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whatsnewalycat · 9 months ago

Text

RUTHLESS

Stepdad Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 5.1k+

Warnings: DDDNE, literally just a fucked up stepdad/mom's bf fantasy, could read "mom" as tess but I don't name her or assign physical features to her or reader, post-outbreak, reader is def over 18 but not by much so yeah age gap, NON-CONSENSUAL, power imbalance, unethical d/s dynamic, slapping, spanking, punishment, orgasm delay/denial, humiliation, degradation, face fucking, anal sex, little to no aftercare

A/N: Category is "That old man would fucking never... but if he did..." Please be mindful of the warnings and don't read if it might trigger you. Sorry, mom. Sorry, God.

[ my masterlist ] [ taglist ] [ AO3 ]

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Within the secluded world of your big noise-canceling headphones, you scan through silence on the CB radio, pausing for a few seconds on each channel before moving on to the next.

Channel 11: Nothing.

Channel 12: Zilch.

Channel 13: Nada.

When you turn the dial to channel 14, though, you pick up chatter and start transcribing.

Channel 14 7/17/22 19:56

—got a bundle of carrots today. Budaydas, onions, too. Want me to come by tomorrow and make some stew? Over.

Got enough for the kids? Over.

And leftovers. Over.

I’ll be at Margie’s around supper time. Over and out.

The air goes silent.

After a minute goes by with no follow up transmissions, you glance at the clock. 7:58. Almost time for check-in.

You tune the radio to channel 32 and review your transcription.

Many people speak in code, encrypting their messages in seemingly benign conversations. To the untrained ear, they’re normal exchanges, people making small talk about jobs and rations and kids. Goodnight calls and check-ins that use predictable inquiries to convey messages.

—got a bundle of carrots today. Budaydas, onions, too. Want me to come by tomorrow and make some stew?

Most of it you can translate from memory. The drug traffickers that use channel 14 have frequented the same lingo for years. Likely because of the high turnover rate of personnel. There’s less confusion that way. Confusion in communication raises more alarm bells for eavesdroppers than using the same code words across the board.

You flip through your cipher for channel 14, searching for budaydas, but find nothing. Scrunching your nose up, you say the word out loud, “Budaydas. Buh-day-das.”

Carrots, onions, budaydas in a stew.

“Oh,” you nod in understanding, then jot down your translation, muttering under your breath, “Fucking Boston accents.”

(Someone) picked up tranquilizers, benzos (budaydas = potatoes), and opioids. The caller wants to meet up and trade as previously agreed.

The rest of it is easy enough to interpret without the use of a cipher. You probably don’t need to write down the translation, but do it in case your mom or Joel need to reference the notes at a later date.

There’s enough to distribute product across their network of dealers in Boston QZ, plus more to stockpile. They’ll meet at their hub in Area 1, Margaret St, at midnight.

You exhale through slack lips, glancing at the clock as it ticks over to 8:00, then pick up the microphone and hold down the speak button.

“Radio check.”

A few seconds go by before you hear a familiar gruff voice crackle over the radio waves into your ears, “Loud and clear. Over.”

Your nostrils flare when you hear him. Joel Miller. The bane of your existence. Your de facto stepfather, only because you don’t really remember life without him by your mom’s side.

This isn’t to say he’s a father figure to you by any means. The two of you never shared the kind of heartwarming paternal bonding moments you read about in books. That would require warmth and vulnerability, which he distinctly lacks.

Once, when you were maybe 11 or 12, you made the mistake of calling him Dad. The way he looked at you made you feel like dirt. Fire burning behind his dark eyes, he corrected you with one stern syllable that taught you your place: “Joel.”

You sit up straighter and take a moment to gather yourself before responding.

“Did you get your message from Uncle Paul? Over.”

“I did. Over.”

“How’s the weather in Kansas City? Over.”

“Cloudy. Over.”

Fuck.

You swallow around nothing, then clear your throat and ask, “And Grandma, how’s she? Over.”

“Fine, just busy is all.”

You exhale a sigh of relief that melts the tension between your shoulders. Joel continues.

“Anything new with you? Over.”

Tapping your fingers on your notes, you answer, “Rumor has it the market is gonna be busy tomorrow. Harvesting time, I guess. Other than that, same old same old. What about you? Staying out of trouble? Over.”

It feels strange, having a casual conversation with him like this. Even if it’s just a data exchange dressed up as a casual conversation.

There’s a long pause, then he says, “Fine, yeah. Well. See you soon. Over ‘n’ out.”

Stiff as a board. Cold as ice. Joel Miller, everyone. Round of applause.

You snort, rolling your eyes as you unplug the headphones and toss them on the table. It takes a moment for you to re-acclimate to your surroundings.

The dingy two-bedroom apartment is quiet and still. Outside, the setting sun casts the world in a dark golden haze. A FEDRA patrol vehicle roars down the street, broadcasting the curfew alert from a loudspeaker. Faint shouting from a few units down momentarily piques your curiosity before you decide it’s none of your business.

You stand from the chair and reach your hands above your head, lungs expanding in a powerful yawn, then take a lap around the apartment to stretch your legs.

Something catches your eye when you walk by the entry. A note slipped under the doorframe. On the outer fold, your name is written in a familiar scrawl.

Your heart skips a beat.

You pick it up and unfold the paper, revealing an invitation.

I miss you. Come over when you’re done surfing the airwaves. XO, Bert.

Warmth trickles down between your thighs. A smile spreads across your face. You glance up at the door, then to the CB radio and scanner on the desk.

Indecision churns in your belly.

You are explicitly forbidden from leaving the apartment while your mom and Joel are out on runs. A safety precaution you’ve protested dozens of times to no avail. They expect you to stay put and warn them if you notice any signs of potential danger. In return, you receive a cut of the profit and a roof over your head. Security, in short. Which is more than most could say.

That being said… You break this rule from time to time, when the circumstances allow.

Like when the Fireflies and FEDRA have been quiet for weeks and there are no smoke signals in sight. Like when you’re five nights into a seven day seclusion and think you might die of boredom if you don’t get the fuck out of here. Like when your boyfriend slips a note under the door and asks you to come over.

You look down at the paper in your hands, re-reading the words I miss you.

Fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen?

—

Just before midnight, you wander down the hallway to your unit, jelly knees wobbling with each step. As you absentmindedly trace your tingling lips, still puffy from kissing, you unlock the door and push it open, then frown.

The lights are on.

They were off when you left, you’re sure of it. When you step further into the apartment, your foot catches on something. A backpack. This faint buzzing starts behind your ears as you blink at it, wishing it would go away.

Motherfu—

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Your stomach plummets to the floor when you hear his voice. A thick knot of panic tightens around your windpipe as you look up to find Joel standing just a few paces away in the living room.

He stares you down, dark eyes glowing with fury, and questions you again, “Where were you?”

“N-nowhere.”

The blatant lie sits sour on your tongue. His lips purse, so you fumble out another, “I went for a walk.”

“A walk,” he repeats, tone disbelieving, “You went on a walk after curfew wearing that?”

You look down at your clothing. A short skirt and tank top. Your throat bobs in a guilty gulp, then you meet his eyes again and nod.

“And when did you leave on this ‘walk?’”

Your mind whirs as you try to come up with an answer. It feels like a trap. You try to calculate an answer that will provide minimal blowback.

“I don’t know, maybe twenty minutes ago?”

“Try again.”

The electricity humming through you takes on a red, frustrated edge, and you snip, “I don’t fucking know, dude. It was a while ago, I wasn’t paying attention. Where’s my mom?”

“Your mom sent me here to make sure you were alive,” he says pointedly, taking slow, deliberate steps towards you, “We’ve been tryin’a reach you for three hours. I got here an hour ago. That’s a helluva lot longer than twenty minutes, ain’t it?”

Shrinking into yourself, you search his face. Jaw set, eyes boring into yours. Waves of anger roll off him as he approaches, and you remember all those rumors you heard about him on the radio. The fear you heard in grown men’s voices when they recounted run-ins with that bitch and her guard dog.

You remember what Bert said about him: He’s fucking ruthless.

“You aren’t supposed to leave the apartment when we’re outside the QZ.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you?”

Your heart thuds against your ribcage.

Joel has never directed this kind of outright anger towards you. Sternness, sure. Contempt, maybe. But this is different. You’re in fucking trouble.

There has to be a way out of this conversation.

