung to you, almost soaking through the fabric. Obviously, you wanted this, but would you be capable of keeping it together, and now that you are moaning so loud, the entire tribe could hear you? Fuck it, you could try.

“Just…just your hand,” you got out, and he chuckled. Sylus’ hand was now moving upwards without any hesitation, and now he had the green light to continue; he was intent on making the most of it. You felt the warmth of his palm cupping you through your underwear, and you held back a moan, instead biting down on your lip as his fingers trailed along the slick that coated them.

“You’ve managed to flatter me twice in one night,” he commented, pressing his fingers against your cunt and rubbing you through the layers, “I’m glad I have this effect on you though.” He was now finally pushing the underwear off to the side to give him access to your pussy. He trailed a finger over the slickness of your slit, barely pressing a finger into you. It hard you shuddering, almost begging him to just put them inside of you already.

Then you noticed the bluntness of his nails, which startled you as you thought for a moment. You swore up and down he had nails…didn’t he? Despite how turned on you were, the question was running through your head, “Sylus…when did you cut your nails?” you swore they weren’t short earlier.

He actually laughed at your statement, “Sweetie, you’re asking me this right as I’m about to be knuckle deep in you?” He asked, and you let out a small huff, “I have. You know I like to keep two of my nails trimmed…just in case.” You looked back at him with wide eyes. Before you could say anything, he was already reassuring you, “I did it for you, so don’t overthink it,” the moment the words came out, he sunk his fingers into your cunt.

Your mouth opened wide as a moan left you, and your cheeks felt flushed; at the angle, you had turned to, Sylus had a perfect view of it. You quickly moved your head away, nuzzling into the arm underneath you. He had the audacity to laugh again as he began fingering you, the digits easily slipping inside of you with how turned on you were. You felt how his thumb pressed against your clit, and you were now rolling into the palm of his hand, seeking more from him.

“You know, you have an effect on me as well.” As if to prove his point, he rolled his hips up into your ass. You could feel his hot cock through the layers, the hardness making you shiver. Your walls clenched around his fingers, “Hm, you seemed to like that. Perhaps when we’re back home, we’ll need to have a redo of this night.” He muttered—gods, what you wouldn’t give to be back home right about now. How many more days until the festival when you guys could go back? Could it be right now so you could be shoved into a mattress already and fucked until you couldn’t walk?

You were now caught between wanting to grind on his cock, while also rolling into his hand as the wet squelching noises began filling the yurt. You bit down on your lip and tried to focus, and Sylus clicked his tongue from behind you.

“If you’re going to bite on something, use my arm. I wouldn’t mind more marks from you, kitten.” Sylus instructed, and in your lust-filled haze, you didn’t question it. Instead, you turned your head and sank your teeth into the arm underneath you. You heard Sylus groan as his grinding began more insistent, as did his hand. He seemed to be trying to get you to cum before him, and you were so close. Your thighs were shaking already as you tried to squeeze Sylus’ hand between your legs.

You felt that familiar warmth inside of your stomach, and with his skilled fingers and the press of his thumb along your clit you found yourself unraveling. You didn’t even realize an orgasm could be this good as you bit down harder on him. For some reason, it felt so much better that he was the one to touch you. Perhaps it had been the build-up, but right now, as you came, your head was static, and thoughts refused to form as the euphoric sensation wet through your entire body.

You were rolling into his touch, trying to prolong the feeling for as long as possible as he worked you through it, feeling how you squeezed his fingers. Your pussy throbbed around him, and the only thing on his mind was how it would feel around his cock.

When you finally released his arm from your teeth and began feeling a bit more normal, he took his fingers out. Your body was still buzzing with the aftershocks as he pressed his slick-coated fingers against your mouth. You didn’t think twice as you opened up and let him put the digits inside your mouth.

You groaned at the musky taste of yourself on him as he pressed down on your tongue. You sucked his fingers clean as you felt how he was still rutting against you. His hips stuttered in his movement as he groaned, and you wondered what he might taste like. You almost wished his fingers were his cock, and he was coming down your throat at that moment. If he had just waited a few more moments, you might’ve indulged that fantasy.

His breathing was heavier as he rolled his hips against your ass a few more times before he stopped and stilled against you. He removed his fingers and went to kiss the back of your neck. His hand now wrapped around your torso in a possessive grip as he held you there, nuzzling into you.

“Did you…in your pants?” you couldn’t help but ask; in response, you got a chuckle out of the man behind you. The breath of air was chilly on your slightly damp next as you flinched away.

“Very observant, but yes,” he said, “We’ll both be needing to get cleaned up before we properly go to bed.” His words made you pout as you rolled over to face him. He looked good like this, and you could see some of his flush hadn’t gone away after his orgasm. It was a rare treat to see him like this as you mentally stored the image away.

“Okay, but now I’m actually sleepy,” you muttered, and he just gave you a knowing look. It was the look of: “Your excuses aren’t going to save you this time.”

“I’m sure you are, kitten, so I’ll just carry you down to the river myself if you’re going to be acting like this.” He mused, “I wasn’t asking; I was telling you. We need to clean up.” You hated that he was being responsible. Sure, you knew it was important, but your body felt sluggish now, and you just wanted to rest.

“What if someone sees?” you asked, and he raised an eyebrow. His arm was now snaking around to the front of your neck, grazing over the marks that painted your skin like constellations.

“Then let them, not like I care in the slightest. Besides, it’ll be obvious come tomorrow with all our new markings,” he commented, and you looked down at his arm, which had an angry, red bite mark. You flushed as you went to kiss it; he had a point. Hopefully, nobody had heard the wet noises earlier; to you, it had been deafening in the quiet of the night.

“Fine…were you serious when you offered to carry me?” you said while poking at his exposed stomach.

“You’re like a feather to me. Come on.” You felt how his arms wrapped around you as he made you two sit up. Your hands wrapped around his neck as he stood up from the bed. You locked your legs around his waist as he adjusted you in his grasp.

The only thing on your mind now was how badly you wanted to get back home, to Linkon, to the N109 Zone, so that you could properly fuck this man.

Anyway, this was inspired by a post I saw by @aeyumicore which btw did you now if I ever say I'm tempted to write something and someone says do it, I will probably do it. In one sitting. This took three hours to outline, write, and then edit.

[anthotneystark]

I wanna reach out and grab ya

(edit: now on ao3!)

In the aftermath, as the dust settles, the world shakes.

He expects it, but it still catches him off balance.

He leans against the ambulance, brushes off Nancy’s comment about him needing medical care. Jonathan gives him a look like he wants to call him out on it, but he lets it go. He’s not sure how long he’s been awake, but he knows that if either of them really pressed him, he’d fold like a paper bag.

You know, easily but with a decent amount of noise.

It’s all he can do to keep upright, using the cool metal door to help. The world doesn’t exactly feel steady, but he took a few hits to the head and he’s sure that’s not helping. There’s a ringing in his ears, his sides ache, his face burns, and he’s not altogether sure how long he’s been awake. He’s sure it’s been somewhere along the lines of too long. He’s not looking forward to going home, not when all he’s got waiting there is a cold, empty house. His parents won’t be back for a few more weeks.

Even if there’s a part of him, a big part if he can admit it, that desperately wants his mom to be there, he’s not going to call and ask for her. He’s supposed to be an adult now, he’s supposed to be growing up, he can’t call for her.

Even if it stings a little, watching other people reuniting with their families.

He loses track of time a little, and is only snapped out of it when he’s dragged into a hug. It’s tight, warm, and so gentle for how fierce it is. He reflexively hugs back before he puts it all together, before he recognizes that it’s Claudia Henderson. She’s saying something, but he can’t really hear it because he’s too busy trying to catch up on what exactly is happening. When she pulls back, she either repeats it or it’s a different question.

Robin answers before he can.

“Yeah, Steve’s gonna stay with me tonight.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, dingus, remember?”

“Right, yeah, I’m staying with her tonight.” Except. “How are we getting to your place? I lost my keys,” he adds.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, I’ll take you,” Claudia says. A godsend, really, always. He’s going to need to get new keys entirely given that his have probably been melted by the fire, but he can’t tell her that.

Robin sticks to his side as they go to the car, her hand slides into his and he holds on tight. He doesn’t let go until they’re in her house, after the quiet car ride where he almost dozed off a dozen times. Her parents are at work, both on the night shift at the moment, so it’s just them. Convenient, given that they’re probably going to wake up screaming at some point. She shoves him into the bathroom first and he uses her strawberry shampoo and doesn’t bother to even attempt anything resembling his usual process for cleaning up.

While she takes her turn, he pulls on the clothes she set out. A Hawkins Band tee shirt that’s a little tight and a pair of gym shorts that are probably bigger than his own. He’s almost dozing when she starts messing with his hair, helping to dry it without him even noticing she’d finished her shower. It’s more a nervous movement than anything, but it feels nice.

“We’re going to need to keep some of your clothes here, you know.”

“Why?”

“So you have something to wear, obviously.”

Obviously. Because he’s going to stay with her sometimes. He should have her clothes at his place too then, even if he’s perfectly willing to let her raid his closet. He likes the idea though, the plan to mesh themselves together already. He’s never had anyone in his life who’s made themselves at home in his heart this quickly.

He’s not sure when he drifts off, when she tugs him the rest of the way onto the bed, when she pulls the blanket up, only distantly feels the way she leans into him, the way he reflexively curls into her.

She feels like she’s always been here with him and he can’t figure out how he lived without her.

----------

Robin is perfect.

Not like, literally, and it’s not the same as when he’d say it about Nancy.

That’s the other thing that he figures out with her. He’s really not in love with Nancy. He’d said it, but it really sinks in later. It sinks in the first time they talk about romance, as he tries to give her flirting advice while she laughs at him and asks if he needs a new whiteboard.

They do mingle their closets too, as planned. She still steals his clothes, and he ends up wearing her tee shirts more than his own. She takes him thrifting and shows him all her secrets and he teaches her the art of negotiation in stores.

(She’s in awe when he talks down a sales clerk over a stain that he then magics away in the laundry room at his house.)

He shows her how he learned to cook and she helps him to get creative with new ideas. She demands the first bite every time, and he’s happy to share it.

Her parents welcome him though. Her mom teaches him more about first aid than he learned lifeguarding, and her dad teaches him more about cars in his spare time. He’d known some, but it’s nice, being taught instead of just figuring things out on his own through trial and error. It doesn’t take long for him to get fully intermingled in the Buckley family and it’s the most love he’s ever felt.

Somewhere between the whiteboard and that first night spent sharing a bed, they become SteveAndRobin. Somewhere between her mom finishing her shift and finding them curled up on the couch watching cartoons (because after being exposed to terrifying monsters and soldiers, cartoons are necessary) and her dad coming home to find all three of them wrapped up in it, he finds out he fits perfectly in this space.

