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fortheloveoffanfic · 13 hours ago

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The Profound Pleasure of Little Things

Hozier x reader

Author's note: Basically the thought was, "ohh, what if there was a real moment that inspired Wasteland!baby."

Summary: Andrew and Y/n spend an afternoon at the beach.

Warnings - poorly written fluff, I guess.

"I think if the world ended right now, I'd be alright with that.”

After spending the past fifteen minutes or so bearing witness to her magnificence. Ireland's solem grey sky meeting the frigid, green water and acting as a cool toned backdrop to the brightness of her beauty. The way those deep, blue jeans hug her curves, the woolen burgundy coat, draped over a band tee, that follows the contour of her frame and her hair tumbling over her shoulders as she stands a few feet off the edge, gaze cast out towards the horizon; as if the world below them had been thought up just for her.

As Y/n turns to face him, the wind whips her hair forward, and he smiles when she hastily brushes away from her eyes. “What?” She chortles, but there's an air of disbelief in the word and she tilts her head a little to the side, “why?”

Licking his lips, Andrew pushes off the boulder he's been perched on, one converse-clad foot planted on the ground while the other stayed propped on a smaller rock jutting from the lush grass. “Because,” he stuffs his hands into the side pockets of the denim jacket he's thrown over his red flannel, “I've seen you, standing here and that's gotta be the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

Y/n rolls her eyes; he's awfully romantic when he doesn't mean to be – and mind-bogglingly terrible at it when he actively tries. Just that morning he'd clumsily danced them into the kitchen table after daring more than their usual sway. But now, after a long afternoon drive and an impromptu hike up a hill that overlooks the sea, he's stringing together the sort of lines that make her cheeks go warm and stirs a flutter in her chest. “You're being dramatic,” she teases, relinquishing her hand when he reaches for it. Their fingers lace with ease; it's something they're so used to doing that Y/n rarely thinks much of it anymore. It's such a small, mundane thing and his hands have become so familiar to her that they almost feel like her own – and like she'd miss her own hand if it were gone forever, she'd miss his too.

He is a part of her; as vital as a limb, or the thing beating in her chest.

“Hardly,” his thumb ghosts the soft skin over her knuckles, and his eyes soften when they meet hers. It still startles him that she's his, and standing there with the smell of salt, autumn and her perfume flooding his senses, Andrew fears he might be dreaming, “you look…..” Like a painting, something that one could only wish to be privileged enough to see, let alone touch, “exquisite.”

Y/n giggles before glancing down at herself. She knows she must look plain at best, and a wind-tousled mess at worst. Even if she isn't the self-deprecating type, it's tough to believe that she looks like anything special without makeup, her hair free-styled by the breeze and her face nipped by the chill. The coat that she's owned for nearly a decade and a faded t-shirt probably isn't helping her case either. “Are you trying to get laid on this hilltop?” She asks conspiringly.

Snaking his free arm around her waist, Andrew simultaneously pulls Y/n closer and throws his head back in laughter. Lifting her gaze to drink him in, Y/n’s smile softens; she loves the way he looks when he laughs like that. Entirely carefree, as if he mightn’t have anything in the world to worry about, its a laugh she sees most off when he’s been home for a while and he isn’t concerned about deadlines and appearances, or when they have friends over and he’s had a bit too much to drink. Or when she says something that is a little absurd, but not quite funny, and he somehow finds the world of humor in it.

“Well, I wouldn’t be opposed,” his fingers curl into her waist. Then, when the shaking of his shoulders settle, he lowers his eyes to meet hers. It always baffles him how she could not know – not completely – what she does to him. Because if she did, Y/n wouldn’t doubt his credibility for a second when he says that she’s beautiful – and utterly in awe of everything that she is. “But I really do think that you look lovely darling,” he adds softly, freeing his hand from hers to gently cup her face, “if you saw what I did, you’d understand. If you could see yourself through my eyes…….thought of yourself with my mind, you would get to know the most breathtaking person I've ever met.”

Licking her lips, Y/n lays her hands on his chest, thumb grazing the sliver of skin left exposed by the undone top button of his shirt. “How do you do that?” She muses quietly, gazing up at him.