You drop your gaze to the floor and ask, “Is my mom ok? Did something happen to her?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

Righteous indignation straightens your spine and wills you to meet his eyes again, “I’m not saying shit until you tell me what happened to her.”

“She sprained her ankle, but she’s fine. She’s safe,” he tells you, then takes another step forward, “Why did you leave?”

You respond by rolling your eyes.

“Answer the question.”

With an irritated sigh, you search his face, then tell him, “You don’t know what it’s like to be here. Isolated for days or weeks at a time. I fucking hate it. It’s so lonely and boring, I feel like I’m losing my mind—”

“Oh, cry me a goddamn river.”

You scowl at him, staring him down, “Fuck you.”

“Watch your fucking mouth, you disrespectful little shit.”

Red flashes through your field of vision, hot and angry and defiant. You gather the moisture in your mouth on your tongue and spit at him. It splats on his cheek.

His face twists up with fury for one second before he charges, closing the distance between you. The impact pushes your back to the door with a thud.

He grabs your jaw, fingers digging hard into the soft flesh of your cheeks. His eyes are hot coals, burning into you. The muscles in his jaw twitch, nostrils flaring, breath shaky.

When he speaks, it’s through gritted teeth, “You don’t know what it’s like out there.”

“No, because you won’t let me fucking leave—”

“You should be fucking grateful, you know that? Being here is a fucking cake walk. Your mom ‘n’ I have seen things, done things—horrible things you couldn’t even imagine,” he husks, searching your face, grip tightening so hard it makes you whine. “We keep you safe, and all we ask is that you stay put and keep a lookout for us when we’re gone.”

Even if you wanted to respond, you can’t. The vice grip he has on your face renders your mouth immobile.

All you can do is stare back at him, studying his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. Full lips pinched thin as he glowers at you.

You notice how close his broad body is to yours. The heat radiating off his tightly-wound muscles onto your skin. His ragged breath scatters across your face and wafts into your open mouth. You taste the bootleg whiskey on his breath and your pulse jumps.

Warmth drips down your spine and pools at the center of you, a horrifying sensation that makes you squirm.

“Were you with your little boyfriend? Hmm?” he asks, eyes darting around your face, trailing down to your body for a moment before returning, “That boy downstairs? Figure you musta been, on account of how you’re dressed.”

You don’t say anything. You can’t. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s not really a question.

“Abandoning your post to go out and get fucked, is that it?”

A whimper slips from your throat as heat swells beneath your skin.

He wouldn’t be treating you like this if your mom was here. He wouldn’t say these things or be this close to you. Knowing this, you understand that whatever is happening right now is wrong.

You also understand that you like it.

You hate that you like it, and hate him for making you like it, but you like it all the same.

Letting go of your face, he demands, “Answer me.”

“Fuck you.”

Before you even realize what’s happening, you feel a sharp, hot sting on your cheek and yelp.

He fucking slapped you.

“Wrong answer.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you retort, bringing your hand to the welt forming on your cheek, “I’m gonna tell her.”

“Yeah? You gonna tell her I found you sneaking in at midnight, too? That you compromised our safety to go out ‘n’ get dicked down?”

You harden your gaze on him, lips pressing together with disdain.

“She wouldn’t like that, would she?” he asks, the smallest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “She’d probably kick you out on your ass.”

“She wouldn’t. You guys need me.”

“And you need us,” he counters, searching your face, “So what do we do to make sure this doesn’t happen again? Hmm?”

A dozen inappropriate images flash through your head, each more lurid than the last. An electric, tingling feeling shoots out from the base of your spine and works through your extremities.

You swallow hard and shake your head, “I won’t do it again.”

“If I don’t punish you, you will. You’re fucking disrespectful. Selfish. You need discipline.”

Again, a flash of frustration taints the world red. Crossing your arms over your chest, you scoff, “Just because you’re fucking my mom doesn’t mean you’re my dad. I am an adult and you are not the boss of me.”

He sighs and takes a step back, planting his hands on his hips. His gaze drifts around the empty apartment, jaw gnashing back and forth for a moment before he returns to twist the deadbolt closed and grab your arm.

“What the f—” you swat at him and dig your heels into the floor, but it does nothing as he drags you by his steel grip, pulling you stumbling along behind him into the living room.

He sits on the couch and forces you to lay over his bent knees, one big hand securing your wrists behind your back while the other flattens against the swell of your ass cheek. As soon his touch leaves, it returns, a sharp snap tingling across your skin.

Shocked doesn’t even begin to describe the chaos throbbing through you.

“You’re right, you’re an adult. And I’m not your dad,” he asserts, lifting his hand. Your whole body clenches in anticipation. “But as long as you live here, I am the fucking boss of you,” he slaps your ass again, “Do you understand me?”

It surprises you when you hear yourself sob, “I’m sorry—”

He does it again and again, hissing, “Yeah, you’re fucking sorry now, aren’t you?”

Each firm slap he lays down is firm, unflinching. Ruthless.

It overwhelms your senses and becomes the only thing you feel. The universe world narrows down to just his palm on your skin. The reliable and exquisite pain ringing through you. Smack. Smack. Smack.

Every time he draws his hand back, you don’t think you can handle it again. But you do.

Soon, you start to crave the impact. His skin on your skin. You can’t feel the start or end of it. It’s just him and you. Pain and pleasure. Sobs and moans, all blended together.

Far away, you hear him chide you for not wearing underwear beneath your skirt. Then he asks, “Are you fucking enjoying this?”

Too ashamed to admit it, all you do is whimper in response.

Smack.

He sucks in breath through his teeth, then grabs the meat of your ass and rumbles, “You do, don’t you?”

When his grasp on your wrists releases, you pull your elbows beneath you and look over your shoulder at him, watching as he spreads your cheeks apart and stares down between your legs. You’re probably shiny and wet with the evidence of your desire.

His lips form an ‘o’ when he kneads you back together and spreads you apart again. The motion teases all your hungry nerves and makes you moan. It feels so fucking good.

You realize then that he’s grown stiff against your belly, hard cock leaving no mistake.

“You fucking like it, too, don’t you?” you ask him, your voice breathy and amused, “I can feel how turned on you are.”

Slipping a hand between your bodies, you press against his strained zipper. His cock jumps at the contact, and he groans, dragging his fingers through your slick lips.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes fluttering closed as you nod in approval. He works your clit in steady, firm circles while you smooth your hand along the big bulge in his pants, letting out a string of whines at the bubbling pleasure inside you.

You lose yourselves here, both of you squirming and panting and petting the other. So wrapped up with how fucking good it feels that you forget to feel ashamed.

When he smacks your ass now, you croak through clenched teeth, “Fuck yes.”

He likes that you like it. You can tell by the way he groans and throbs beneath you. This knowledge inspires your pulse to pound and your muscles to tense.

“Joel,“ you whimper, opening your eyes to meet his heavy-lidded gaze, “I’m gonna fucking come, don’t stop—”

“Did I give you permission to do that?” he asks, slowing his touch to a torturous rhythm, “Did I say you could come?”

You shake your head and whine, “Please, Joel, please—”

“Are you sorry for what you did?”

“I’m sorry—”

“Are you gonna do it again?”

“No no no, I won’t, I promise, I’ll be a good girl—”

He groans, tossing his head back as you frantically rub at the bulge in his pants. Your palm chafes against the stiff denim, but you don’t stop. You would do this for eternity if it meant he’d let you find your release.

“Oh yeah, you’ll be a good fucking girl for me?” he asks, touching you just soft and slow enough to twist your nerves ragged, but keep your orgasm out of reach.

“I will, I promise. Please, Joel,” you whisper, holding his gaze as your face gets all hot, “Please make me come, please please—”

“Show me you mean it.”

He doesn’t need to explain what he means. While he takes off his jeans, you scramble off his lap and kneel between his spread knees. His eyes stay glued to yours as you slide your hands up his thighs.

Batting your lashes at him, you wrap your lips around his swollen cock. He fills your mouth. He feels smooth but hard against your tongue. He tastes salty and heady and when you inhale the musk of him, you moan around his girth.

Nodding, he anchors his grip behind your head and bucks his hips, forcing his dick down your throat. When you gag, he doesn’t let up, but thrusts into the sensation, grunting, “Fuck. Yes,” before letting you pull off, gasping for air.

You wrap your hands around him, all shiny and slick with drool, and pump his length for a moment while you catch your breath, then take him in your mouth again.

This time, you sit up taller. You relish the stretch of your lips as you bob up and down. Savor the tug of his fingers curled tight in your hair. Memorize the sound of his huffs and grunts as he fucks your face. The wet squelching gurgle of his cock squeezing down your windpipe.