Somewhere between the first family dinner and the start of the school year, he unofficially becomes a Buckley.

Sitting there in the hospital waiting room, collapsed into a chair because he’s never felt this exhausted, with Robin at one side and Dustin at the other, with Erica and Lucas whispering with Nancy, with Eddie and Max in surgery, he feels it all building up. All the feelings he’d tried to push down, the fear and panic and pain, bubbling up to the surface. He’s not really looking where his eyes are aimed, not even paying attention until Robin is forcing his heavy, aching limbs up and toward an empty room. She gives him a look as she leaves him on the bed and he’s not even confused about her leaving him there to go back to the waiting room because it’s better if she stays with Dustin anyway.

Except then the door is opening again, with a familiar and welcome sight stepping in.

And then it’s all too much.

Those emotions bubble over with a half-sobbed “Mom” and then arms are around him, holding him together as he splinters into a million pieces.

His mother smells like expensive perfume, floral and chemical and strong. But Betty Buckley smells like antiseptic and cinnamon and it’s the most comforting smell in the world right then.

She doesn’t question the grime or blood staining his clothes, doesn’t try to get him to tell her what happened, just holds him because he can’t break in front of the kids, can’t let them see how much he’s struggling right now. He needs this, is the thing. He hasn’t really broken down yet because he has to be the strong one, he has to be tough, even if it kills him, but she’s safe. She’s safe enough for him to let go.

She lets him get it all out, and still doesn’t ask anything. It doesn’t really matter, not at the moment, so she just brushes his hair off his forehead, uses a damp cloth to wipe away some of the dirt, helps him to pull on scrubs before halting that process to treat his back and arms and sides and neck. He’s gone a little numb, but she moves quick anyway. And then he’s on his back, an IV hooked into his hand, and she’s pressing a kiss to his forehead and telling him to rest.

So he does.

It’s not a conscious decision, more like he was just waiting for someone to tell him he could.

When he wakes, Robin is in the bed next to him. Dustin is on a rolling cot against the wall. He knows without knowing that Max is down the hall, Lucas and Erica are with her, and Nancy is probably bossing around everyone in that way she does that he can’t help respecting. He doesn’t stay awake long.

----------

He’s going stir crazy.

There’s a lot of mixed feelings. On one hand, he’s slept a lot. On the other, the town is a little broken. Robin and Dustin are volunteering, and he’ll join them when he can get out there, but Richard Buckley is under strict orders to keep him from making an escape. The plant has been temporarily shut down, and he’s a glass half-full kind of guy, but it’s really inconvenient for Steve’s desire to be out of the hospital.

He still loves him though, really.

He finally gets a window when Rich steps out for real food.

(It had been hilarious when he and Robin established their dads are both “Richard”, but while Steve’s dad thinks shortening it sounds ridiculous, Robin’s dad loves to give himself new short names at every opportunity. The week he wanted to go by Chard was a fun week.)

He goes for the door, playing nonchalant, and is dismayed to find someone sitting outside.

“He told me you’d try and escape,” the man says, not looking up from his newspaper.

“I’m not escaping,” he lies.

“Humor me.” The man looks over at him then and Steve has to bite back his surprise. “Huh. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say your last name isn’t Buckley.”

“It’s not.”

“Then why have I been hearing for months about Ritchie’s boy?”

“Technically I am that.”

“Not the right one though.”

“No, but that’s sematics.”

“You’re missing an ‘n’ there, son.” The correction is gentle, carrying the tone of someone who’s used to reminding someone else of little details. For some reason, it doesn’t sting like it did when other people corrected him.

“Right, yeah.”

“You had a bit of blood loss, I hear. Maybe you should lay back down again.”

“I can’t. There’s…people are out there and need help. Other people got hurt worse than me. I can’t just lay here and do nothing.”

“You’re not doing nothing, you’re recovering.”

“I’m fine.”

“Doesn’t sound like you are,” he half mumbles, and god, it’s so familiar it aches.

“I don’t know why you’re focused on keeping me in bed. You of all people should be fine with me going out there to help out.” There’s a beat of silence, where Steve thinks he maybe overstepped, getting just a sigh in return.

“Maybe. But I know damn well how important you are to a friend of mine and he asked for a favor. I’m not about to let him down.”

“Mr. Munson –”

“Wayne.”

“…Wayne. You should go back to Eddie. He needs you more.”

“He’s got a visitor already. I’m not hovering.”

“I think you’re hovering a bit here.”

“Well opinions are like assholes, son. Everyone’s got one.” It’s enough to startle a laugh out of him, as Wayne stands up and ushers him back into the room. He didn’t notice while he was standing there as the pain in his muscles, the itching of the scabs, the exhaustion in his bones, creeps back up on him. He protests, but doesn’t really fight as he’s nudged back into the too firm mattress.

“Get some more rest, kid. Long days are coming, take advantage while you can.”

----------

“I just don’t get it!”

“Is he still talking about this?”

Robin’s groan is the only answer he needs. Dustin, back on his usual arguments after saving the world again, is expanding his hobby. Now he’s not just bugging Steve and Robin about their love life (love lives?), he’s dragging others in on the argument too.

“Dusty-buns, you seem to be awful involved in this,” Eddie teases. “Maybe you have a crush on Robin.” She makes a face, throws a marshmallow at him, and Steve snorts as he cackles.

“No! I just don’t know why they won’t date! Eddie, back me up on this,” Dustin says. “They’re perfect for each other! They laugh at the same jokes, share clothes all the time, and don’t even argue, Steve, I’ve seen her wear your jeans before and you’ve worn her sweaters. They share food with each other, spend all their time together, and they share chapstick!”

“Hey, we don’t spend all our time together! Sometimes I wait for her to bike to my house.”

“Not helping, babe.”

“See!” Dustin is probably seconds from losing his marbles, and Steve really should put him out of his misery, but it’s too funny still.

“You’re missing some key information, boy-genius,” Eddie says.

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that they’re never going to date.”

“That’s what doesn’t make sense!”

“Robin, pass me our chapstick,” Steve says, just to make Dustin a little more insane.

“You had it last. Steven, did you lose our chapstick?”

“I definitely gave it back to you.”

“Here you go,” Eddie says, tossing the little tube to Steve with a grin. Dustin’s eyes dart between the three of them like he’s just gotten new information.

“Eddie. Are you…dating Robin?”

It’s Steve’s turn to groan, and he doesn’t need to look to see the face Robin is making.

“Jesus Christ, Henderson, Eddie is dating me!” Now he’s silent. And Steve is going to panic if he stays silent.

“Huh. That makes a lot of sense. You were weirdly jealous.”

“I was what? No I wasn’t!”

“You kind of were,” Robin adds.

“And it makes sense why you wouldn’t date Robin, who is literally perfect for you.”

“How many times do I have to tell you we’re just friends.”

“Yeah, and I could be literally perfect for him, pipsqueak,” Eddie says, grabbing one of Robin’s marshmallows to throw at him.

“You and Robin are still weirdly codependent, it has to be said,” Dustin insists, batting away Eddie’s attempts to ruffle his hair.

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you get psychically linked to each other. Get used to it, Henderson.”

“You’re what?!” Eddie and Dustin’s voices overlap, but they’re both drowned out by his and Robin’s laughter.

Their expressions alone are worth the lecture they’re going to get about keeping secrets.

[fastandcarlos]

Whole World On Your Shoulders : ̗̀➛ Lewis Hamilton

summary: with the pressures of his upcoming move weighing down on him, lewis counts on you to reassure him that he's doing the right thing

Your eyes followed Lewis carefully as he walked through your home, watching him drop his bag with a thud, brushing his hands over his face. You placed your phone down, studying him closely as you noticed the frustration that was evident in his expression. 

“Everything alright?” You asked, offering Lewis a soft smile, only for that to drop when he didn’t return it. Instead, he scuffed his feet on the ground, throwing himself down beside you. 

“I can’t win,” Lewis sighed, feeling your arms quickly wrap around his frame, pulling him into your chest. “I’m doing well with Mercedes but people keep making me feel guilty about leaving. And now I’m winning again, Ferrari are telling me about all these expectations they have for me.” 

“I'm sorry," you whispered, pressing a kiss against Lewis' head as he cuddled himself into your side, desperate for a touch of comfort from your hold. 

Your head rested on top of his, entangling your legs in with his own. “I’ve got so much pressure on my shoulders right now, there’s so many people who I need to try and impress, what if I mess up and just end up disappointing everyone?” 

“That’s not going to happen Lew, you’ve not disappointed anyone in nearly twenty years of racing.” 

It broke your heart seeing how frail Lewis was as he held you, struggling to maintain his composure. For quite some there had been a little bit of pressure, it was only natural for someone who was about to sign with Ferrari, but as contract start came closer, the pressure was only mounting more. 

“What am I supposed to do baby?” Lewis nervously asked you, tilting his head back slightly to try and look up at you. 

His voice sounded as if it was on the verge of desperate, a tone from Lewis that you hadn’t heard for quite some time. He liked to be composed and not let you in whenever he was struggling, but today it seemed as if he had decided that he was going to do the complete opposite. 

“No matter what I do I’m upsetting someone, it’s bitter for Mercedes but a joy for Ferrari that I’m doing well right now,” Lewis continued to huff, “they keep telling me they’re happy for me, but I know they don’t mean it, they don’t want me to go.” 

Your hand brushed gently over the top of his head, “you don’t need to worry about all of them, you need to focus on doing what’s best for you, regardless of who you upset.” 

Lewis hummed in agreement with what you had to say, he’d spent so long working as part of a team, but now his new decision was a selfish one. His career didn’t have much longer left and he wanted to make the choices that would be best for him, not for anyone else. 

The biggest cheerleader for him when making that decision was absolutely you. You’d encouraged him immensely to make the call that was best for him. Whether it was Mercedes or Ferrari, you were going to support him with it regardless. 

“Thank you,” Lewis whispered, “for always being here for me to help me out.” 

You never wanted to be thanked by Lewis, you never expected it from him either. All you did was care, and if you were needed to pick him back up and give him a boost, then you were going to do that without even having to think about it. 

“You know, people would dream about being you,” you told him. 

“They'd be stupid too," Lewis scoffed, "I wouldn’t want anyone to have to work under the pressure that I'm working under. The only reason I manage it most of the time is because I have you here.” 

“I’m nothing to do with this,” you laughed, only for Lewis’ head to shake as you spoke. 

He wished you saw more of the impact you had on him and how helpful all of the little things that you did were for him. “Just you being here means the world love, the feeling of knowing I’m not alone makes such a difference,” he admitted. 

You could feel in Lewis’ hold just how much he wanted, or needed, to have you there. He was terrified of you letting go, the one person who he could always count on leaving him. You didn’t even need to do or say anything, just being there was more than enough for him. 