Andrew's thumb roves the apple of her cheek and she leans into his touch, “Do what?” He lowers his head a little, so their foreheads are that much closer to touching.

“Come up with…..stuff,” she hates the word in the context, “like that.”

“Well, it would just so happen, that I have the best muse,” because every beautiful thing he can think of is tangled up with the thought of her. He can’t see flowers without wondering how they’d look if they were laced in her hair, or held in her hands, he sees art and wonders if she’d like it too and when he’s faced with a day like this one – where everything seems to be in perfect measure – all Andrew wants to do is share it with her.

“I am just so in love with you,” he rasps, the sudden drop in his voice sending a shiver up her spine, “that it touches every part me, everything I do has a bit of you in it,” as if all the old parts of himself have been shed, giving way to something new, improved in a way that only be because of her presence.

The more Andrew thinks about the clearer one certainty becomes; in a way, the world has already ended. It happened the second he fell in love with her. Everything as he knew it was changed forever – reduced to a wasteland, and out from the ashes she came.

Lifting one of her hands, Y/n caresses his temple with the pad of her thumb. “What a beautiful mind you have,” she muses, gaze matching his. Y/n always faults him for having a way with his words, usually when he doesn't even mean to, but Andrew doesn't think she ever pays enough mind to what she's saying. “Who needs the rest of the world when they have this?”

His thumb continues stroking her cheek in that languid, gentle fashion and Andrew’s gaze softens so much that he thinks he must be melting under her touch. He must be putty in her hands – so easy to mold however she pleases, because the only thing he wants more than being with her is being exactly what Y/n needs.

May he always be a necessity, may her life be just a touch emptier without him, so she’ll keep him around.

“Who needs it, darling?” Who needs it when the best of it smiles when she looks at me? He’s just about to press his lips to hers in a kiss he’s been aching to steal since the moment she turned to look at him, when a wave – way down below – breaks so violently that a few droplets hit their faces, causing Y/n to shift her gaze towards the expanse of glacial teal.

“We should walk down to the beach,” she suggests suddenly, eyes alight with the wonder of someone yearning for the thrill of adventure. In an instant, Y/n is backing out of his embrace – like a dream just past his immediate reach. She takes his hand though, lacing her smaller, finer fingers with his and practically tugs him along, urging him towards the mouth of the stoney, sloped pathway that leads to the beach.

“Yeah, sure-” Andrew doesn’t even get to reply before he’s stumbling along, blindly following her. He isn’t even sure if she actually knows the way – he’s never taken her there, but Y/n is quick-witted enough to figure things out without anyone’s help. As he watches her trot ahead with purpose, feet clad in Chuck Taylor's stomping on the feathery grass as she moves ahead, Andrew keeps his gaze fixed on her. The way she holds her head up, as if she doesn’t need a map – or even him – to show her the way. The way the wind blows her hair and her delicate fingers work to keep them away from her eyes. She’s moving so quickly that its hard to take it all in, and Andrew finds himself wanting to ask her to slow down, so he can soak up the way she looks against the blur of the trees.

Sometimes, he wants to tell her – beg her – to just be a bit more still. Because while he adores watching her move, drinking in every miniscule action that is so specific to her, Andrew breathes for the moments where there isn’t the slightest quiver in her form. When his view of her is entirely unhampered by the demands of life; she doesn’t have to get up to answer her phone, or check on the laundry downstairs – when she’s just lounging in bed with her glasses propped on the bridge of her nose and a book held up in front of her face, when she’s sitting on the back patio while nursing an afternoon tea, watching the birds entertain each other.

When Y/n is standing before him, surrounded by a tapestry of greens and blues and other specks of colour that pale in her wake, like something he should never be so privileged to bare witness to.

His thoughts are interrupted when she stumbles on a rock and instinctively deserts her hand in favor of reaching for her hips. “Slow down,” he chuckles, reeling her close to his chest, one arm wrapping around her middle as they continue downward.

“But I wanna see the beach,” she protests with a giggle as his lips find her cheek. Reaching past herself, she lays her hand on his neck, holding his face close to hers for a few seconds longer.