“Look at me,” he orders, so you do.

He’s all blurred from your watering eyes, but you can make out the dark irises and stay locked onto them while relaxing the muscles of your throat to take him easier. When you make an enthusiastic humming noise, he groans. It’s wanton and lusty and lights a fire in your belly.

Joel has never treated you this hard or soft. His regard for you has always been callous. Closed-off. Indifferent. With your assistance on the radio, he treated you like a tool for survival. Before that, or even in-between smuggling runs, he treated you like some kind of a household pet he had little regard for. Your mom’s responsibility, never his.

For years and years, you ached for more.

When you were younger, you used to sit up nights and wonder if he’d ever consider you his daughter. He wouldn’t, though. He won’t.

But this is something.

Distinctly, you want to please him. Be the best he ever had. You want to sink your claws into his brain and leave your mark for years to come. You want him to look at you after this and feel a flicker of desire and self-loathing. You want him to think of you when he fucks your mom. You want him to hate how you made him feel.

When you pull off him and start to work his soaked length with your hands, you pant, “Does that feel good? Am I doing a good job sucking your cock?”

“It’s good,” he nods, lets out a groan that pinches his eyes shut, then meets your gaze again, “So fucking good, Jesus Christ. Is this what you were out doing tonight? Sucking cock?”

“Not tonight.”

“But he fucked you, didn’t he? That boy?”

You nod, stroking him slower. His eyelids flutter.

“Did he fuck your pussy or your ass?”

The question sends a jolt through your middle. You recall the sex you had with Bert. Barely an hour has gone by since he pulled out of your cunt to shoot his load on the mattress, but it feels like a lifetime ago.

“My pussy,” you answer, then gather a thick, hot wad of saliva on your tongue and spit on his cock. You spread it with a slow churning motion, watching Joel’s face twist up with pleasure.

“Were you bein’ smart about it at least?” he asks, studying you, “We don’t need you getting knocked up.”

“He pulled out,” you shrug.

He grunts in acknowledgment, then sits up and pulls on your arm to join him on the couch, “C’mere.”

You follow his guidance, lying back on the cushions as he strips off his shirt.

The only times you’ve seen him shirtless were accidental and slightly embarrassing for both of you. But now, you notice how his smooth chest glows in the dim light. Now, when you drink in the sight of his big arms and broad shoulders, heat bubbles up your spine.

While you pull your tank top off over your head, he tugs your skirt down your thighs, asking, “You ever taken it up the ass?”

You shake your head.

His eyebrows jump a little like he’s surprised. A sadistic kind of smirk plays across his lips as he pushes your knees up to your chest, then spreads you apart, the head of him nudging at your backdoor.

He doesn’t ask for permission. He doesn’t ask if you want it this way, or if you want him to be the first. He doesn’t even warn you about the initial shock and pain you experience when he rocks his hips forward and breaches the tight hole.

You yelp and try to lurch away from the sharp pain, but he grabs you and holds you there.

Sitting up on your elbows, you cry, “That fucking hurts, Joel.”

“Wouldn’t be much of a punishment if it didn’t hurt a little, would it?” he murmurs, disinterested, watching your asshole stretch to accommodate the head of his cock.

The sensation is overwhelming. Like being stabbed or split open. At first, you hate it. You sputter and gasp and shake your head as he pushes himself in further and further.

Then he pauses the invasion, releasing his steel grip on you to tilt your chin up and meet his gaze, “Just relax.”

His eyes burn into yours, making your pulse jump. You bear witness to his heaving chest and parted lips and feel him twitch inside you. Sparks sizzle across your body, but you still scowl at him.

“It hurts, I don’t like it.“

“It’ll get better, you just gotta relax,” he coaches.

“Why can’t we just have normal sex?”

He grunts, thinks about it for a moment, then tells you, “First off, this is not normal sex,” he points between your chest and his, “This will not be a normal thing, you understand?”

It stings a little, if you’re being honest. But you nod, “I understand.”

Nodding, he licks his lips. He throbs inside you, hips jerking a little in reaction. This time, the friction feels good enough to make you whimper.

“Second, we don’t need another mouth to feed around here,” he says, searching your face, “We’re stretched thin enough as is. You know what I mean?”

“But if you—”

“Pulling out can still stick. This way’s tried and true, trust me.”

“Trust you,” you scoff under your breath and roll your eyes.

“What’s that?”

You meet his hardened gaze, feeling emboldened enough to ask, “Do you fuck my mom in the ass?”

“That’s none of your business,” he warns.

“So, what, you can interrogate me about my sex life, but I can’t do the same?”

“That’s right,” he barks, “Know why?”

In response, you glare at him.

He takes this moment of bitter silence to drag his knuckles up your slick, swollen lips. The light touch branches out beneath your skin and makes your heart pound. You gasp a little, but try to hide it. He clocks it immediately.

“There we go,” he murmurs under his breath, almost as an aside, smoothing the pad of his thumb in soft circles on your clit. Pleasure churns beneath the touch, hot and hungry for more. When you whimper, Joel’s eyes go wild for a second, then he says, “I am the fucking boss of you, understand?”

You swallow a moan as he arches forward and starts to roll his hips. It feels better now. Good. Fucking amazing, almost. Electric and gooey. He fills you so completely with each thrust, you wonder how you can even breathe.

“So if I tell you to be home, that’s where you’ll be. If I ask you where you’ve been, who you were with, what you were doing—you tell me the truth. Understand?”

Nodding, you gasp, “I understand.”

“You don’t get to ask me about your mom. You don’t tell your mom. You don’t sneak out to go get fucked by some boy who doesn’t even know what to do with you—”

“Holy shit, Joel I’m gonna—” you gasp at the pressure building at the base of your spine, spreading thick and hot and delicious across your body.

“And you don’t come without my fucking permission. Understand?”

“I understand I understand,” you cry, literal tears burning behind your eyes at the ache of trying to keep the ecstasy at bay, “Please can I come, please please please—”

“Are you sorry?”

“I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again—”

“That’s right, you’ll never fucking do it again. Why’s that?”

“You’re the boss,” you beg, your voice so raw and pleading it sounds foreign. He pounds into you now, a wet slap that echoes off the apartment walls. It takes all your concentration to keep your pleasure contained, to not spill over the edges, but you hear yourself babble somewhere far away.

“You’re the fucking boss. I’m sorry I’m sorry I won’t disobey you again I’ll be a good girl I’ll do anything just please give me permission to come daddy please please please—”

When he moans, loud and depraved, it just about breaks you, but you manage to keep your resolve long enough for him to pant, “Go ahead, let it go.”

With a choked sob, you untether your pleasure and allow it to expand, growing hot and wide and unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Every muscle in your body tenses up as the sensation swallows you whole, then spits you back up, sending wave after wave across your body.

“That’s it, that’s a good girl,” he grunts, taking his hand from your clit to hold your knees down and fuck your ass hard and fast and ruthless.

It surprises you when heat starts stretching out from the middle of you again. Your heart starts to race as the feeling grows.

“Ffffuuuuck,” you whimper, “That feels so fucking good—”

“I told you, didn’t I?”

“You did you did holy shit,” you meet his eyes and nod frantically, “I love it I love it—please can you come in my ass?”

“Is that what you want? Want me to come in your tight little asshole?”

A feral noise escapes you, and you sob, “Yes—”

“Do you wanna come too?”

“Yes—oh my god, yes, please please please daddy—”

“Come with me, baby.”

You let the feeling overtake you again, gasping out, “thank you thank you thank you,” as it takes you strong and fast. Pleasure pulses through your body, causing you to convulse and strain against Joel’s grip spreading you open. He releases a moan from his belly and gives you a hard, deep thrust that he holds for a shuddering moment. After emptying himself inside you, he pulls out, falling back to his seat on the couch.

Chest heaving, you prop yourself up on your elbows and study him. He pinches his eyes shut and catches his breath before meeting your gaze again.

His expression goes soft long enough for something dangerous to flicker between you.

Then he turns away and starts getting dressed.

“Get yourself together, I’m gonna go get your mom.”

As you sit up, you fold your legs into your body and watch him button his shirt.

“Joel—”

He looks at you, searching your face expectantly, but your brain goes static and you’re not even sure what you were going to say.

“This stays between us, understand?”

His tone is firm but gentle. You swallow hard and nod, “I understand.”