“I’m incredibly proud of you, I don’t tell you that enough,” you mused. 

Your words were like music to Lewis’ ears, the perfect pick up that he needed. At times it felt like no one was proud of him now, they were disappointed, confused, some even angry, but they didn’t understand Lewis like you did, they didn’t understand why the decision needed to be made. 

“Will you be there at the last few races?” Lewis tentatively asked, taking a tight hold of your hand. “It’s going to be tough, and I’d really love for you to be there, for me.” 

Without even thinking, your head nodded in response to his question. If he was honest, he was terrified of leaving Mercedes, leaving everything that had become so comfortable over the past decade, it was a goodbye that was going to be far from easy. 

“I don’t say it enough, but I really am thankful for all that you do,” Lewis told you once again, “not many people could put up with someone like me.” 

It had its difficulties dating Lewis, you couldn’t deny it, but that was far outweighed by all the positives. You didn’t want the easy life, you enjoyed the challenges, the highs and the lows, all the boring bits and the exciting bits that left you thrilled. 

“I’m going to be right here to ease that weight you’re carrying on your shoulders,” you insisted, “you don’t ever have to worry about carrying it alone.” 

“I know,” Lewis smiled, “that’s what makes us such a good team.” 

You hummed in agreement with Lewis, you two clicked perfectly together, you had such a clear understanding of one another and knew exactly how to be there for the other. 

“I don’t quite know how the next season is going to pan out, I can’t promise that next year will be easy, but I’m still going to be there and putting you first,” Lewis assured you, kissing against the top of your shoulder. “It’s going to be a rollercoaster, but that’s how we like it.” 

“You always promised me life wouldn’t be easy.” 

Relief hit you as a chuckle came from Lewis, “I’ve no doubt it’s going to be amazing, because we’ll be right there together.” 

Ferrari was going to be new to everyone, but you had every confidence that it would work out, if anyone knew how to overcome a challenge, it was definitely Lewis. 

“Try not to worry about everything that’s coming our way,” you whispered, “for once, we’re going to be selfish for a while.” 

Lewis nodded in agreement, “it’s about time that we put ourselves first for a little while, don’t you think?” 

“I couldn’t agree more, we’ve got to be our number ones for once.” 

“Screw what anyone else thinks anyway.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[lecsainz]

May I request a Luke Castellan x reader who happens to be Annabeth’s older sister? They like each other, but they pretend they don’t. Thank you!

˒ ⌕ I THINK YOU’LL LIKE

parings: luke castellan x chase!reader

summary: that one where you're annabeth's older sister, and you and luke like each other but don't admit it.

an: YAY, I'M SO EXCITED FOR TODAY'S EPISODE! I think I might have lost my way in the writing 🤦🏼‍♀️. and if there are any grammar mistakes, forgive me 🙃

( last work || go to main masterlist )

You had woken up early that morning, expecting it to be like any other—getting up, getting ready, and heading to the arena to train the younger campers. You enjoyed the routine, especially passing by Hermes' cabin to catch a glimpse of Luke interacting so amiably with his half-siblings, causing your heart to skip a beat.

Determined to head to the training area, you were interrupted by a younger camper who needed help tying the laces of their worn-out sneakers.

"I thought you had this down, Claire," you said to the daughter of Hermes while expertly looping the shoelaces.

"I couldn't figure out what you did at the end," she murmured, glancing around as if expecting someone.

You eyed the younger girl suspiciously and proceeded to show her how to tie the knot. "Well, you just need to—"

"Hey, Y/N." Luke cut in as he jogged towards you.

Standing up, you turned to face Luke and saw him handing out sweets to Claire.

"I can't believe you just did that," you accused, pointing a finger at him.

"I didn't set anything up." He raised his hands, laughing as if surrendering. "I like your braid." Luke approached, tucking away a loose strand of your hair. "Suits you."

Feeling your cheeks warm, you stepped back from the brunette and crossed your arms.

"What do you want, Luke?" You asked curiously, starting to walk as you noticed some kids from your cabin heading in the direction you were supposed to be going.

Luke matched your pace. "Can't a dear friend want to see you?" He asked, and you felt one of your hands brushing against his as you walked side by side. "Actually, I-I..." He was interrupted by Annabeth calling out to you.

You both stopped, and Luke stepped back, scratching his neck as if embarrassed.

"Luke! Y/N!" You watched your sister come towards you. "Come on, Y/N, I've got a new tactic I want you to try with the bow," Annabeth said excitedly, pulling you towards the arena.

"Go on, then!" Luke waved to you. "Mind not hitting any campers with your bow, Y/N/N." He teased.

"You're an idiot, Castellan," you teased back, running off with Annabeth while hearing Luke's laughter.

The journey to the arena was short, but Annabeth wouldn't stop discussing the idea she had for the next capture the flag.

"He likes you," Annabeth halted before the arena entrance and stared at you.

You stopped and laughed at her. "He doesn't."

"He does," she insisted. "And you like him too." She slung her arm around your shoulder, amused because you and Luke were obvious to everyone at camp except yourselves.

"He's just a friend, Annie," you said as you both entered the arena.

The morning passed swiftly, not because you dwelled on what Annabeth had told you earlier or because Luke wanted to talk to you earlier. Soon enough, you found yourself alone in the arena, searching for your broken bow and arrows, supposed to be where you always left them but nowhere to be found today. Determined to fix it, you murmured, "I'm sure I left it here," while scanning through various other campers' bows.

"You left it here," Luke appeared behind you.

"Gods!" You startled, placing a hand on your chest and turned to him, annoyed.

"I didn't know I was that ugly to startle you," Luke said, leaning against a table nearby.

"You're not ugly, Luke," you mumbled softly, looking at him. "Wait what do you have behind you?" You asked, approaching him.

"Nothing," he murmured, turning so you couldn't see what he was hiding.

"Let me see, Luke," you stepped closer, trying to grab whatever he was holding.

Luke stepped back, and you stepped forward, causing both of you to collide and end up almost face to face, except for the height difference.

"I really want to kiss you right now," Luke spoke softly, and you wondered if you heard that correctly.

Summoning courage, you looked at him and locked eyes with his mouth. Luke released what he was holding, brushing a hand on your waist, pulling you closer. He looked at you, waiting for some sign of confirmation, and you stood on tiptoes and kissed him. Luke's hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in. Time seemed to stop as your lips met in a gentle yet fervent kiss, a mix of warmth and electricity passing between you.

When you pulled away, a gentle smile graced Luke's lips, and you were sure you were blushing. You rested your head on his chest, and he placed a kiss on your head. "I have something for you," Luke suddenly spoke and moved away to where he had hidden something. "That's why I wanted to talk to you earlier, but Annie showed up, and..."

"So, you used Claire to delay me?!" You accused, laughing, then stopped when you realized what he was holding.

"Don't blame me; I wanted to surprise you." Luke explained, and you couldn't help but find it endearing that he sought help to surprise you. "I saw it broken yesterday." He extended your bow towards you. "I tried fixing it myself, but I don't have the skills of a Hephaestus kid," he chuckled nervously. "I think you’ll like."

You took your bow from him, amazed at Luke's gesture. "It's perfect, Luke," you ran your hand over the drawings - more like scribbles - that weren't there before. "I love it." Surprising him, you hugged him, and Luke let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Thank you, truly."

Luke hugged you back, his arms enfolding you with a mixture of surprise and contentment. "Anytime, Y/N." he murmured, his voice soft.

You pulled away, holding the repaired bow with a newfound appreciation. "I can't believe you did this," you said, a smile lighting up your face. "You're more talented than you think, Luke."

He scratched the back of his head, a bashful grin spreading across his features. "Well, I had some inspiration." Luke's eyes met yours, holding a warmth that sent a rush of comfort through you.

"Thank you, Luke," you repeated, feeling genuinely grateful. "I owe you one."

He chuckled softly. "How about you owe me a rematch at capture the flag?"

You laughed, nodding in agreement. "You're on, Castellan."

[cherrifire]

Not sure if this has been asked before, but why did Scar and Martyn choose the cutie marks they did for their pony disguises? Or did they not choose them? :0

RIGHT! Now I can talk about the fake cutie marks! So everything I said about Martyn and Scar’s cutie marks before was a LIE >:)

So Martyn’s cutie mark, if you recall, was of a log and twig. I said it was to represent the fact Martyn is a wanderer at heart, but that's not true.

Simply, when Martyn ran away from the hive, he had to come up with a permanent disguise and fast. He had to blend in to not scare the ponies of the first town he ran into, but he couldn't just pretend to be someone else since he hadn't had enough time to spy in on somepony and properly get into character. So he improvised and made his cutie mark a log he passed while running.

Then it just sort of stuck. He made up the name (Littlewood) and started wandering from town to town. Then when he got hungry, he'd steal somepony's life for a day, eat their love, then move on. Rinse and repeat until he makes it to Dogwarts where he meets Ren and accidentally becomes the element of laughter. This is where he gets a bit more confident, wanting to be a little honest with his new friends, and tells them part of his real name, adding "Martyn." Making his name "Martyn Littlewood." Permanent.

And as for Scar's, instead of picking one immediately and sticking to it, Scar's cutie mark changes CONSTANTLY.

One of the bits I intended for Scar (which some people have already picked up on) is Scar is sort of like Derpy? In a sense where if this was an actual show with animation, Scar would end up with a good amount of "animation errors." He's supposed to be an earth pony with the coins + bag + top hat cutie mark, but sometimes he's... animatied wrong.

Sometimes he's a pegasus, sometimes he gets a unicorn horn. And his cutie mark keeps changing. One time it was a bundle of coins, another time it was just the top hat. Once it was just a grey and white cat! Sometimes the colour to his mane is wrong. Etc. Etc.

These "animation errors" would get brushed away for a bit as just Scar being Scar. The pony sadly getting all the errors in this show. But this is where Scar is a little different from Derpy, because in the end it's revealed he's a CHANGELING and all those "errors" were intentional foreshadowing.

On Scar's end, he simply just keeps switching appearances because 1. He thinks it's funny and 2. He just can't decide what he likes! He wants to try out every appearance he can and can't decide on what's the best! Yeah, Cub keeps telling him to "stick to one disguise," and "we're going to get caught if you keep doing that," and "Scar where did you even get that cat???" But Scar really likes messing with the little details! He wants it to be perfect :(

[emmyrosee]

Can we talk about how rintaro probably swallows your engagement ring by accident?

Honestly? Okay listen… Do you think he swallows it? I think he swallows it.

Because like okay. Rintaro puts a ton of planning behind everything he does, he wants to make your engagement this massive scene out of a movie because you’re out of a movie; you swooped into his life and showed him the path he wants to be on, the one that always leads back to you.

But like. Why would everything not crumble around him each and every time he tries to work up the courage to finally pop that four word phrase?