“And you will,” Andrew mumbles, mouth still pressed up to her face, “but lets……enjoy the getting there too.”

“I think you’re enjoying it a little too much,” Y/n admonishes humorously when Andrew squeezes her to him.

“Impossible,” he bends his head to nuzzle the side of her face, “I actually think you’re not enjoying this enough.”

“Yeah?” She leans into his embrace, hand falling onto his forearm as she finally relents to stopping for a moment. She can hear the sounds of the sea a bit more clearly now, and the air is saltier than it had been when they were up on the hill. Through the foliage, Y/n spots bits of jewel toned ripples, a tell-tale sign that they aren’t too far off, and she’s actively holding herself back from urging him ahead. She does have a habit of rushing things, sometimes the need to just keep moving is almost overwhelming; she’s so focused on getting somewhere that she forgets the journey is half the experience.

Andrew, she often finds, is entirely the opposite. It's a quality she admires in him; his ability to revel in simple joys, the way he’s able to steady himself enough to thoroughly take everything in. While she’s eager to brush past everything in her way to get to her finish line, he’s perfectly fine with strolling through the trees, stopping ever so often to take pictures of things that interest him, or rattle off a random fact that he learned in a nature documentary.

“Yes,” Andrew hisses, kissing the corner of her lips, “just relax a little.”

“I’m very relaxed,” Y/n scoffed defensively, “we just have different definitions of that word.”

Andrew laughs loudly, finally letting her go and allowing her to take his hand again, “I’m not even sure that word is in your dictionary,” he chortles as she tows him along. Y/n doesn’t respond, he doesn’t even know if she hears him, because as the words leave his mouth, they reach the edge of the woods which opens up to the small beach. The sand is soft under his shoes, and the sting of salty air is sharp. “Happy now?” He teases when she lets his hand go in favor of going a few paces ahead.

“I was always happy,” Y/n corrects, “but now I'm…..satisfied.”

“If satisfaction is what you were looking for, I could've helped with that up there,” he nudges his head towards the top of the hill they’d been standing on about fifteen minutes earlier.

Y/n rolls her eyes as she turns to look at him, “oh shut up,” she giggles.

“Just sayin’,” he hums, moving to stand beside her, arm going around her shoulders. Immediately, Y/n tilts her head so its touching his side.

As she keeps her eyes trained forward, Y/n hums, “its so beautiful.”

Andrew returns the sound, albeit just a bit softer as he turns his head to look down at her, nestled against him. Its hard to describe just how much he enjoys the feeling of her tucked against him, its one of those simple pleasures that he never fails to appreciate; the way her form fits perfectly with his, like they were made to just click together. It's such a small thing; the comfort that comes with holding someone who wouldn’t trade the feeling of your arms around them for anything else in the world, and he can never seem to get enough of it. He lives for the way throwing his arm around her shoulder has become as natural to him as breathing, and how instinctive it is when she leans against him.

“Don’t you think so?” Y/n glances up at him, a smile dusting her cheeks when their eyes meet. There's always a little tingle that prods at her heart when she finds him looking at her, like the beat of butterfly wings against the petal of a flower.

Licking his lips, he glances forward at the ocean stretched out before then, and the near vacant beach that spreads out for at least a mile on either side.

He must’ve seen this beach near a hundred times by now. Andrew is well aquainted with the way the waves break against the collection of jagged rocks piled against once side of the shore, foam washing the salt-worn gray and seeping into the crevices. The crunch of pebbles and broken seashells under his boot isn’t foreign to him, and he knows all too well how frigid those waters can be around this time of the year. He’s seen the beauty of the place, he swears he’s done his best to appreciate it too, but there’s something different about holding her as the water pulls the sand seaward and salty sprinkles dust their lips. It feels like he’s seeing for the first time all over again.

And he loves it – all of it. The way it feels like a film has been peeled off his eyes, the thrill of enjoying the simplest things so much more than he ever has because he's sharing the moment with her.

“Yeah,” he looks at her again, lowering his head to touch the tips of their noses, “its beautiful, baby.”