Nodding, he glances down at your lips, then back to your eyes. He rises to his feet to leave, but before he does, he leans down to press a kiss into your forehead.

“Good girl.”

[ NEXT PART ]

2K notes · View notes

jays-bonnie-on-the-side · 1 month ago

Text

TELL ME YOU LOVE ME

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

SUMMARY : reader says 'i love you' for the first time and dean doesn't say it back

WARNINGS : smut. angst. rough sex. unprotected p in v. strong language. praise kink. daddy kink. conflicted dean.

A/N : this was the fastest oneshot i ever wrote. i stayed up, determined to get this out for you guys. thinking of making a second part, tell me what you think!

Your nails dig into Dean's skin, scratching from his shoulder blades to the dimples on his lower back. Moans fell from both your mouths as he pounds his thick cock into your tight pussy. It had been a long and draining hunt, but you're back at the bunker, making up for lost time. His defined member stretches your walls just right, causing a painful yet pleasurable sensation. If it weren't for your wetness as a lubricant, it would be nearly impossible for him to slide in and out of your tiny hole.

"Fuck! Yes, daddy. Just like that, baby." You whimper, your voice hindering with each powerful thrust. "Ohmygod, you feel so fucking good."

He grunts at your praise. You were a squirming mess underneath his sweaty body. A proud grin plays on his luscious lips as he watches your face contort with eminence pleasure. He took pride in the fact that no one else could make you feel the way he did. No one could make you cum like he did.

"Oh, yeah? You love the way daddy fucks your tight little pussy?"

"AH!" Dean lifts your hips, pulling your body closer so he can ram deeper into your warm cunt. Your eyes squeeze shut as you feel his tip bruise your cervix. "Y-yes. Fuck, I love it. I love you!"

Just as you were about to cum, his movements ceased. Your eyes fly open, wondering why his thrusts came to a halt. He sets your hips back on his mattress, his brows furrowed. You whine, upset by his sudden actions. Dean pushes himself off and out of you. He sits on the edge of the bed as he reaches down and grabs his boxers. You watch as he steps into them and then stands to pull them on.

"Babe?" You sit up, pulling the sheet over your body. "What's wrong?"

"I, uh, I just need a minute." He mutters as he finishes getting dressed.

He began to make his way to the door as you sat confused. What could you have said that would make him stop mid-penetration? Nothing had ever stopped him from loving on you. So what was different? And that's when it hit you.

"Is it because I said 'I love you?'"

He opened the door halfway but stopped when he heard your question. Dean stood for a moment, pondering what to say. You wait, the area between your eyes in a 'v' shape. He was eerily still, causing your worry to grow. His head barely turned as he uttered the following words:

"I'll be back."

But he didn't come back for the rest of the night.

A few weeks had passed, and neither of you talked about what happened. Dean had grown distant with you, only speaking to you if he had to. When it was bedtime, he would say a quick 'goodnight' but wouldn't bother to kiss you like he usually would. Instead, he'd lie on his side, facing away from you. You tried not to feel hurt by his actions, but you'd be lying if you said you hadn't gone to bed a few times without silently crying.

Sam knew something was up between you two but didn't dare ask. As time went by, you became angry. You didn't deserve this. You didn't deserve to be treated this way. It was when it dawned on you that he didn't love you back. So, you decided to pack up your things and leave.

Dean walks in as you take the last of your clothes from the dresser you both shared. His eyes widen, completely shocked by your abrupt actions. He rushes over to the bed where your suitcase lies, nearly full.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm leaving."

"What? Why?" He demands, his eyes burning into your skull.

You fought tears as you confessed, "I'm not gonna stay in a relationship with someone who can't even say 'I love you' back."

His body goes rigid. He knew these past few weeks were tough, but he didn't expect this. Though, if he was honest, he couldn't blame you. He could barely look at you, and when he did, he was conflicted. He thought maybe you would both move past the incident, forget it ever happened, and go back to normal. That was before you closed your suitcase and walked out of your shared bedroom.

His sanity screamed at him to chase after you, but it took a minute before his legs received the command. Fuck! He thought. Dean sprinted toward the exit, hoping you didn't leave yet. He enters the Command Room, and you're halfway up the metal staircase. He runs up a few steps and grabs your wrist, looking at you with pleading eyes.

"Don't go!" You gaze at him, your throat burning from resisting a sob. "Don't leave me."

You wanted anything but to go. Yet deep down, you knew there was no point in staying if he didn't feel for you, what you felt for him. It wouldn't work. It couldn't work.

"Then tell me," You croak. "Tell me you love me."

You search his eyes, hoping he would say what you've longed to hear. But instead, there's complete silence. A dry laugh leaves your lips. You shake your head in disappointment. He only confirmed your suspicion. He didn't love you. You're right to leave.

"We've been together a year. A fucking year!" Your sadness turns to anger yet again. "I've waited so long to hear you say it. But it never came. And when I finally allowed myself to say it, you—you freaked. You completely shut down. You shut me out. Then you have the nerve to ask me to stay when you still can't say it back."

He was speechless. You were right. He couldn't even say what you deserved to hear most, that he loves you. And there he stood, motionless. The one thing he knew for sure was to let you go.

His grip fell from your wrist, and you got your answer. You nod to yourself, knowing this is goodbye.

With a shaky breath, you painfully say, "Bye, Dean."

And just like that, you left. He stared at the heavy door, waiting, hoping you'd change your mind. But the longer he stood there, he knew you weren't coming back. Dean saunters down the steps and to your once-shared room. It was empty of all your belongings like you'd never resided there in the first place.

It hit him; you were gone. It threw him off balance, and his hand quickly found the brick wall. His legs began to give out, and he couldn't stop it. Dean slid down the wall and rested his head against it. His eyes began to gloss over. He brings his hands to his face, covering it in shame. What had he done?

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darknight3904 · 2 months ago

Text

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘖𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘓𝘪𝘧𝘦

𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘓𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦. 𝘋𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭, 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘭 & 𝘞𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘦 (2024). 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘎𝘦𝘯 𝘝, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘝𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘕𝘦𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘦.

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘝𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦.

𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘥/𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 30𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 3.3 𝘬

𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 / 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 / 𝘔𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

"You have got to joking."

The loud pounding of a fist on the door wakes home from his sleep. On the other side of the room, Logan, with all his enhanced senses, was still somehow asleep.

"Holy fuck, what are you dying?" Wade hisses as he whips his bedroom door open, "It's 5am!"

"Logan!" You growl, pushing past him.

"Fuck off." The older mutant mumbles, turning to face the wall.

Wade sighed and closed the door to his room before padding out to the couch and tossing himself onto it. He often wondered if this was going to go on for eternity, the arguing that his. Unfortunately, for him, you aged slowly and Logan was granted healing powers on par with his own. Eternity could literally be forever with the two of you.

Through the closed door he could hear you and Logan going at it. And no, he doesn't mean in a fun way.

For all his poking and prodding, he had yet to get you or Logan to disclose the reason for all the animosity. He suspected it was some deeply tragic event or something. Although Logan's was easier to figure out, Wade presumed he had lost you when the humans went mutant hunting and killed off the other X-Men. As for you...well that was still a mystery to him.

Wade liked you. Not in the possible dating realm but he liked to hang out with you. You were a bit rough around the edges but he didn't mind. You'd be even more likable if you just calmed the hell down and let whatever grudge you had against Logan go, it was starting to exhaust him.

The sound of his bedroom door opening again had him sitting back up. He makes eye contact with you as the streetlights outside slightly illuminate the room.

"He left the toilet seat up again. I went to pee and fell into the toilet." You sigh

Wade suppresses a laugh and slowly nods, bidding you goodnight.

Back in his room, he sees Logan lying on his back, his one hand pinching at the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

"I swear I'm going to kill her one day." He grumbles

Wade turns over and gently pats Mary's head. He wonders if now's a good time to tell either of you that he's the one who left the seat up, not Logan.

"You're such a loser." Storm teases

"Alright, that, is rude!" You gasp, smiling

"It's not rude if it's true! You're following him around the school like...like a lovesick puppy!" She points out

"I do not!" You roll your eyes

You always hated how perceptive Storm was. Seriously, how could she even tell that you and Logan were seeing each other?

"Look at you, new skirt?"

Logan's big arms circle around your waist, pulling you close to him. He buries his face in your neck and takes a deep inhale.

"You even smell good." He laughs into your skin

"New body wash. Got it at the mall." You sigh, resting your head on his shoulder

Logan lets out a small hum of acknowledgment as his hands flip your skirt up.