It was supposed to be simple. It was supposed to be easy.

An engagement ring, propped on some frosting on the center of the cake, ready for you to scoop up and slip on and give him an excited yes and the world would clap and he’d get a Nobel prize or something for such an extravagant proposal.

Except. That doesn’t happen.

The first bite Rintaro takes, he shovels in his mouth nervously, and there’s a massive shock to his teeth when they clank down hard on the ring on his cake.

How he didn’t notice? How the waiter messed them up? He blames it on the waiter.

Him swallowing the ring..? Yeah no. That’s got him written all over it.

His nerves just got the best of him and sends the large diamond down his throat, eyes bulging out as he realizes. He chokes briefly, grabbing his wine and gulping it down to wash the jewelry down.

Uh oh.

“Baby?” You ask. “Something wrong?”

“…nope.”

The rest of dinner is silent, you trying desperately to make conversation and his mind going insane trying to process what to do next.

Your engagement ring, the object that completely envelops your love in a physical sense is floating in the acids of his stomach, and who knows what the next step in the plan is.

He dreads it.

The car ride is complete silence, you occasionally clearing your throat or sighing to try and strike a conversation, but Rin’s mind is on a complete other planet, trying to make a map of his next move and how to get the ring 1.) out of his body and 2.) to you.

Is he really going to give you a ring he ate? He can’t. That’s vile. But he can’t spend the money on another one, even if it is more than worth it to spend it on you, and-

“Rin,” you whisper, touching his thigh. “You just blew a red light.”

“Damn- I’m sorry,” he apologizes.

“Don’t be sorry… is everything alright?”

“Just fine.”

“Are you mad at me?”

His foot slams hard, hard on the breaks, causing commotion behind him as the wailing of car horns fills the air. “God, baby, no, of course not!”

“Then why have you been so quiet?” You ask sadly.

“I can’t tell you.” Out of embarrassment and stupidity, he thinks to himself.

You leave it at that. You go quiet again, and when he makes a move to rest his hand on your thigh, you turn away, and his whole heart sinks.

The rest of the ride home drags on. There’s no more attempts of noise, no more sighs or clearing of throats, only the roar of the engine for a few more miles until you get home. He barely gets the chance to park the car before you’re out and storming up the driveway, clearly upset with the situation. He sighs and follows you in, and you’ve hiked up the stairs to the bathroom. He winces at the slam of the door, and he’s quick to call osamu for advice.

Advice that the twin gives him around countless gawfs of unhelpful, judgmental laughter.

He tells Rintaro to calm down and stop being weird towards you- take a spoonful of laxatives mixed in with water and let the body “process” for as long as it needs to. Get you a new ring, trash the old one and mourn the loss of money after you two get engaged.

He sighs and ends the call, making his way to the upstairs bathroom where he keeps the medicine. You brush past him in a towel, refusing to acknowledge him or his presence with so much as a “hmph.”

The shower he takes alone is cold, his mind is loud and his heart is pounding and his stomach queases for more than a few reasons. How could he have messed this up so badly? It was supposed to be cute! Just flashy enough for him to flaunt you, but simple enough to not be messed up.

Yet he messed it up.

Rintaro dries himself and makes his way into the bedroom, where you’re already burrowed under the covers on your side of the bed. He throws on some form of pajama before making his way downstairs to make his laxative drink.

One tablespoon of laxative mixed with water, allow body to process for one day before repeating, let all powder dissolve before drinking- he follows every single one of the thorough instructions completely, and he starts to drink the concoction with a scowl of disgust.

The hell is this made out of?

“What’re you still doing up?” You ask, and he swallows the last of the laxative with a wince.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he confesses. Then, he sighs and turns to face you, and your face tells him everything he needs to know.

You’re still upset.

“Listen,” he begins, carding a massive hand through his hair. “About tonight. It was absolutely nothing you did. It was my fault, and my annoyance and attitude had nothing to do with you.”

“Okay,” you sigh, but there’s an unconvinced lilt in your voice.

“I wanted this to be a perfect night, I wanted it to go so well-“

“Rinnie?”

“And I’m sorry, about my silence in the restaurant,” he sniffles, big hands pressing against his face and rubbing roughly. “The chef was supposed to put it on our cakes and his little rat waiter messed it up, and-“

“Put what on our cakes?”

“YOUR ENGAGEMENT RING!” He groans in complete agony. “Your ring! Fuck! I tried so hard to make the perfect proposal, and I just wanted it to be beautiful-“

“My… my ring?”

“Uh…. Yeah?”

“My engagement ring?”

Your bottom lip wobbles, and he feels like he’s going to upchuck every bit of food he’s ever eaten.

Though that may not be the worst thing at this point.

“You wanna marry me?” You wail, collapsing to your knees in excitement. He perks up slightly, slipping of his seat to join you on the floor.

“Of course I want to marry you,” he confesses. “God, I’ve… I’ve wanted to marry you for the past three years, I got the ring perfect four months ago.” He blinks out a line of tears to mimic yours, and you cup his cheeks in your trembling palms. “But every time I tried to propose, something went wrong, and I… I didn’t know how to do it anymore. I’m sorry baby…”

“Rintaro,” you say softly, chuckling around the your quivering voice. “I never needed a big proposal. Ever. All I ever want is for you to promise me we’ll be together. And that’s more than enough.”

His face softens before he lets a hand smack his face in obliviousness, disappointed in himself that he got so lost in trying to impress you that he almost didn’t.

“Put it on me!” You squeal, holding out your hand. He turns a scarlet red and looks away.

“I uh… I can’t.”

You deflate slightly, and he gives you an embarrassed smile. “Why not?” You whimper, emotionally fried from the rollercoaster he just put you on.

“I don’t have it.”

“What!”

“I mean, technically i do,” he says, gnawing his lip. “But I… uhm… I can’t give it to you yet. I uh… I need a few days. And… a few cleaners to look at it.” He gives you a shy chuckle and his toothy grin is mixed with frightened eyes, and your own widen. “The uhm… the ring was on the cake…”

Your hands clasp over your mouth, tears immediately drying and replacing with small, choked and stifled laughter.

“You didn’t,” you manage. He nods, uncomfortable. “Did… did you eat my ring, Rintaro?”

“It wasn’t my fault! Damn waiter gave us the wrong cakes!”

“AND YOU SWALLOWED IT?”

“I WAS NERVOUS, OKAY?”

“RINTARO!”

You two clutch each other on the cold kitchen floor as you laugh, heads knocking against each other as you steal kisses from between cackles.

“I’ve got an idea,” he says once you’ve both seemed to calm down, and he quickly pops on his feet to grab the bread on the counter. With the twist tie, he takes it off the bread and makes his way back to you. “Give me your hands.”

The tie only fits around the top part of your ring finger, and you sniffle softly at how silly and sweet this whole thing is.

“We’re gonna get married,” he says between an emotional wheeze. “And we’re going to grow old together, have our nine dogs and four cats.”

“No kids?”

“Ew gross.”

“Yeah, sure, as if you don’t bend to my every whim bro.” You shift slightly to rest your back against his chest, curling against his still sitting frame. “And our kids are going to love the Miyas-“

“Because you love the Miya’s. I have nothing to do with that.”

“As if Osamu’s not going to be your best man,” you scoff. He smirks and buries his face in your hair, listening to your words weave through his brain and calming him down from the disaster of a night.

Then, he hums, “you want to take my last name?” He asks, and you give him a small swat on the leg. “What! Im just asking!”

“Of course I’m going to take your last name,” you say, turning your head up to face him. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Yeah?” He asks breathlessly, tearing up again when you nod.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

[markscherz]

Can I ask how you feel about your Tumblr fame?

I get the impression you just made this account for normal casual funsies reasons, but it kinda blew up by happenstance. If that's right, I'm curious if now you feel like it's kind of a more serious thing, where you have an opportunity to sorta act as a science communicator with a reach you otherwise might not?

Or maybe something else? You gonna see if you can somehow leverage your Tumblr fame to get research funding? Deputize us to harass polluters and developers destroying habitats? Crowdsource name ideas for new species?

It's a bit bizarre, in that it has very little real-world-ness to it. I showed my mother the ongoing tumblr celebrity poll, and she was like 'how many people could possibly be interested in frogs?', to which I replied 'well as of today about 46,000 and counting'.

I have always had an unhealthy relationship with fame. I spent most of my teen and young adult life fawning after it, as is I suppose very often the case.

More after the cut…

I always really wanted to be famous, but I was never really interested in changing who I was or what I represented in that pursuit. That is to say, I wanted to be known for what I was already doing, or for things that were already interesting for me, rather than things that might have much higher chances of success but require more effort or be less in line with the things that I am interested in.

I had my first brush with virality in 2012, when a poem I wrote went a little viral (largely thanks to StumbleUpon). I remember the rush of seeing how much attention it was getting, and staying up late to keep refreshing the page as the visitor numbers went up and up and up.

But not long after that, I had some closer encounters with fame and people becoming famous. That was extremely eye-opening. I witnessed first hand how strongly that can affect someone's life, for good and for bad. That experience also made me realise, quite jarringly, that famous people are still just people; that celebrity is something extrinsic to them; that they also wipe their own butts (if they are able); and that in many cases, it is a substantial inconvenience if not downright pain in the ass for them. I think this is why we see so many of the big celebrities having mental health crises or trying to live as much of their lives out of the public eye as possible.

That experience pretty much stifled my desire to achieve fame, and really changed my relationship with it. I should add that I could say much more on this topic, but nothing so coherent or insightful as John and Hank Green, who have given me so much clarity on this topic over the years through their thoughtful commentary on youtube and their podcasts.

Anyway, in spite of the fact that fame itself doesn't really appeal to me anymore, I do still have a problem wherein I quickly became addicted to the microdosing of euphoria associated with every reblog and like and follow. So I put huge efforts into social media in order to try to gain traction in the space that I felt I could really compete in—Very Niche SciComm™—and build up a following.

Tumblr was the first platform where I felt that really succeed; I managed to fight my way to a few thousand followers with a thick queue of regular posts about herpetology and other science. At that time, there was a great community building up in the rudimentary private messaging system—I am still friends with several other tumblr bloggers from that era (none of whom I have ever met in person). From that early time (2013), I think my most successful post was probably this one about germination of 32,000 year old seeds—a post that, as of today, has 836 notes, but at the time felt huge and exhilarating.

As I went through gradschool, I got more and more active on twitter, and less and less active on tumblr (by the time I wound down, I had about 8,000 followers on tumblr). This was partly because of the pornbot takeover on tumblr, which meant I basically could not go on the platform in public or at work, but also because the audience and interactions are just fundamentally different. Twitter had a different kind of vibe and energy than tumblr, and there were real SciComm experts there, who were doing it just completely differently. More importantly, I became more focussed on doing outreach aimed at colleagues, rather than non-experts.