#hozier #the hoziest #andrew hozier byrne #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier fanfiction #fanfiction #the profound pleasure of little things

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pookalicious-hq · 20 hours ago

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northern attitude... ushijima wakatoshi x reader

next | masterlist synopsis: wakatoshi's learned that it's okay for someone to bring light into his life. tags/tws: (no tws), soft ushiwaka, small fluff blurb, no pronouns used words: 700ish

He had been raised on little light. Grown by the fluorescent beams of his weight room, steady and unchanging, casting a cold halo as he strengthened every muscle, honed every skill. Early morning drafts skimmed past his shoulders, a chill that felt like home. It shaped him, this quiet, unyielding world of repetition, and everyone learned to forgive his icy exterior when met with curt nods or barely murmured acknowledgments.

After every big game, sports reporters clamoured to understand Ushijima Wakatoshi, expecting an ego as large as his talent. What they found was different—unfamiliar, even unsettling. His answers were clipped, his gratitude sparse. He didn't mind the raised eyebrows or disappointed glances; he understood what they wanted but refused to offer it. He didn’t think of his northern attitude as a fault. Why should he? He was who he was. Volleyball was all that mattered, and that was enough.

Still, as the season grew colder, he felt something change. There were moments on the court, in the early mornings before anyone else arrived, when he watched his breath curl into the air and felt the ache of quiet loneliness, like the weight of the world pressing down on his chest. It wasn’t unpleasant, not exactly. It felt like a challenge—one he was willing to meet head-on, even if it hurt.

In those rare moments, he allowed himself to think beyond the game, beyond the relentless pursuit of perfection. He wondered if there was something more to being here, some deeper meaning to all the hours and drills, the endless cycle of sweat and silence. The northern cold he’d always worn like a second skin began to feel less like armour and more like a barrier. A choice.

Tonight, he found himself wandering off the beaten path, his feet crunching over frozen ground. He looked up to the sky—dark, open, and infinite, stretching far beyond his reach. For the first time, he let himself linger in that unfamiliar place of questioning, wondering if there was a warmth he’d been missing, a light he could let in. The thought felt foreign, like an invitation he hadn’t known he wanted. And as he stood there, surrounded by the quiet that had defined him, he realized that maybe it was okay to reach for his light.

“Toshi?”

The frost surrounding him began to thaw at the touch of your voice. A breath tunnelled its path from out of his lungs, the tension in his shoulders releasing within your presence. He turned, his normally unwavering gaze softened under the night sky. In the dim light, he could see the gentle expression on your face, a look he wasn’t entirely used to but found himself craving more and more.

You stepped closer, your hand reaching out to brush a stray flake of frost from his shoulder. The touch was light, but it sent warmth flooding through him, a feeling foreign yet welcome. For a moment, he wondered if he looked different to you tonight—if maybe you could see through his carefully built walls, catching glimpses of the vulnerability he was still learning to embrace.

“Didn’t think you’d be out here,” you murmured, a gentle tease in your voice. “I thought you’d be in the gym until midnight, like always.”

He let out a quiet, almost reluctant hum. “Maybe… I needed something else tonight.”

And there it was—a small truth, so simple but heavier than anything he’d ever lifted in his training. He let it rest between you, watching as your eyes softened, reflecting the understanding he didn’t know he’d been searching for.

For the first time, he felt that maybe, just maybe, there was a light that belonged to him alone—one he was finally ready to reach for.

a/n: i'll say it again... greenest flag ever.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #hq x reader

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amethystarachnid · 2 days ago

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OPPOSITES - part II

⤷ JAMES B. “BUCKY” BARNES

ᯓ★ Pairing: James B. “Bucky” Barnes x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff, tiny bit of angst

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL multiverse

ᯓ★ Story type: short fanfic

ᯓ★ Part I

ᯓ★ Word count: 9k

ᯓ★ Summary: Bucky was right, your parents don't approve your relationship with him so you run away from home to stay with him, ready for the challenge that is getting used to his world.

ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of guns,

ᯓ★ AU: 1920s Gangstares

ᯓ★ Request: oh my god i absolutely love this <33 a second part would be amazing (no pressure ofc) ( @one-lengthiness36 )

ᯓ★ Since request didn't spicy reader's gender I'll write it as a fem!reader, as I've said in the post

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests open)

ᯓ★ Masterlist

ᯓ★ If you are a Charles Xavier fan click on this link!

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language and this isn’t proof read

The evening is like a scene out of one of the novels you used to read in secret, back before Bucky’s presence filled the empty places in your life. The grand ballroom is swathed in soft lights, crystal chandeliers glinting above like starlight. Your parents, all too eager to show you off, parade you through introductions and polite conversation, proudly displaying their perfect, obedient daughter to the other families in attendance. But tonight, you can’t shake the feeling that everything is only half as bright as it could be. Everything feels dull because your mind is on him.

The moment you spot Bucky across the room, dressed in a dark, well-tailored suit that makes him look every inch the part of a man who could captivate a room, everything else melts away. He’s watching you, his gaze piercing even across the sea of elegantly dressed guests. He looks out of place, dangerous in the way he leans back against a wall, observing the crowd as though he’s assessing each person. You know he doesn’t come from a world like this. He doesn’t belong among these polished smiles and whispered judgments, yet he’s here, somehow making the room feel sharper, alive.

The evening’s polite conversation blurs around you, and as soon as the opportunity presents itself, you excuse yourself, slipping through the crowd and down a side hallway that leads to the garden. You barely reach the edge of the courtyard when you feel a presence behind you. A hand slides around your waist, tugging you into a secluded shadow where the soft glow of garden lights casts a warm halo over you both. Bucky pulls you against him, and the world falls away.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whisper, though there’s a smile tugging at your lips as you tilt your head to look at him.

“And miss seeing you in that dress?” He smirks, his eyes roving over you with a possessive heat. “Not a chance, doll.”

Your breath catches as his hand slides from your waist up to the small of your back, pressing you closer to him. You glance back at the house, watching for signs of anyone who might interrupt, but Bucky’s fingers tilt your chin back toward him, gently pulling you into his focus.

“Don’t worry about them,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing along your jawline. “They’ve got enough to gossip about for the night without us.”

You smile, heart pounding as his lips brush the corner of your mouth, his hand slipping up to your cheek, cradling your face as though you’re something delicate, precious. The kiss that follows is soft, unhurried, but with a simmering edge of hunger that makes your toes curl. When he pulls back, his thumb traces along your bottom lip.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, voice low and rough, as if the words themselves are too heavy to hold back.

Your heart skips, and you smile, placing a hand on his chest, feeling the steady, powerful beat beneath your palm. “You know, you being here is going to make it difficult for me to keep pretending,” you whisper. “I want to tell them, Bucky. I want to tell them about us.”

He stiffens slightly, his hand stilling against your cheek. His face softens as he looks down at you, but there’s a hint of a warning in his eyes. “That’s a terrible idea, sweetheart.”

“Why?” you challenge, the words barely above a whisper as you lift your face toward him. “Because you’re the boss of a gang? Because you think they’ll only see that and never see you for who you really are?”

Bucky’s lips quirk in a half-smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s exactly why.” His hand slips down to your waist, holding you close as he leans in, his lips trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your jaw, sending shivers down your spine. “They’d only see the reputation, the danger. Not… this.”

You close your eyes, feeling the warmth of his breath on your skin as he kisses his way to the sensitive spot just below your ear. “But this is what matters,” you murmur, voice breathless. “You’ve shown me who I am, who I can be. It’s not just about who you are, Bucky—it’s about who I am when I’m with you.”

His grip tightens on your waist, and he lets out a quiet groan, pulling you even closer against him. “God, you don’t make it easy, doll,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. “But they’ll never see it that way. They won’t understand.”

Your fingers drift up to the nape of his neck, threading through his hair as you look up at him. His blue eyes are darkened, focused intently on you as if you’re the only thing that exists in this moment. “Then let me make them understand,” you say, softly but firmly. “Let me show them how much you mean to me.”