"Logan!" You gasp, pushing his hands off your body, "This is...this is a classroom, what if a kid walks in? Storm was just here a few minutes ago!"

"I don't see her now. Or any kids for that matter."

"If we're going..."

Logan raises a brow, a twitch of amusement on his face.

"If we're going to fool around, we can't do it in a classroom." You declare.

"Alright." A devious smirk stretches across his face as he reaches for your hand.

The car's windows were foggy with steam as Logan rolled off you, his chest heaving with euphoria. His big hand gently pats your thigh and he makes some crude comment about this being Scott's car.

He glances over at you as you fiddle with the hem of your skirt. You catch his eye and feel your breath hitch in your throat. He was so handsome, it made your chest hurt.

"You alright?" He asks

You nod your head and lean into his side, hoping for some tenderness from him. You wrap yourself around one of his arms, resting your head on his shoulder.

Logan lets out a deep sigh and gently pushes you off him.

"Thought we said no attachment." He reminds you, "Casual, right?"

You can't help the disappointment that sinks in your chest. It had been nearly a month of this, secret hookups and what you swore were stolen glances between classes and missions.

"Right." You whisper

"Good." Logan says quickly, gently tapping your thigh twice with his hand, "See you later"

The car door slams and he leaves you there, sweaty and alone.

The peeling paint is the first thing that catches your eye as you wake up. A groan escapes your lips as you run a hand over your face.

"You okay?"

You turn on your side to look at Laura who is sitting on her bed, her phone in her hands.

"M' fine." You sigh

"Really? Cuz' you've got a tear running down your face." She points out

You scoff and wipe it away, "Just a weird dream. No big deal."

She nodded slowly before placing her attention on whatever was on the little screen in her hands.

The clock reads 9:30 as you make your appearance in the kitchen. Al sits at the table, eating a bagel, Mary at her feet, begging for a taste of cream cheese. You glance over at Logan who also sits at the table, a big bowl of cereal in front of him. You know it's not fair to this version of him but you can't help it. The anger that boils up in your system when he looks up at you. You want to punch him all the way into next week.

"What?" Logan asks, his spoon halfway to his mouth, completely unaware of your anger.

"She's probably checking out those pants of yours. Told you the ladies love Hello Kitty!" Wade chimes in as he enters the room, toupee stapled to his head.

"Only wearing 'em cuz I need to do laundry." Logan growls

"Right. Just say you like the matching pajamas I got us, Peanut. Acceptance is easier than avoidance."

You watch as Wade easily dodges Logan's fist before scampering off to grab breakfast for himself. You tiredly sigh and try to ignore the way your skin is burning. That dream was far too realistic for your liking, it had been just like the real memory that sat deep in your mind.

You spend your day off lounging in your room with Laura. The two of you sit in comfortable silence and every once in awhile she'll show you a funny video from whatever app she's scrolling through.

When Laura had first encountered you in The Void, she hadn't told you how she knew you, or well your other self. It took months but she eventually told you how you died saving her from being kidnapped by some killing machine that was grown in a lab. Of course, she hadn't let out the better stuff like how you brushed her hair and taught her to floss. It sounded nice, whatever life she had lived with you, minus you dying and the fact that your body was shutting down. What you couldn't wrap your head around was whatever relationship you had led with Logan. The way Laura described it, it sounded like it was out of some romance novel.

Logan couldn't quite place the look you had given him this morning. After last night's screaming about the toilet seat, you were surprisingly docile. Staying in your room all day with Laura, he's pretty sure this is the first time he's gone nearly a whole day without arguing with you. He sighs and takes another sip of his beer, you were confusing the hell out of him. Just a few days ago you'd gone to get coffee with him, blew up in his face over rain, and now you had avoided him all day. It was all so confusing.

The jiggling of keys has him groaning as Wade returns home. So much for peace and quiet.

"Wow. You're still in one piece." Wade observes

"Of course I am." He huffs

"I just thought that an entire day of being home together, the two of you would've tried to kill each other. Surprised she didn't blow your head off." Wade explains

"Haven't seen her all day. Been locked in her room with the kid and your dog." Logan explains

"Oh." Wade glances at the closed bedroom door, "What'd you say?"

"I didn't say anything. She ate breakfast and disappeared into her room. Hasn't come out since." Logan honestly says

"Wellll then you did something." Wade surmises

"Why do you presume I did something?" He groans, "What if she's just...not feeling well?"

"How long has it been since you were around a woman? You're more clueless than a virgin at senior prom." Wade says, taking the opportunity to plop down on the couch next to him.

Logan thought about it. How long had it been since he spent time with any woman? The closest his brain came up with was the one bartender at the local bar he frequented since getting brought here.

"If you're thinking about it, it's probably not a good sign." Wade sighs

"Shut up," Logan says but there's no real bite behind it.

"Mmhm. If you excuse me, I'm going to go shower. I showed a car to this one guy today who, I swear had lice in his hair."

Logan turns to look at Wade in disgust. Sure, he didn't have any hair, minus the toupee. But, that didn't mean there wasn't lice living in his clothes or something nasty.

As Wade disappears into the bathroom, Laura shoves you out into the hall, pointing to the living room where he is. You look like a kid who's been scolded by her mother as you take Wade's spot and Laura switches on the TV.

"Bonding time. The two of you and your constant fighting is going to drive me nuts." Laura says, falling into Al's recliner and scoping up the remote.

"Whatever. " You murmur as you stare at the TV.

Logan can't help but notice that you look a bit sad today. And perhaps a bit angry as you sit there with your arms crossed watching whatever show Laura picked.

His mind conjures up something Wade once said. Something about acts of service in a relationship. Not that he was interested in a relationship, it just seemed applicable now.

He stands and walks off into the kitchen to rummage through the pantry and fridge. Much to his dismay the fridge has nothing but beer, condiments, and a half gallon of milk. The pantry isn't much better but his eyes do land on a big family-size can of SpaghettiOs. This would have to do.

A few minutes over the stove, and three bowls later, he's returning to you and Laura, offering you both supper. He half expects you to toss it at his face but you surprise him and take the food. He's sure he even heard you murmur a thank you as he passes a bowl to Laura.

Laura puts on a movie called Hereditary and Logan is pleasantly surprised with the plot. It's just the right amount of scary as he sits there beside you.

"Fuck." You jump beside him

He lets out a small snort, which has you glaring at him, "It's not that scary, bub."

"Yeah well, whatever. Not everyone has nerves of steel. Or should I say adamantium?" You groan

Logan looks at you, you genuinely look terrified. Laura's eyes are glued to the screen as he decides this could be his moment. Or perhaps you'll rip his arm off...either way, he's taking a chance, truly he can't help it.

He scoots across the couch cushions and gently places an arm around your shoulder. To his surprise, you let him, staying perfectly still next to him.

"I'll keep you safe from the evil movie." He teases, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"I hope whatever spirit is after that kid, comes to get you next." You say

Logan shakes his head but can't help the giddy feeling in his chest when you don't pull away. It feels like it's been a lifetime since he got to hold you like this. Even if it's a different, much angrier version of you, he can't help but be greedy and savor it.

Logan watches as you sigh and put that yellow monstrosity back into its box. He feels a bit bad but he pushes the feeling down. He was not wearing a giant yellow suit to fight anything. His normal clothes were fine.

"You're a difficult man." You say

"You love it." He finds himself grinning

He pulls you close to him and his nose brushes yours. Smaller hands clutch at the dark shirt he has on.

"I do."

The soft feel of your lips brushing his has him smiling as he kisses you. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as your hands raked up his body, tangling in his hair. Soft silence wrapped around the two of you, as he gently pressed his forehead to yours. He tried to ignore the way his stomach tightened when you spoke again. He tried to ignore the way he was falling in love.

"Shit."

The flash of a camera pulled him from his blissful dream, rubbing his eyes.

"Go back to sleep." Wade's voice whispers

Logan looks around and his eyes land on Wade who has a neon pink Polaroid camera in his hands. Logan looks to his right to see you curled up into his side, head resting on his chest as he reclines into the corner of the sofa. A big afghan covers the two of you, he presumes is from Laura as he looks at Wade standing there.

"Fuck off," Logan says simply

"I'll give you the picture in the morning." Wade grins as he stares at the photo in the darkness.