Then, in 2017, I hit headlines for the first time. The description of Geckolepis megalepis made it big on social and traditional media, and I had my first experience with real media attention. I had a flurry of late-night phone-calls with journalists in the US. This was a different animal altogether than the few viral posts I had had until that point. It was extremely stressful, but exhilarating. Then in 2018, our chameleon fluorescence story made similar headlines, and in 2019 the Mini frogs, and in 2021 with gecko fluorescence and the smallest chameleon.

Seeing my name on the BBC News website and in the New York Times and National Geographic—those things have been the most surreal moments of near-fame I have experienced so far. The number of followers on social media is quite difficult to conceptualise, but seeing your own name in a media outlet that you consume regularly, or have grown up with, is more palpable.

In any case, I continued to run with twitter as my main platform for years, because I found the interaction with colleagues and other academics highly stimulating. In 2021, I even posted a twitter thread about a different species of frog from Madagascar every day for the full year. All this work was ultimately greeted with mediocre success; I just crested over 10,000 followers a few months before the Musth takeover. But then the platform became basically unusable. And in the fallout, I came back to tumblr, where, just by chance, I happened to find a post about the Mini frogs and reply to it and it went properly viral and now here we are. In the space of a year, I went from having 8000 followers to having >46,000.

How do I feel about that? It's bonkers. I think it is great that so many people are interested in hearing the Good News about frogs and other creatures. But I also feel like I am not really on the same playing field as most of the others in that poll mentioned above, in that I do not have any of the celebrity that several others have. And I know for a fact that there are fanblogs with far, far larger followings than I have. But perhaps that is the great thing about tumblr; that the playing field is somehow levelled…

What's the point of this ramble? Well, first I guess it is to outline that I have given fame a lot of thought over the years, and I have a long-standing and complicated relationship with it, and take it quite seriously. Second, to illustrate that I have been working on as a science communicator or person in outreach for many years—it has kind of been my social media brand since I started gradschool in 2013. And third, to kind of outline how we got here, because I often feel like you have to know where an arrow has come from in order to figure out which direction it will continue to fly.

You asked if I would somehow try to leverage my tumblr fame to get research funding—I already do that. In fact, my social media activity had a signfiicant role in landing me my current job, and will continue to help me achieve tenure. Outreach is an important part of my job, and funders like it too.

I would love to have the community-building power and tenacity of the brothers Green; Nerdfighteria has achieved some incredible things over the years, and the power of that community is now being seen at an unprecedented scale in their battle for equitable access for tuberculosis diagnosis and treatment. But I do not have that in me; this platform is the wrong one for community activation, and my community is still too small for that. Moreover, it is not organised or structured, in the way that I think effective deputisation would require.

As for the crowdsourcing of name ideas, that is currently off the table. I like to try to name things on my own or with my colleauges; it is a very good part of the process. And I have yet to hear a suggestion for a Mini species epithet that I had not already come up with myself, so I am not convinced that this would really augment the experience.

So for now, I hope that the main way I use the platform, and the power that comes with a few thousand followers, will be to spread the Good News about frogs and other wonderful animals, and the other kinds of science happening around us (and occasional other off-topic content). I hope that you are encouraged to explore the world around you, and to do your own reading to find out more about the subjects that interest you. And also I will continue to try to make meme-worthy content, because it does nice, if addictive, things in my brain when I get the clicks.

Thanks for asking, anon, and sorry for the Wall of Text.

[moonchild9350]

His Deviant Girl

Summary: Chan teaches you if you do wrong, you must get punished.

Pairing: idol soft dom Chan x fab reader

Genre: smut- 18+ please MDNI

Word Count: 1553

Warnings: masturbation, fingering, squirting, edging, daddy kink, use of term baby girl, dirty talk

Note: idk man, just a look into the inner workings of my mind haha. Mean and unbothered Chan has me in a chokehold right now.

Likes, reblogs, and comments appreciated:) If you'd like to be added to the taglist, please let me know (age must be in bio or pinned to be added)

This is not how Chan is in reality, this is solely for fun.

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission ©moonchild9350 (2024)

Chan was late coming home. This wasn’t a new occurrence, but tonight you wished he was here. You needed some help from your boyfriend.

You came to his dorm right before he was due home, but as the minutes which turned to hours passed, you became antsy, checking in with Chan to see when he would be home. He told you soon and to wait for him, and you wanted to wait, you were his good girl, but your desperation got the better of you.

That’s how you ended up on Chan’s bed, the door to his room closed. You were naked, fingers dragging up and down your belly, shivers running up and down your spine at the light touch. You let out a sigh, the need growing stronger. You brushed your fingers over your nipples, the mounds becoming more hard and erect with each touch, before pinching one of the nipples, the pain causing your to moan out softly.

You slid your hands down, down, down, until you reached your thighs, the light touch feeling like heaven. Gliding your fingers to your mound, you gently stroked a finger through your folds, a whine falling from your lips, trying to stay quiet. You dipped your fingers through your folds again and again, gathering the slick that was beginning to leak from your pussy. With another swipe from your entrance, you brushed your fingers against your clit, before circling your finger once, twice against the bud.

You swiped once more at your clit before bringing your fingers back to your entrance, sliding one finger in, then two, pumping them in and out of your pussy lazily. You closed your eyes and relaxed against the pillow, letting the pleasure spread throughout your body as you pumped your fingers in and out of your walls, trying to keep silent. You brought your other hand down to your pussy, taking two fingers to circle your clit once more, your other hand never breaking rhythm as you fucked yourself with your fingers.

You felt your orgasm approaching, as you rocked your hips up and down, up and down, the pleasure mounting. You wished it were Chan’s fingers making you feel good, your mind running rampant with how he would touch you, kiss you, and help you reach your release.

With another circle of your clit, you were about to let go, before the door to Chan’s room swung open, the man himself entering the room and slamming the door behind him. He looked at you, lust in your eyes but also pain as you felt your orgasm slip away. Chan tsked and shook his head, looking slightly annoyed.

“Now baby girl, are you supposed to be touching yourself?”

You whimpered out as Chan walked over and slapped your hands away from your pussy. He laid next to you, looking you in the eye, his eyebrow raised, waiting for your response.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

You shook your head no, letting out a whimper, “No Channie.”

“No who? Wanna try that again?”

“No daddy,” you responded, squirming around, looking for friction. You went to sit up, but Chan pushed you back down before spreading your legs open again.

“You need to be punished baby girl. You know I’m the only one who can touch this pussy, but you just couldn't wait” he said. “Now keep those legs spread open just like that. No touching, keep those hands at your side. I have some work to do.”

Chan proceeded to grab his laptop and opened it to get started on work. He turned on his stereo, music softly playing in the background. You watched him work, as he typed away on his computer, not looking at you or giving you attention. You let out a whine at the feeling of more arousal leaking out of your pussy, wanting to bring your hands down to where you needed them most. Just one touch, you thought, just one, as you slowly reached down to touch your clit. Chan caught you at the last minute, slapping your hand away once more.

“What did I say hmm? Did I say you can touch?”

Letting out a wail, you whispered no, bringing your hands back down to your side. You sat like that for who knows how long, the sheets below you a mess at this point. You clenched your pussy around nothing, trying to get any relief from your plight.

Finally Chan closed his laptop and set it on the bedside table. You looked over at him, tears forming in your eyes, your lip quivering, and in need of his attention. Chan laid on his side to face you, giving you a smirk.

“Have you learned your lesson?” Chan asked.

You quickly nodded your head, “yes daddy, I…I leaned my lesson,” you replied, a little hiccup falling from your mouth.

“Hmm, daddy had to punish you because this is my pussy and only mine to touch.”

You hummed in response, “It’s yours daddy, your pussy. Please, please need your fingers,” you begged.

Chan lifted his arm and brought it to your thigh, brushing his hand up and down your leg. He slowly made his way to your core, ghosting his fingers against your mound, little whimpers falling from your lips.

Finally, he dragged two of his fingers through your folds before bringing them to your clit, rubbing gentle circles. You let out a moan at the feeling of his hands, gently rocking your hips upwards. Slowly, he dragged his fingers down your folds again before inserting his fingers into your entrance, sliding them between your wet walls.

After a few pumps, Chan curled his fingers upward, rubbing against your sweet spot. He sped up his pace, squelching sounds from how wet your pussy was spreading throughout the room. Chan did not let up, keeping a steady rhythm. You rocked your hips with each thrust, feeling the coil in your belly tighten. You subconsciously brought your finger down to your clit, giving it a few tweaks.

Chan stopped abruptly, withdrawing his fingers from you.

"No, no, no, daddy why!" you wailed, your orgasm fading away again.

"You never learn do you baby girl. You must not want daddy to play with your pussy."

You shook your head, more tears forming in your eyes. You reached out to touch his arm, a silent plea in your eyes. Chan ignored you, grabbing his laptop once more to get some work done. Chan was punishing you and you knew it, but you just couldn't help yourself.

You laid there, legs spread wide, arms at your side, looking at Chan, hoping he would turn his head to see what a good girl you were being, but of course he didn't.

More time passed before Chan sighed, turning to you, "Are you gonna let daddy play with this pussy? Will you behave now?"

You nodded your head, spreading your legs even wider.

Chan brought his fingers back down to your pussy, fingers slipping from the slick smeared all over your pussy. He pushed two fingers once more into your entrance, pumping them in and out before adding a third. You sighed at the stretch, happy that his fingers were back between your legs.

He dragged his fingers against your walls, curling them up to find your sweet spot once more. Chan rubbed and rubbed against your sweet spot, pressing into it a few times, your hips bucking up at feeling. He brought his fingers to your clit, rubbing the bud. Slick was leaking out of your pussy, causing a mess, so wet, squelching sounds could once more be heard each time Chan's finger's dragged through your heat. He sped up the pace again, steady moans falling from your lips, the pitch of your moans increasing, your orgasm approaching.

“Daddy’s making this pussy wet hm? Whose pussy it is baby girl?”

You only let out a groan, not able to form a coherent sentence.

“What was that?” Chan teased.

“Mghh yours…ah..yours daddy. All yours!” You managed to say.

“Yes baby girl, all daddy’s. Do you wanna cum, I can tell you’re close baby. Daddy can always tell.”

“Let me cum! I’ll be a good girl, “ you whimpered, your orgasm was close, just a few more pumps and…

“Cum baby girl, yes that’s it, let it all out,” Chan said, watching as you came, your release gushing out onto his hands and into the sheets. He watched as your thighs spasmed, toes curling, as he continued to press into your sweet spot, helping you ride out your high.

Feeling your orgasm subside, you let out the breath you were holding, your eyes closing briefly before turning to look at Chan. You watched as he withdrew his fingers from your pussy, bringing them to his lips, licking your arousal clean off his fingers.