Bucky sighs, his hand sliding down to rest on your lower back, his touch possessive as he holds you against him. “You have no idea how much I want that. How much I want to be with you—out in the open. But your father? Your family?” He shakes his head, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “They’d never forgive you. They’d never forgive us.”

You press a hand against his cheek, feeling the faint stubble under your fingers as you guide his face back to yours. “They don’t control me, Bucky. Not anymore. You taught me that.”

His expression shifts, softening as he studies you, his eyes filled with that raw intensity that never fails to make your heart race. “You’re something else, you know that?” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over yours as he speaks. “You’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”

You smile, feeling warmth spread through your chest as he closes the distance, capturing your lips in a deep, slow kiss. His hands roam over your back, pulling you as close as possible, as though he can’t bear to let even a sliver of space exist between you. The kiss grows heated, his lips moving against yours with an urgency that makes your knees feel weak. You lose yourself in him, in the feel of his touch, the taste of his lips, the way he murmurs your name like it’s a secret he wants to keep.

When he pulls back, you’re both breathless, his hands resting firmly on your hips, keeping you anchored to him. He watches you, his gaze soft but laced with a seriousness that makes you shiver.

“Listen to me, doll,” he says, his thumb tracing slow circles against your hip. “I want this, too. More than you know. But there’s no way your father would ever let us be together. You have a future mapped out, a life that doesn’t involve a man like me.”

You shake your head, pressing a finger to his lips. “But that’s not the life I want. Not anymore.” You look up at him, your voice softening. “You’re what I want, Bucky.”

His jaw clenches, and he seems to be fighting some internal battle. His eyes dart away for a moment, looking out into the garden as though he’s searching for an answer, before he looks back down at you, his gaze conflicted. “And what if I say no?” he challenges, though his voice is barely a whisper. “What if I say it’s too dangerous?”

“Then I’d tell you that you’re worth any danger,” you respond, matching his quiet intensity. “And I’m not afraid of what comes next, as long as I’m with you.”

A low groan escapes him, and he leans down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s as much an admission as it is a surrender. His hands slide up your sides, fingers grazing your skin as he holds you close, pouring everything he can’t say into that kiss. It’s a desperate, consuming embrace, one that leaves you breathless and dizzy, and when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing heavy.

“I can’t let them hurt you,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “And they would. If they found out about us, if they knew what I do, what I am…”

You touch his face, guiding his gaze back to yours. “Then I’ll tell them in my own way, on my own terms. We’ll figure it out, together.”

He studies you, a flicker of hope mingling with the doubt in his eyes. And slowly, as if unable to resist, he nods, brushing a tender kiss against your forehead. “Alright, sweetheart,” he whispers. “We’ll take it slow. We’ll find a way.”

You smile, leaning into him as his hands settle back around your waist, his touch firm and grounding. And there, in the quiet garden under the cover of night, you hold onto him, feeling the weight of his promises, the warmth of his presence. The world beyond may never understand, but you know in your heart that this is real, that whatever you and Bucky have is worth every risk.

With one last kiss, you turn back toward the lighted house, your heart thrumming with the thrill of what lies ahead.

A few days after the gala, you gather every ounce of courage Bucky has helped you discover and decide it’s time to tell your parents. You’ve been rehearsing the words over and over, trying to find a way to explain, to soften the news for them. But nothing prepares you for the reality of facing them, the tension thick in the air as they sit across from you in the parlor, looking so much like the people they want you to be: poised, elegant, and completely unyielding.

As you start to speak, their expressions quickly shift from polite interest to cold, rigid disapproval. You can barely finish explaining your love for Bucky, and the way he’s made you feel more alive, more yourself, before your father’s face darkens.

“Are you out of your mind?” he spits, his voice a low, simmering anger that makes you flinch. “That man is a criminal. I knew I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight that night.”

Your mother’s expression is no better. She’s silent, but her lips are pursed in a thin line, eyes fixed on you as if you’re someone she no longer recognizes.

“Father,” you say, trying to hold your ground, despite the wavering of your voice, “I know you don’t approve, but Bucky has shown me a side of myself I didn’t know existed. He—he treats me with respect, with kindness. He lets me be who I really am.”