Logan grumbles in disgust as Wade blows him a kiss before disappearing again. He looks down at you, still asleep warm body pressed to his. He can hear the slow breathes you take along with the peaceful thump of your heart. You're at peace here in his arms. He finds himself smiling as he lets his head fall back into the soft material of the couch. It seemed like he too, was at peace with you here tucked away safely in his arms.

Logan stared at the picture in his hands. He had woken up this morning to you absent from his side. He presumed you had run off to your job at that little bookstore. The picture had his heart tightening in his chest. Memories that he tried to suppress were rattling around in his mind.

"Logan," You're calling after him as he stalks down the hall towards the front door, "Logan stop...Would you please slow down?"

"What?" He spins around as you nearly crash into him

"Where are you running off to?" You ask

"None of your business." He grumbles, pretending like the pout that falls on your face doesn't hurt him.

"Don't be like that. Let's go back upstairs." You coaxed, "We can watch a movie."

"Don't want to." He sighs

"Is it about Scott? I'll tell him to forget it about the suit, I know you hate it."

"S' not that. It's...everything. I'm just not interested in being a part of some crime-fighting band." He lies

"Oh come on, we're not all bad." You smile

"Forget about it. M' no good for you anyway, bub." He shakes his head, reaching for the door.

The gravel of the front walkway crunches in his ears as he hears you call his name again from the doorstep. He waves you off, uninterested in turning around.

"Nice photo."

He turns to see Laura standing in his doorway. He turns away from her and slips the photo between the pages of an anger management book Wade had jokingly given him one day.

"I'm being serious," She says sitting next to him on the bed, "You two look good together."

"Please, she hates me," Logan says

"She doesn't hate you." Laura gently nudges his shoulder with her own.

Logan turns to her, a look on his face telling her she's full of shit.

"Okay, she doesn't exactly like you," Laura admits

"Oh really?" Logan shook his head

"I think it's probably something her Logan did." Laura surmises

"Maybe. Or she just hates me." He says

"She has these dreams sometimes, wakes up crying from them. I've asked her about them but she never wants to talk about them." Laura replies, ignoring his comment.

"That could be about anything, kid." Logan points out

"Don't you want to know why she hates you so much?" Laura turns to him.

"I do but," He sighs

"You're scared." Laura finishes for him

Logan immediately backpedals, "I'm not scared."

Laura throws his own look back in his face, the you're full of shit one from earlier.

"You said in The Void, you lost the X-Men to humans. She was one of them wasn't she?" Laura asked

Logan sighs and looks down at his feet, he doesn't like how she seems to know him so well. Just how much time did she spend with her version of Logan and you that she knew the both of you so well?

"You're a know it all, aren't you?" He dodges the question

"I know that the two of you arguing into forever isn't going to work the way you think it will." Laura points out

"You tell her all this too?" He asks, trying to think of her telling you off like this

"More or less. She told me to fuck off and that she hated you." Laura says

Logan chuckles, he has to admit it's a good response, one he's said often to you.

"I just...don't think the two of you belong fighting like you're mortal enemies." She murmured

"Oh and what should we be doing? Going out on dates and sleeping in the same bed at night?" He scoffs

He'd never say it to anyone and certainly not you but some part of him still wanted that. He wanted what he lost that night after he walked away from you. And yet, here he was denying it all.

"No, you two don't have to do that either..." Laura looks at her hands, "But you guys could at least be friends."

"You shouldn't expect us to be exactly like them. "

Logan and Laura turn their heads to look at you, leaning against the door frame, a small frown on your face.

"Just cuz' we look like them doesn't mean we're going to become some fairytale couple overnight. So don't expect something like that."

"I'm not expecting that." Laura scowls

"Good." You say before walking off

Logan looks over at Laura who keeps her gaze on the ground, ignoring him. Obviously, your words must've struck a nerve. He knew that the Logan in her world was in some romantic relationship with you. He didn't really blame Laura for trying to set something up between him and you. Sometimes he forgot she really was just a kid. A kid who probably wanted her family back.

"Ignore her." Logan advised, "She's full of shit."

"So are you." Laura declared

Logan snorted, she was right about that. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He couldn't believe he was going to say this.

"I'll try to get along with her." He said, "I'll try more than I already was. I can't promise anything about her though."

Laura's head spins to look at him, a soft smile on her face.

"Thank you."

Part Three

In Promise, we had Reader pining for Logan. I'd like to flip that on its head for this fic. That being said, let me introduce to you all, pining Logan. He makes his debut next chapter. He's a bit of a simp so buckle up.

Something terrible happened to me today, my acrylic nail ripped off after I jammed it in my dresser. I am now missing like...half my nail on my right pinky. There go my plans for cunty Halloween nails.

Tags:

@kellyxo1 @mystiquesvendetta @gingerplague

@veru-boom @qardasngan @fandomsunited @reidsworld

@arrozconpepitoria @iamm3 @gigabitemyass @wordacadabra

@e-ak @khaylin27 @eternallyfrustratedwriter @chaimshelii

@badbishsblog @britttzy267 @lilly4639 @delicateholland

@cherrypieyourface @scrumptiousroadpalaceturkey

@one-of-castiels @littlemissoblivious

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heartlogan · 3 months ago

Text

all coming back to me

✮— logan x f!reader (set in x-men days of future past)

✮— summary: logan didn’t realise you would be here in the past. all that follows.

✮— a/n: first time writing for logan / the xmen films, be gentle pls. also wrote this in like 20 mins at 1am so kindness pls. ok goodnight.

✮— warnings: character death, major character death, (mentioned mostly, not the most graphic depictions), logan’s relentless guilt, reader’s insensitive curiosity, muddled timeline maybe idk, mutant reader (unmentioned power) , kind of abrupt ending , lmk if there’s more!

MASTERLIST

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

When Logan had realised he was the only viable candidate to do this job, he had felt the immense weight on his shoulders, had known that he had no choice but to succeed. He had been prepared for that part, mostly. But even still, the plan was sudden, and he hadn’t thought most things through. After all, Logan was more of a fight now, think later type of guy.

So waking up in some random woman’s waterbed was unexpected, yes, but even more unexpected was the bone cutting through his skin when he had to face those goons. It had been so long since the adamantium had been melded to his skeleton, that he could almost forget it hadn’t always been that way. If it weren’t for the pain that still haunted his every nightmare, that was.

It was an adjustment, definitely, especially because it had been so long since he hadn’t felt completely indestructible — untouchable. There was no metal safety net, here.

Seeing Xavier’s school falling apart was certainly an adjustment, too.

He had known this school only in its prime, when Charles had already formed the X-Men, had already settled many kids into their new home. Logan couldn’t ever imagine this place being so devoid of life.

“Can I help you?” A young man asked, after a few silent moments of Logan waiting for the door to be answered. He sounded vaguely familiar.

“Uh… yeah, what happened to the school?” Logan asked, eyebrows raised as his eyes trailed over the vines crawling up the building, the dust coating the glass.

The man’s eyebrows furrowed, looking at Logan strangely before he decided to speak. “The school’s been shut for years. Are you a parent?”

Logan scoffed. “I sure as hell hope not. Who are you?”

“I’m Hank. Hank McCoy. I look after the house now.”

He’s doing a great job at that, Logan thought to himself, surveying the damaged grounds, before he clocked on to what the man had introduced himself as. He squinted at the small stature of the guy, half hidden by the door he was pressing himself into the gap of.

“You’re Beast? Look at you,” Logan commented idly, “Guess you’re a late bloomer.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hank warned, features hardening instantly at the name he hadn’t heard for a long time. “But I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

The man started closing the door in Logan’s face, not expecting him to shove himself against it, keeping it open. They strained, muscles tensing on both sides, before Logan inevitably won without Hank’s extra strength that accompanied his transformation.

“Where’s the professor?”

“There’s no professor here.” Hank responded, before Logan soon managed to shove the door open, flinging him back.

“Professor!” Logan yelled into the empty house, hearing his voice rebound off of the walls. The echoing made him uncomfortable, and seeing the house that had been destroyed so long ago in his time was odd. It was familiar, and yet so different. Logan wasn’t sure he could ever get used to the empty manor, despite his many complaints about the kids at the school.

The moment Logan began to ascend the stairs of the manor, Hank leapt at him, freshly transformed. Logan was momentarily shocked by the appearance of his blue fur, but he quickly got over it, defending himself from Hank’s admittedly rather weak attack. The Beast managed to stun him, tackling him onto a table in the middle of the foyer, while the blue man hung from the chandelier above.

“Hank?” A voice called out, confused and slightly concerned. “What’s going on here?” He asked, descending the stairs and squinting down at the vaguely familiar man on top of his table.