He withdrew his fingers from his lips with a pop, reaching over to brush the hair out of your face.

“I hope you learned your lesson, let’s not let it happen again ok?”

“Yes daddy,” you responded, giving Chan a weak smile.

He smiled back at you. “Now let’s get you cleaned up,” he said getting up from the bed.

You nodded ok, thinking your plan worked better than expected. You were Chan’s deviant baby girl after all.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @thesilvernight0wl

[fangirl-dot-com]

🎩Track 7 - Look What You Made Me Do

*this chapter was sweet but fun to write! I hope you all enjoy!!*

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

Max thought that apologizing to Logan would have been easy. He’d just go to their hotel the morning after when everyone had had a chance to cool down. What he wasn’t expecting was to learn that you, Logan, and the whole Lamborghini team had packed up and left in the early hours of dawn. 

Oh well, the Dutchman thought that Jeddah would be a good time to truly apologize. 

But, Jeddah came and went and the drivers were still given the cold shoulder. 

During the weekend, Max could see how, well, cocky the two Americans had gotten. But they had a reason to be. When Logan and you were finally put in the interviews together, you shied away from the others. 

Even the podium of a second 1-2, your first win of the season and the first shared podium with Max, was cold. The two of you paid no attention to the Red Bull driver, only seeking out to spray your race engineer Lyla and then the team below. 

Charles had another try in Australia. Another 1-2 and no amendments. At least Logan was currently the championship leader. If he wouldn’t talk, he could at least enjoy the joys that came with being P1. 

Japan ended with Logan in P2, surrounded by Max in P1and Charles in P3. This time, Max had made an executive decision to corner the blond on the way out. He had put his hand on Logan’s shoulder, only for the latter to reel away like Max’s hand burned him. 

Max looked at him with sympathy. “Logan, come on. Please let us apologize.” 

Charles had stood behind Max in some weird moral support. However, that was the wrong choice as Logan now felt trapped. 

With fire, he was able to spit out, “I don’t like your little games or the tilted stage that is supposedly supposed to be yours. I got on that podium and made it mine.”

The Monegasque huffed. “Logan, you’re being unfair.” 

Logan responded with a sarcastic laugh. “You made me play the role of the fool. Just leave me alone.” 

Logan brushed past the two of them and was able to get out with no one else coming up to try to apologize. 

Max sighed, defeated once again. Charles could only offer a hand of comfort, also feeling the hole that you and Logan were supposed to take up in his life. But Max wasn’t about to give up. If there was one thing his dad taught him, it was to keep pushing until you got what you want. 

China also came and went. No progress was made. And yet another podium shared. Logan was back to being P1, then you in P2, and a surprise P3 of Lewis. How the dumpster fire of a Mercedes was able to stay ahead of Max? No one knew. Turns out, Max’s throttle was stuck and he couldn’t overcome it. 

To your surprise, Lewis didn’t push trying to talk to the two of you. He knew first hand that talking in a crowded space wouldn’t work. 

When it was Miami time, the group was still sulking. Their paddle games weren’t the same without Charles making fun of your black and yellow clothes or Logan learning some new Dutch sentence from Max. 

George was thankful to be on the receiving end of a handful of texts from you and Logan. Just mundane things that he was actually relieved to get. Because you or Logan weren’t talking, no one knew really what the two of you were up to. It seemed as though the two of you only posted after races. 

Lewis sighed as he looked at his teammate. “Any news from you know who?” 

It was as if saying your names would cause another blow up to happen. 

George only responded in small grunt. “Looks like they’re back home. Logan texted me that they’re in the same press conference as us, Max, and Charles. It’s going to be like a bomb waiting to go off.” 

The smaller Briton put his head in his hands. “We really messed up.” 

George snorted. “Yeah. But Logan will forgive us. I can feel it.” 

Well, Lewis was right. The tension in the room was so thick that a mere kitchen knife would not be able to cut it. It looked as though you had taken the inside seat, almost protecting Logan from having to sit anywhere near the others. 

Charles felt some hope when you shot him somewhat of a sad smile. But to him, it was progress. Logan, however, looked miserable. George wanted to cry when he resembled the 2023 Williams version of himself. He wanted to lean over you to talk to him, but the questions began to start. 

A woman raised her hand first. 

“Question for Logan. We’ve seen a dominant Lamborghini in the past opening races and we’ve seen that your driving style has changed a bit. Can you tell us a bit about your mindset and how you decided to go about the new car?” 

Logan licked his lips as he brought the mic to his lips. A small smile made its way to his face. 

“I got smarter and I got harder, in well, the nick of time. In December, Lamborghini reached out with an offer than had to be decided quickly. There really wasn’t time to think about it. So, I just went with it.” 

This time a man raised his hand. 

“A question for Y/n. We saw that you and Logan had completely blacked out your social medias. And during that time, some fans thought you had died. Thankfully you didn’t.” 

A few laughs arose from the crowd, you and Logan included. 

The journalist continued. “Can you maybe give us a comment on how you went from, well, your career dying to becoming what it is today?” 

Your quirked an eyebrow and smirked at the man. “I rose up from the dead. I tend to do it all the time. People put me down until I feel like I can’t get back up, and then somehow, I always get back up and then just do my thing. That’s mostly why my nickname is Phoenix for people close to me.” 

Another man raised his hand. “A question for the table. We haven’t see any paddle matches between the six of you in a while. Do you think that this weekend there might be some friendly competition back in the paddock?” 

Beside you, Logan inhaled sharply. 

George took the initiative for this one. “We’ve been very busy with the first few weeks. We all have gone separate ways between weekends. But maybe Charles and Max just got tired of losing to us.” 

Lewis snorted while Max and Charles gawked at the tall Briton. The snort, in turn, made you and Logan chuckle a bit, which was caught on the mic for everyone to hear. Charles rolled his eyes. 

“I am actually a good paddle player. Just someone seems to not want to go for the ball.” 

He was currently giving Max a bombastic side eye while Max narrowed his eyes back at his rival. On the inside though, they were buzzing at the fact that you and Logan had joined in on the banter (even if it was just a few laughs). 

While they were having a stare down, you chose to raise the mic. 

“Like George said, we’ve all been busy. Logan and I fly back to Milan almost every week when we can to keep the car up to the standards that it needs to be.” 

Logan nodded before continuing. “If we want to stay on top, then we have to put in the work for it.”  

The press for the drivers rounded up quickly after a few more questions. The tension was still there, but a few answers of praise for the two from the four lightened things up. 

You and Logan watched as they left, but the two of you took spots in the back to watch the team principals’ conference. You smiled and pointed out how they put Michael right in the middle of James and Zac. Logan could hardly keep his snort in. 

He leaned over and whispered, “Is it bad I want to see him drag James?” 

You shook your head and whispered back, “I want to see it too and Zac.” 

Michael adjusted his shirt and looked out to the crowd. He smiled a bit when he saw you and Logan laughing in the back, shoulder to shoulder. He knew he had one of the best driver lineups of the grid, and he wasn’t about to let them go. Right now, he had some teams contacting him about the length of your contracts. However, he left them unanswered. 

With a clearing of a throat, the journalists settled down as someone asked the first question. 

“For Mr. Vowles, Williams haven��t been doing too well this season so far. However, Alex has mentioned that most of the upgrades from the car had come from Logan himself. Do you think that if you kept Logan on for another year, things might be different?” 

James ran a hand through his hair. “Well, all we can do is throw ‘ifs’ around and speculate a reality that might have happened. I wouldn’t be able to answer that.” 

“Another question for James. How does it feel seeing Logan on the top step almost every weekend so far knowing that he could have had that with Williams?” 

“I personally don’t think Logan would get on the podiums in our car. He got lucky with Andretti and Lamborghini. Honestly, if any of the drivers had the car that they had, they’d probably get the same results.” 

Michael rolled his eyes a bit, knowing that the gesture would be caught on some camera, but he really didn’t care. 

“A question for Mr. Brown. Y/n L/n brought a 75 percent win rate to Arrows’ wins last year. Why did you and McLaren decide to terminate her contract?” 

Zac grunted as he shifted in his seat. “Well, like with all drivers, we just have to look at who is on the market. And going with Alexander seemed like the right choice.” 

The journalist took a breath before continuing. “Do you feel the same after Alexander and the team have failed to obtain points? And Alexander has DNF-ed in the past three races?” 

The McLaren CEO shook his head. “We took a gamble. But I have no doubts in the team. Like I said, we had to keep our options open. Keeping L/n would have just set us back.” 

The same woman who asked Logan a few questions now gestured to Michael. 

“Mr. Andretti, first congratulations to you and your two drivers for leading the championship. I know you must be very proud.” 

Michael smiled as he spoke into the mic, “Thank you very much. I couldn’t be prouder of Logan and Y/n. They both put in so much work during the winter break. I am just glad that we can give them a car that they deserve. They’re both good drivers, and I don’t believe that it was just luck that got them here.” 

The woman smirked, knowing that she was pushing buttons, but no one seemed to mind. 

“Following up with that, how what was the decision like to bring Logan and Y/n to the team after two failed campaigns in both Formula 1 and IndyCar?” 

You leaned over to Logan. “Ooooo it’s about to get good.” 

Your boss smiled as he thought over his question. “Well, we knew that we needed two drivers who were already comfortable with each other. We’re a team first and if our drivers can’t get along or their driving styles aren’t compatible, then we don’t have a firm base. Mr. Tonino and I had a few drivers that we’d be willing to talk to.” 

“And were Y/n and Logan on that initial list?” 

He nodded. “I had a list of names and Logan’s and Y/n’s were in red and underlined. Mr. Tonino was very adamant about the two of them. Because he is the big boss man.”

That made people laugh, including the two of you in the back. 

Michael continued, “He had full say of who he wanted to drive his cars and that happened to be our duo. Looking at the analytics of their driving, they were almost identical. It would have been a shame to let them slip through our fingers.” 

He looked out beyond the crowd at you and Logan. You two were looking back with wide but thankful smiles. He knew that you had given up on your careers in motorsports. He just hoped that he was giving you everything that you could ever want. 

The press conference wrapped up quickly after that. You and Logan found yourselves going over some last minute details before the day was done. Logan sighed as he put his head on the halo of his car. 

Your eyes help sympathy for your boyfriend. You walked over and placed a hand on his back. 

“Come on Logs, talk to me.” 

He turned his head, cheek still pressed against the carbon fiber. 

“I miss them, but they hurt me so much. And I don’t want to be hurt like that again. I don’t trust no one and no one trusts me.” 

You bent a bit to get closer. 

“Listen to me baby. They treated you terribly, but I’ve also seen how happy they are that you gave them a second chance. I really think that they want to be genuine, it all just went a bit too fast. The world moves on, another day another drama, but not for us. We’re still stuck in the mindset that if we mess up, we’ll get booted immediately.” 