“Professor?” Logan asked, surprised, sitting up on the table to make sure he was seeing things right.

“He doesn’t like to be called that.” A new voice said, coming from Logan’s left, and he startled, head whipping towards where you were standing. You were leant against the doorway, arms folded across your chest as you watched the situation unfold with unhidden entertainment.

His heart practically stops.

He hadn’t seen you for almost three years. Three very long, very difficult years.

Logan didn’t even want to think about the last time he had seen you. It had been one of the worst days of his life to date, and he’d had a lot of bad days. And yet, here you were, alive. Trying to tamp down your amusement, though it was written clearly on your face, evident in the slight curve of a smile that he had missed.

“You know this guy?” Hank asked Charles, who made his way down the rest of the stairs while Logan only continued to stare at you.

Charles looked at Logan with a vague sense of recognition. “Yeah, he looks slightly familiar.” He commented distantly, already appearing completely checked out of the situation. “Get off the bloody chandelier, Hank.”

The sound of the glass above him clinking together brought Logan to his senses, reminded him that he had a job to do. And no matter how much he had missed you, your presence couldn’t get in the way of that.

“You can walk.” Logan stated, checking back into the conversation with shock still darting down his spine. He watched the Professor carefully, brows furrowed in thought.

“And you’re perceptive.” Charles replied dryly, “Which makes it slightly perplexing that you missed our sign on the way in. This is private property, my friend. I’m going to have to ask him to ask you to leave.” He said, nodding towards Hank who stared between the two men as if watching some sort of tennis match. He looked uncomfortable with the confrontation occurring. “Or her, if you’re more inclined.”

You raised your brows.

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

Logan didn’t end up leaving, much to your surprise. It had been a long time since anyone had managed to get Charles to do anything he didn’t want to do. Hell, it had been a long time since anyone had managed to speak to the man, save for you and Hank. He turned everybody away, never heard anyone out, no matter how desperate they sounded.

Instead, Charles seemed to accept the fact that this man was from the future. A future which sounded dire, by the way.

And if his glance towards you when he had spoken about watching good people, friends, die, told you anything, it was that you didn’t make it very far in the future. Which didn’t faze you all too much. It didn’t sound like much of a future for those who lived, anyway. But that knowledge had taught you something about this Logan. He had cared for you, some years from now.

It was as clear as day. He looked at you like he had been missing you, like he was greeting you at the airport after a long trip. He seemed to think he was being discreet about it, always glancing away when you turned to him, but you were observant.

You sidled up next to him while Hank went on the hunt for the phone book, and Charles wandered off to regret his decision.

“So, how’d I die?” You asked, feeling bad but also slightly amused when Logan practically choked on air.

“What? How did you—”

“Oh, please. It’s all over your face. I may not know you, but I can see that much.” You responded, cutting him off and watching the cogs turn in his head.

You had always had a strange way of reading him better than anyone else. Not that this version of you knew that, but Logan did. It made his chest ache all the more, feeling like you were so close to being in his grasp, and yet so far away from him. He had to remind himself that you didn’t know him, and he didn’t exactly know this version of you.

You seemed… not happier, exactly, but something was different. Perhaps you had suffered less at this point in your life. He had met you in one of the most difficult times you had ever been through, and it was strange to see you without the baggage that had followed you from that.

“I’m that transparent, huh?” He replied, going quiet soon after. He didn’t want to talk about this with you. With anyone. He didn’t want to relive that moment any more than he already did. He saw it every time he closed his eyes, every time the Sentinels had approached in the future.

“You are.” You paused. “So? What happened?”

“You don’t want to know about this, kid.” Logan stated, pointedly not looking at you. You were so young now, and he missed the lines on your face. This wasn’t the you that he knew or loved. He didn’t know this version of you. And you certainly didn’t know him.

Logan had the fate of the world resting on his shoulders, the fate of every mutant and human who had the decency to be kind towards them. Your fate. The fate of everyone else he had lost. He couldn’t get caught up in this, in seeing you here, as much as he wanted to soak in the sound of your voice, the colour of your eyes, the glow of your skin.

“Why not? We’re going to save the world anyway. It can’t hurt.” You said innocently, regretting the latter part of your statement the moment you realised how it came across, how Logan’s face creased.

He wanted to appreciate your optimism, mostly because he knew how much of it you had lost by the time you died, but you couldn’t understand. It did hurt. Logan had watched you die in front of his very eyes, his adamantium and courage powerless to stop it. He had been dragged back to the jet, forced to leave your body there to rot, or to be taken and experimented on. He didn’t know which was worse.

Even now, he could feel the pressure on his chest from Storm pushing against him, the pain of Magneto pulling at his skeleton, forcing him to leave you behind.

He swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat, eyes flickered across the room, never quite landing on you. It hurt him every day. He could feel the weight of your loss even now, knowing that if he failed to do this, you were lost. This version of you, the one who had so much suffering to come, would die at the hands of a Sentinel, and he would be powerless to stop it.

“Sorry,” You said, when the silence stretched on, Logan seemingly getting lost in his own thoughts. You could see the pain written across his face, could see him getting distant, reliving whatever had happened in the future. “That was insensitive. I was curious, but it doesn’t matter. You’re here to save us all. And I’m here to help this time.”

He finally looked at you, and you could see the exhaustion on his face. Perhaps putting more pressure on him wasn’t the best idea.

“Okay, I’m messing this up,” You admittedly, fidgeting nervously now, eyes flickering between him and the door as if expecting Charles or Hank to walk in on you embarrassing yourself. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” Logan paused, apparently trying to find his words. “You don’t need t’be sorry. None of this is your fault.”

You looked at him, seeing him more clearly then. You didn’t know his past, and you certainly didn’t know the future, but this man cared about you. That much was obvious. “It’s not yours either, you know.” You said, and the slight grimace he made didn’t escape you. He clearly didn’t agree. “However we know each other in the future, it can’t change the fact that I am an adult. I would never expect you to take responsibility for me dying. Or want you to! I take care of myself.”

He blinked at you. “We were meant to take care of each other.”

You faltered slightly at that, struggling to imagine yourself relying on someone that much, but then you understood.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing now? You’re here, fifty years into the past, trying to make things right. The war wasn’t your fault, Logan.”

Despite knowing that was true, it still didn’t quite dislodge the guilt that pulsed in his chest. He felt more vulnerable here, without his adamantium. With your prying eyes. Even now, it appeared that you saw him in a way nobody else ever could.

“You know what? This might be totally inappropriate, but…” You trailed off, and he had just opened his mouth to question you when suddenly you were wrapping your arms around his neck, squeezing him close in a way that finally let him breathe again.

His hands hung idly by his sides for a few moments, before finally wrapping around you, holding you tight. He seemed as though he may never let you go, but you could understand that. Logan was in pain, and it seemed that despite your slight uncertainty, this had been a good path to go down. Taking care of one another, or something like that, right?

A heavy sigh left his chest, and you squeezed him tighter, letting out a short breath into his neck. You only pulled away when you heard Hank’s footsteps creaking on the aged floorboards, heading your way. Logan let you go, with much reluctance, but you lingered. Your arm brushed against his jacket.

If Hank noticed anything, he didn’t say a word, simply holding up the phone book victoriously. You glanced at Logan, watching the creases slowly come back to his face as he was reminded of his burden once more. You leaned against him the slightest bit, and pretended not to notice him glance at you.

This would all work out, you were certain of it. And if it didn’t, well, at the very least there was something to look forward to in that bleak future. Logan seemed worth the pain.

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dcxdpdabbles · 10 months ago

Note

Could you do more cave boy Danny please? I really wanna see what you have in mind for the direction you want the prompt to take 👻

The first thing that registers for Danny is the flouting feeling that he often relates to flying. To him, it always felt like being in the water, perfectly balanced with his arms and legs spread out, letting himself be weightless and left up instead of fighting gravity.

He allows himself to be taken by the sensation. It's not often he can fly just for enjoyment, especially in recent months. The Waynes were far too observant.

It is only when he tries to move into a more comfortable position that he notices the restraint.

Unlike in the water, he does not move slightly up and down with waves so he knows he's not flying in his ghost form. There is nothing that ever hinders him, even if slightly.

This is a different sense of flying.

It's caused by medication.

Danny's eyes snap open, fearing men in white suits, and instead gets a teenager in black and red-leaning his head into his hands. There are no restraints or a containment pod, instead, there are soft warm blankets and a large bed.

There are beeps from machines and a tube inside his arm, tapped to the top of his elbow. He's not sure what is in it but he hopes it to help with his pain and not to....see what his DNA is made of or something.

Thoughts are....hard right now. Like trying to grasp sand but it only slips through his fingers. He is aware but not. Did someone steal his brain? He is usually a much better thinker.

"Brucie!" The red and black teenager grasps, throwing his head up. Danny squints at him, wondering if his black wings are alright. They didn't explain or even react to his movement.

Danny should contact Frostbite. His Yeti can fix up those right up.

"It's a cape" The other laughs but his voice is soft with sadness. Danny squints at him trying to pinpoint why he would be so sad. It might be because he hasn't shifted into a butterfly yet.

"I'm not a butterfly." The other laughs a little more amused.

Danny's eyes widened. Was the teenager a mind reader? That's a scary thought. What if he learned all of Danny's secrets?

"Brucie....who's Danny?"

Nah, Danny wasn't risking it. He was going back to sleep. He had to escape into his dreams that way they would be just as confused by them as he was. He chuckles to himself, knowing that they won't know what to do against the giant green dog that guarded his dreams.

"Goodnight Brucie. Enjoy your green dog"

________________________________________________

Hours later Danny wakes up again but this time he is much more lucid. He glances around the room, eyes flickering over the machine and wires attached to him with little care.

He can recognize the room the Waynes gave him with ease. Everything from the posters he had put up in an attempt to look like an average teenager- even if he did only put up posters of Batman and his crew- to the random nick-nacks he left behind in his escape.

It was a bit bare from when he took everything but it's still the room he called home for a while.

How in the world did he get back to Wayne Manor?

Danny needs to get out now.

Standing up on uneasy legs, he rips out the wires as fast as he can, uncaring of the loud alarms that ring the moment he does. He rushes for the door, vision blurry, having to force all of his will into getting one step and then another.

Danny is forced to take small pauses every now and then because his body simply can't handle moving too fast. His legs shake from the effort it takes to keep him up right but he pushes through anyway.

It's only when he manages to get to the door that he remembers his powers. Danny flexes his abs into a clench that he had come to associate with activating his powers. For a brief second, twin rings of light appear, but they only move z few centimeters before flickering out of sight.

It feels like all his energy fades with with.

Panting, he slides to the floor, his limbs feeling like lead and his head swimming with fog. His head falls to the side slightly, but he can see that the door is right in front of him.

Danny tries to reach for it but all that does is cause him to tumble over. There is a dull ache on his chin and chest, as he lays there on the ground breathing heavily, and small black dots start to appear in his vision.

He is likely going to pass out soon from his core's backlash. Danny can't afford that. Not until he's safely away from the Manor and back in his cave.

How in the world did he even get out of his cave? How did he end up here?

All questions he'll have to answer later.

Planting his forearms before himself and pushing one leg slightly to the side, Danny lifts himself up. He lets his legs relax, making sure they don't drag behind him, as he shifts one arm forward and then another, crawling towards the door in the army crawl his mom should him.

He makes it to the door in what feels like hours but is probably seconds. His hands reach upward to launch onto the door handle with all his strength. to heave it open.

There is a moment of pure unadulterated joy that he was able to get this far when Danny encounters a slight problem. There is a force field right inside the doorway.

He figures this out when he slams into an invisible wall. A startled yelp is ripped from his throat as he stumbles back, blinking owlishly at the flickering force field light that gleams and ripples mockingly at him.

For half a second, he thinks that one of his siblings had pranked him by putting up plastic wrap to have him walk into it.

Except for the man in a brown trench coat who is staring down at him with an open mouth.

"Brucie!" Bruce shouts pushing the stranger out of the way to kneel down. "What happened?"

"He activated my wares to keep out spirits....or in this case keep them in?" Trench coat is staring at Danny with a strange expression. It seems like a cross between intrigued and weary. "What are you?"

"I already told you, this is my counterpart from a different universe," Bruce says helping Danny into a sitting position. "We confirmed it the first night he was here. Both DNA and our multi-universal tests came back positive."

"Batty, I highly doubt you have the technology to test for dimension travelers-"

"I do. I used it on every Flash I have ever come across, every time I see them."

"......I know I call you batty but honestly Batty that's alarming."

Danny's eyes flicker between them before he activates his intangibility. It's an ability that doesn't require his full form, however just as he's starting to slip through Bruce's fingers his legs slam against a similar field just a few inches from the floor.

His knees pop loudly and Danny screeches.

"Brucie!"

"Yeah, I wouldn't do that. My wards are all around us. I put them up after finding your cave drenched in otherworld energy. Figured I was protecting you not capturing you."

Danny's yanks his legs up, trying to crawl away from the man. Bruce throws an arm in front of him and Danny foolishly presses himself into the older man's back, trying to shield away from the very alarmingly competent Ghost Hunter.

"You leave him alone. He is not a threat. He is just a civilian boy who happens to be a meta" Bruce's voice is low and dangerous. Danny has never heard him speak like that, even while dressed as Batman.

"Batty, whatever that is, it is certainly not a civilian let alone a boy. The amount of will it took just to keep my wards up by him hitting against them by accident is nothing to sneeze at." Trench Coat insists, pulling out a stone with a strange marking on it. Danny squints at the symbols and then gasps when he recognizes them.

ᛙᛁ⸜⸍ˎ⸜ᛍ╵╮ˎ◟ᛍ╵

It's Fenton Works spelled out in runes, medieval runes to be exact. Danny knows because Jazz and he had a bonding phase where they translated the family name and business. They would carve the symbols into hundreds of wood plates, to bond with their aunt.

"Yeah, even the Witch Boy flinched at this seal." The man smirks, holding out the plat as if he were warding off a spirit. Danny cowers more behind Bruce."You have no idea what I had to trade to get this"

"What the hell are you doing?" Tim's voice cuts through the tension. He is standing in the doorway, arms crossed and face dark. Behind him are the rest of the Waynes. None of them are looking friendly.

"Constantine." Bruce growls. "You are on thin ice. Backdown. Now".

"Not to be disrespectful Batty, but that thing is-"

"His name is Bruce Wayne, You will do well to remember it. " Damian cuts in. The blond man holding- his own carving?- tilts his head.

"But that's not your name is it?" He asks Danny, who swallows. He presses closer to Bruce and watches the Waynes slowly circle Constantine. It's obvious they are about to jump him and Danny-

Danny realized that he may have tried to run but that obviously wasn't going to work. He couldn't hide either, because they found him.

He needed to come clean.

"Wait." He says, his voice stilling the room in a way that only those with complete control. He scoots to the right leaving Bruce's protection. "Wait. He's right. I'm not Bruce Wayne. My name is Danny Fenton. I've been lying to you all. I'm sorry."

"Fenton?" Constantine repeats confused but he doesn't get to continue because Bruce pulls him back behind him.

"You aren't lying. We knew you had a different name, you're still my counterpart."

What.

"Yeah Danny, we kind of knew from day one that you were a version of Bruce even if it was under a different name" Dick laughs. "You told Tim your real name a few days ago as well as your universe coordinates. We already confirmed its location and Tim is working on a ship for you."

What

"We knew. You Bruce." Cass says looking right at Danny. "We since the day we found you."

That's....not right at all.

"No. I'm Danny Fenton. I'm not a version of Bruce. I can prove it!" He shouts, throwing his hand on Bruce's back. He makes his core glow, knowing no two people could ever have the same one unless they are variants of timelines.

That's why Dani's core won't glow with him but Dan will.

Constantine nods his head "A core glow test. That will prove that you aren't Bruce and are something that's pretending to be him. Claiming to be part of the King's family is also a bold claim."

"Look ma I never claim to be part of some King's family I only-"

Twin blue and green glows burst from Danny's and Bruce's chest and Danny's words die on his tongue. Constantine drops his hand in shock.

"See? You are Brucie!" Dick laughs as if he hadn't just shattered Danny's entire world viewpoint. He could only gape at the group of people before Bruce placed a hand on his head.

"I'm sorry. If I had known you knew where your world was located we would have gotten you home to your parents weeks ago. You must have been so scared. Don't worry. We'll have you home soon."

Again and with great feeling, he will say what!?

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #cave boy #part 9 #Danny was actaully Bruce all along #Constantine sweating bullets that he threaten the King's family with the King #They found him and he was unconsious for days #Tim is building him a ship as a appology

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