Logan sighed as he stood upright to take you in his arms. He kissed the top of your forehead and rested against your hair. 

“I understand. All I’ve been thinking about it karma. It feels like the world moved on, but not me. Like, maybe I got my karma when Williams dropped me, but I feel like they haven’t gotten theirs yet.” 

You snorted and pulled back to look him in the face. 

“Baby, I think Max’s karma is that you’re going to take the championship away from him this year.” 

He smirked down at you. “Oh yeah sweetheart?” 

You leaned your head up to look him in the eyes. “Most definitely. Now, let’s go. We have a sulking rival pair to talk to.” 

Logan went back to his hiding place in your hair. 

“Do we have to?” he whined, really not wanting to talk to them now. 

Your hands went up and ruffled his hair, making him huff. 

“Fine. We can do it after you win your home race.” 

Logan smiled. “But it’s your home race too.” 

“May the best driver win?” 

“May the best driver win.” 

“AND IT’S LOGAN SARGEANT ACROSS THE FINISH LINE IN P1 AT HIS HOME RACE HERE IN MIAMI! Y/N L/N BRINGS IT HOME SECOND, WITH LAMBORGHINI’S FIFTH 1-2 FINISH! GEORGE RUSSELL FINISHES IN P3 WITH MAX VERSTAPPEN ON HIS TAIL!” 

Logan breathed a sigh of relief as he climbed out of his cockpit. As he stood tall, he look around at the screaming crowds. They were all for him and you. You tugged on his sleeve to bring him down into a hug. 

On the side, George stood next to Max and Lewis and just watched as you two bounced up and down in each other’s arms, ecstatic about a home race win. When Max and Lewis left, Logan turned around and headed straight to George. 

The tall Briton was not expecting a hug, but his arms immediately wrapped around the shorter blond. He could feel Logan shaking, maybe signaling that he was crying, but George didn’t say anything. He remembers that he was always the crier during his first points and his first win. The two pulled apart. 

“I’m going to talk to the group later tonight if that’s ok?” Logan asked, wanting to heal his aching heart. 

George nodded and patted his arm. “We’ll talk. Go get your interviews done winner.” 

Logan smiled before giving him one last hug. He jogged over to get weighed and then went to talk to Jensen Button. 

Jensen was happy to see a very smiley Logan, something he hadn’t seen since Bahrain. The older man put a hand on Logan’s shoulder. 

“So Logan, congratulations on bringing Lamborghini’s fifth 1-2 finish this season. How are you feeling?” 

Logan laughed before answering in the mic, “I feel so light, it’s unreal. I just finally feel like I can do my job and do it well.” 

“If you could have a phone call with the old Logan, what would you say or vice versa?” 

“Oh, the old Logan couldn’t come to the phone because he’s dead. I’m really a new person and version of my best self this season and I don’t want to dwell on the past anymore.” 

Jensen chuckled. “Good man. Now go get your trophy.” 

Up on the podium, you, Logan, and George were a stark contrast of the past few races. This time, the two of you interacted with George and sprayed him back. 

When you and Logan changed, you were surprised to see Max, Charles, and Lewis waiting in your garage. Logan looked down at the floor with a guilty expression. He had tears in his eyes when he went to apologize. 

“I am so sorry for how I have acted. I-” 

Lewis held out a hand to stop Logan from talking. The Briton sighed before he spoke. 

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” 

When Logan and you went to retaliate, Max cut you off. 

“If there’s someone who needs to be sorry, it’s us and the entire grid. I know we can’t talk for them, but we can talk for us.” 

Charles took a tiny step forward. 

“Looking back, we should have formally apologized before jumping into some pseudo-friendship that was built on a bad past. We should have treated you better last year and we have no excuses.” 

Lewis took over. “But now we have a chance to do better, to ask for forgiveness. I know the whole saying is ‘forgive and forget’ but there really is no true forgetting. It’s always going to haunt you and us for a while. But we want to start again.” 

Max looked down at the floor. “What we’re saying is that we miss you and we’re hoping that you’ll forgive us.” 

You and Logan shared a quick glance before smiling. 

You turned to Charles. “We’ll take all the ice cream that you can give us and we want to spend time with Max’s cats.” 

The three’s heads shot up and they looked at you with wide eyes. 

Charles gawked. “That’s it?” 

Logan raised an eyebrow. “I mean, we can think of other things if you’d like that. I’ve been wanting a few new cars and a yacht.”

Max winced. “No we can do a cat playdate.” 

The Ferrari driver pulled out his phone. “Getting the ice cream sent now.” 

Lewis looked at them with narrowed eyes. “What do you two want from me?” 

You and Logan smirked at the Mercedes driver. 

“We want Roscoe.”  

venus2 has posted

venus2 oh, look what you made me do

liked by maxverstappen1, sargeantgirlie, lamboduo, and 1,204,294 others

f1_grid_gang dare I say my family is back together??

my_goat_logan OH YEAH THAT'S MY CHAMPIONSHIP LEADER

ferrari&lambo we're looking Logan 👀

lewishamilton yes, I've seen that you and your teammate have kidnapped my dog 🤨

venus2 all for a good cause

phoenix95 he's fine with his siblings and yes all vegan treats ☺️

lewishamilton fine.

logan.nation these are the type of posts I missed

phoenix&venus they got the band back together 😭

nomoreloscar now we just need other drivers to apologize as well

phoenix95 has posted

phoenix95 I'll be the actress staring in your bad dreams ✨

liked by charles_leclerc, Dior, paddlesixtet, and 2,305,869 others

beelamborghini my queen bee 🐝👑

y/n.nation ok but the helmet slaps

lambo_duo nothing is better than seeing those two on the podium

usaF1 that and hearing the star spangled banner almost every week

wtf_isa_km AMERICAAAAA RAWWRRRR 🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅

charles_leclerc was the sparkle necessary petite abeille

phoenix95 better watch it leclerc or Leo is next 🙂

maxverstappen1 Charles, you better run and hide your puppy in those massive pants of yours

phoenix95 🫵🤣

charles_leclerc I thought you liked the cloud pants ☹️

maxverstappen1 wait I do!!

venus2 simp.

rariferrari her lap pace is just 🤌

lambof1 this is just a proper racing team

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[hellvcifer]

CARING FOR YOU WHEN YOU'RE SICK— ଘ drabbles┆part 2

ft. pairings :: charlie, lucifer, adam, angel dust, vox // gn!reader wc :: 3k note :: i am sick (◞‸◟;) so i wanted to bring a little comfort to others in the meantime. enjoy !! warnings :: canon typical language, pet names used instead of y/n (darling, sweetie, love, babe, sweetheart)

꒰ CHARLIE ꒱

The door to your bedroom slammed open, “Okay!” hurried shuffling and fumbled footsteps accompanied a strained voice. “Oh, no! Wait, wait, wait! Ugh.” Charlie was able to grab the glass of water before it fell off her tray. “Got it!” Her arms were filled with extra blankets, a thermometer, a tray topped with a bowl of hot soup and water, about three bottles of pills, and one with liquid medicine. “Phew! Okay!” She scrambled over to the bed you laid in.

You groaned, the throbbing in your head getting worse every time there was a loud noise. The bed dipped with new weight. You slowly turned over, shifting the blankets around you to do so, feeling them drenched in sweat. “Charlie?” You rasped, seeing her blonde hair swish as she turned to look at you. Her eyes creased in a nervous worry.

“Hi! Okay, look.” She turned back to her things. “I cooked up some soup, I read that the clear broth is supposed to be really good for you! Oh! Also.” She grabbed a few of the pill bottles, held them up. “One of these helps with headaches and muscles aches! And the other will help with your stomach… I think.” She pouted while reading. “Or! I can give you this,” She held up the liquid medicine. “And it should help with… Everything?”

“Charlie…” You tried sitting up, feeling the aching throughout your muscles. You groaned but fully sat up. 

“Oh! And we can take your temperature. I’m not sure how that will work though… Hellborne temps are way higher than Sinners but Sinners temps change when they get here and run higher. Do you think there’s a conversion?” 

“Charlie!” You sputtered, sending yourself into a long coughing fit feeling a sharp pain throughout your head with each one. 

Her brows furrowed, “Here, drink!” She held up the glass of water to your lips, her hand rubbing your back as you did. A few drops of water leaked past the brim before she pulled it away. She moved her palm up your shoulder, then your neck, before coming to your chin. Her thumb brushed away the trail of water that was left.

You looked up at her, bleary-eyed and clammy. Her features brought a weak smile to your face. “Don’t worry, this happened to us before we got here. We get through it… Eventually.” You explained through your raspy voice. 

“I just wish I could make you feel better.” Charlie spoke, head tilting to look at you softly. 

“Having you here is enough.” You giggled. “You’re lucky you can’t get sick or I’d be kicking your worried butt out.” She laughed in response. You turned to look at the liquid medicine and pointed. “That one will work.” 

“Hey.” Charlie spoke, both her hands squishing your cheeks. “Anything you need, and I am right here. Okay?” Her glistening eyes were accompanied with a caring smile. 

You melted. “Thanks Char.”

꒰ LUCIFER ꒱

It may not have been the best idea to try and hide the fact that you were sick from everyone at the hotel. After the battle with Heaven, and rebuilding the hotel, you really didn’t want to be the one caught slacking off. The grand re-opening was soon and everything needed to be perfect.

Which brought you to the present, standing atop of a ladder as you helped hang the very sign that stated what you were prepping for. Lucifer stood at the base to make sure it didn’t tip in the process.

“Okay, a little to the left!” Vaggie called out, standing some feet away and eyeing the placement. “Up a little!” You stood on your toes to make the adjustment, legs straightened to their max as you did so. You began feeling your head fill with pressure, vision slowly overcoming with weird splotches of black and purples. “A little higher on the right.” Vaggie was addressing you, but it seemed muffled the more you tried to shake the increasing feeling of dizziness. 

“Hey, you alright, darling?” Lucifer called up to you, seeing you sway ever so slightly, hand dropping the banner before your body completely leaned backwards and fell off the ladder. He was quick to catch you, calling out your name as you landed in his arms. He cradled your figure, worried eyes staring down at you before being directed to take you to a room by Charlie.

“Dad, don’t worry!” She tried to reason with him, seeing how he watched you with concern. “Angel Dust said that Sinners get sick like this all the time! Some rest and things will be back to normal!” Her dad didn’t budge, brows still creased with worry as he held your hand, seeing your chest rise and sink with raspy breaths. His daughter sighed, “I’ll go get some water.” She took her leave.

Lucifer had no idea Sinners dealt with things like this, even after their deaths. He wished he could take away any discomfort you were feeling. If only he had the power to do so, he would in a heartbeat. 

A groan from your lips brought his focus back to you, he watched your chapped lips become slick with your saliva as you licked them. “Luci?” You felt his hand squeeze, your eyes sliding to see your partner. His hat was missing, hair tousled and wrung as if he couldn’t keep himself from threading his fingers through it, troubled at the thought of somehow losing you. 

“Hey, Sweetie.” He did his best to smile but nothing could prevent the worry from leaking through. “You uh, you gave me quite a scare! Ha-Ha!” He tried to push a smile though it was obviously strained. “H-How are you feeling?”

You glanced around, seeing that you were in one of the newly refurbished hotel rooms. Your eyes squinted, trying to recall the events that led you to waking up here. You had been feeling all but ill for the past few days and did nothing but try and push through it. “I, uh… I’m fine.” You tried to sit up but Lucifer pushed you to lay back down gently. 

“You’re anything but fine.” You met eyes with him once more. “If I hadn’t been there to catch you, it could have been worse.” His voice was shaky as he spoke. “Why didn’t you tell me that you weren’t feeling well?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I fell.” You tried to scoff out a laugh but seeing his expression you quickly stopped. You sighed, reaching for his hand again, searching for any comfort. He met you with his own, fingers intertwining tightly. “I just… Wanted to help out as much as possible.” You felt his thumb begin to rub along the edge of yours. “I wasn’t feeling well but… I didn’t want to let anyone down.” You saw him melt, now understanding. He felt his heart swell with even more adoration for you.

“Oh, my love.” His other hand caressed your cheek. “There is no way you’d ever let anyone down. Especially with me.” You leaned into his hand a bit more at his words. “If anything is wrong, please promise you’ll come talk with me?” 

You smiled softly before nodding your head. “I guess I should thank you for being there to catch me.” You yanked him towards you, arms wrapping around him tightly into your chest. “My gaurdian angel.” That nearly made his wings pop.

꒰ ADAM ꒱

“Hey Babe!” The door to your bedroom opened, a familiar voice announcing his entrance. “Saw you weren’t at the high council meeting and Danger Tits said you’d be here.” He strutted closer, seeing that the only thing on your bed was a weird lump of blankets. “Uh…” He poked it, “The fuck is this?” He did it a few more times. 

“Sto~op.” You groaned out, muffled through the layers of fabric.

“Uh, ew.” He took a step back, the disgust was ever present in his response. “Sounding a little gross there, babes.”

“Oh screw you.” You threw the blankets off you, narrowed eyes squinting at the intruder. “Why am I sick in Heaven! I thought Angels couldn’t get sick.”

Adam stared for a moment before he bursted into an obnoxious laughter, “Ain’t no way you caught the Angel Allergies!” His cackle continued, clutching his stomach.

“The what?” You spoke flatley, watching him walk around the bedroom and into the on-suite bathroom.

“Every Angel gets them after being in Heaven for a while. It's a side-effect for human angels.” He explained shuffling in the cabinet. “Can’t believe you actually caught them, that’s so lame!”

“Oh, like you’ve never been sick before!” You tried to challenge but your stuffed sinuses made you sound like a little kid throwing a tantrum. 

It only caused Adam to laugh even more. “Fuck no. The first man doesn’t get sick.” The water ran for a second before he walked back out, throwing a white bottle that rattled familiar to pills. “You’re welcome.”

You caught them, all but ungraciously. “What are these?” You glanced at them before having a glass of water shoved into your other hand.

“I can’t have my arm candy looking like a wreck, okay?” He sat down next to you on his side of the bed. Arms crossed behind his head. “Take two of those and you’ll be fine.” Your tired gaze slid over to see him resting, his mask now gone and eyes closed. “You’re stuck in bed until they go away.”

You huffed before quickly taking the pills with a few gulps of water. You drank the liquid entirely and set the empty glass on the bedside table. You immediately turned towards your man and tackled him. Your body cushioned by his and the impact was followed by a breathless grunt from him. “What the–”

“Thanks, babe.” You hummed, and squished your face into his chest. His hand hovered your form before settling around you, pulling you closer into him. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He glanced down at you, seeing your eyes close with a peaceful sigh. “Just get better, okay?” 

꒰ ANGEL DUST ꒱

“See ya whores later!” Angel threw his right hands into the air as he walked through the lobby. “This body doesn't get paid the big bucks for nothing.” He pushed his fluff up, eyes catching a peek at your hunched over form at the bar. He immediately stopped walking. 

“What’s the matter with you?” He took a few steps closer. “Hey,” He poked your arm, causing you to finally sit up straight and wearily turn your head towards him. “Oh, you look like shit.” His lip curled at the sight. Dark eye bags, bleary eyes, dull complexion.

“Thanks, Ange.” Your tone had no inflection of appreciation as you rolled your eyes. “You’re a real confidence booster, you know that?”

“No seriously, what’s going on?” His voice deepened, brows creasing as he sat down on the bar stool next to you, scooting closer. 

You waved a hand in the air, shooing him away. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

“More like anything but fine.” Husk spoke as he walked behind the bar. “Spends most nights sitting here rather than sleeping.”

“Shut. up. Husk.” You snapped at the bartender. 

“Insomnia, huh?” Angel sighed, hand hovering your shoulder. He hesitated. “Listen, I gotta go but… Take care of yourself, okay?” You glanced at him before holding your hand out. He grabbed yours and felt you squeeze.

“Don’t worry about me.” You tilted your head and smiled, though unconvincingly. “I’m okay… You should go before you’re late.” Your brows creased knowingly. 

“Right…” He stood,  nervously looking over your figure before letting go and turning to leave. As much as he wanted to stay, to take care of you, he couldn’t do anything to upset Val when he was needed at the studio. 

The next time he saw you was when he had finished shooting. Finally making his way back to the hotel and seeing you in the same spot where he had left you. Except now, you were passed out.

“The fuck, Husk?” He stomped over, “You can’t just pour out the drinks without regard to someone’s health!” He angrily glared at the bartender. 

“I didn’t pour anything.” He huffed, tone blunt as ever. “Started snoozing the minute you left. Figured I’d let them catch some sleep for once.” He shrugged. 

“You– but– Ugh! Nevermind!” Angel came closer, arms wrapping around you softly before lifting you up. He made his way to your hotel room, kicking the door shut with his foot and walking in to lay you on your bed. The jumble finally brought you out of your sleep with a hummed groan. 

“Ange?” You asked, eyes squinting to see his dual colored eyes, a sense of relief flooding your body. You sighed. “You’re back.” You reached out for his hand, searching for his. He returned quickly, though confused. “I’m glad.” The comfy bed now felt like a warm cloud, pulling you back to your slumber once more.

“Wait a minute,” His eyes widened, falling to his knees next to your bed. “Is that why you’ve been staying up?” He whispered in shock.

“Well someone’s gotta make sure you get back safely.” You mumbled into your pillow, feeling your eyelids becoming heavy. He let out a long sigh, overwhelmingly filled with a sense of warmth, hand coming to your head and resting there. 

“Thank you.” He laid his head in his other set of arms next to you. “For everything.”

꒰ VOX ꒱

The man released an exasperated sigh after reading his most recent text from Val. He had to do everything around here, didn’t he? All to keep up appearances with the public and uphold their reputation. Because if it wasn’t his dear Val running up a storm, then it was Velvette. 

Vel’s on a rampage~ ♡

He pushed open the doors to said woman’s studio, seeing her shouting at her workers and her assistant cowering behind one of the trash cans. Taking cover from the throne spools of fabric and occasional scissors. 

“Velvette.” Vox cascaded in a calming tone, walking closer to her and dodging an incoming hairbrush. 

“The fuck do you want, flat face?” She snarled through heavy breaths, “Can’t you see, I’m busy!”

“Yes, of course, so busy.” He rolled his eyes. “And why are you destroying your department this time?” He leaned forward, eyes intent for an answer.

“My star pupil decided to show up late today!” She shouted, “Do you know how much money was spent for this show! And out of nowhere, cough cough, the bitch is sick!” She swiped at her phone, dialing a number. “If that dumbshit doesn’t show, I will kill every last one of you!”

Vox’s brow raised instantly, knowing exactly who she was talking about. “I’m sure someone as smart as you will figure things out.”

“You don’t think I know that!?” She turned towards him. “Go get me my lead!” He huffed and with a zap, he disappeared through one of the many security cameras and into your apartment within the building.

He took a few steps, searching for any sign of you. It was eerily quiet until a symphony of coughs could be heard from the kitchen. They became louder the closer he got, seeing you hunched over the sink. “Oh, No…” He walked over, placing a hand on your back and rubbing to ease your discomfort.

You finished out your fit, “Don’t mind me.” You sniffled, grabbing a tissue and wiping your mouth clean. “Just hacking up a lung.” You stood up, turning to fully see Vox. “Let me guess… Vel told you.” You spoke flatly, knowing his appearance wasn’t a coincidence.

“You should have called me.” He frowned.

You rolled your eyes, walking over to the hot tea you were brewing until you were rudely interrupted by your weak immune system. “I knew your schedule was busy…” You poured in some more honey. “Not to mention, Vel went off before I could even finish telling her I couldn’t make it today.” You raised the mug to your lips, letting the warm liquid relieve your scratchy throat.

“Velvette’s show is the least of your problems.” He spoke and watched your turn to him. “She can find a new lead. You need to rest.” 

“Yeah, but you’re all about saving face.” You poked the corner of his screen, flashing a small smile before walking past him. “Faking it on that runway for an hour won’t be hard.” His steel claws grabbed your wrist and stopped you. 

“You’re not doing her show.” His eyes glared down at you. Screen flashing a few times before revealing his face once more. “I’ve canceled my appointments for the day.”

“What?” your eyes widened. He grabbed your mug, hand falling to your back and guiding you towards your bedroom. “And you expect Vel to just be okay with that?” 

“Let me handle it.” He brought you to your bed, setting your tea on your bedside table before pulling back your blankets. “You’re on bedrest until this thing has flushed itself out of your system.” 

You propped your hand on your hip, “If I didn’t know any better, Vox. I'd think you cared about me.” You watched his face glitch, blue-screening for a moment. 

“sħᵾⱦ ᵾp ⱥnđ lie down!” His filtered static appeared for a moment with his flustered order.

“Oh, kinky! I love when you get all dominant on me.” You smirked, seeing his face continue to malfunction. “Cool your hard drives.” A soft giggle escaped your lungs before you started coughing again. You slid under the comforter, getting situated as he flicked the blankets over. He passed you your tea and watched you take a sip to relieve your coughing. 

“Stay.” He pointed and glared down at you before turning away. Your fingers swiftly caught the tail of his suit, stopping him. He swiveled his head, brows raised.

You turned away, “Thank you.”

A gentle smile graced his mouth. He stepped closer, hand on your head to lean you towards him ever so slightly. His warm screen grazed your forehead as he softly kissed it. “Anything for you, my love.”

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