Your father scoffs, his voice laced with disdain. “Who you really are? Who you really are, my dear, is a woman raised in one of the finest families in this city. And you think throwing that away for some… lowlife gangster is worth it?” He leans forward, his eyes dark. “You don’t know the kind of man he is. You’re just a silly girl, and he’s made you believe you’re someone you’re not.”

The words sting, slicing through you with a pain sharper than you imagined. Your vision blurs, and you look to your mother, hoping for a glimmer of support, some sign that she might understand.

But she only shakes her head, her gaze like cold steel. “You are to stop seeing him,” she says quietly but firmly. “Or we will have no choice but to arrange for you to stay with your aunt for the foreseeable future, away from this… corruption.”

The breath catches in your throat, panic rising like a tidal wave. “What? You can’t do that! I’m not a child anymore!”

“To us, you’re behaving like one,” your father snaps. “And you will obey us, or you’ll lose everything you know.”

Tears blur your vision, the realization settling like a stone in your chest. There’s no convincing them, no changing their minds. They’ll never see Bucky for who he is, never accept the person he’s helped you become. You flee from the parlor, your mother’s voice calling after you, but you don’t look back. You run up the grand staircase to your room, slamming the door behind you as the tears spill over, shaking with anger and heartbreak.

You sink down onto the floor, clutching your knees to your chest as sobs wrack your body. It feels like you’re losing everything: the life you thought you could build, the future you’ve just begun to imagine. But through the hurt and disappointment, one thing becomes clear—you can’t stay here, trapped under their rules, pretending to be someone you’re not. Not anymore.

The decision is sudden, fierce, and entirely certain. You wipe your tears, standing up on shaking legs as you grab a small bag from your closet. You pack only a few things—a dress, some undergarments, a handful of your favorite jewelry pieces—and slip a coat over your shoulders. You can still hear your parents’ voices downstairs, discussing you as if you’re a child who’s simply misbehaving, in need of reining in.

With your bag over your shoulder, you slip quietly down the back staircase, heart pounding in your chest as you make your way out the door. You don’t dare breathe until you’re outside, the cool night air hitting your skin and filling you with a strange exhilaration. For the first time in your life, you’re making a choice all on your own.

You head for Bucky’s place, your steps quick and determined. The streets are quieter now, and the dim lights of his neighborhood feel foreign yet somehow welcoming, as if beckoning you into a new life. By the time you reach his building, your cheeks are cold, and you’re trembling, but it’s not from the night air.

You knock softly, anxiety twisting in your gut as you wait. After a moment, the door opens, and there he stands, his face softening in surprise as he takes you in.

“Sweetheart?” His voice is gentle, his hand reaching for yours as he looks down at you, his concern written all over his face. “What happened?”

The moment you see him, the tears you thought you’d left behind return, and you step into his arms, clinging to him as the weight of the night finally catches up with you. Bucky’s arms wrap around you protectively, his hand stroking your back as he murmurs comforting words, letting you cry until the sobs turn into quiet sniffles.

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze. “I… I told them, Bucky. I told them about us.”

His face tightens, and he sighs, pressing his forehead to yours. “I told you, doll. I knew they wouldn’t understand.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “They said… they said they’d send me away, keep me away from you. I couldn’t stay there, Bucky. I couldn’t pretend anymore.”

He watches you carefully, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that linger on your cheeks. “So you came here?”

You nod again, your voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be. I want to be with you, Bucky. They don’t understand, but I do.”

His expression softens, something close to pride flickering in his eyes as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re here because you want to be?” he asks, his voice soft but thick with emotion.

“Yes,” you say firmly, your hand resting over his on your cheek. “This is where I belong.”

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as though anchoring himself to you. “You’re sure, doll? This isn’t an easy life, and it’s not what you’re used to. You know that, don’t you?”

You nod, looking up at him with conviction. “I don’t want easy. I want real. I want you.”

A small, soft smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapped around you protectively. “Then stay with me,” he murmurs. “Stay as long as you need. As long as you want.”

You feel a rush of relief as you lean into him, breathing in his familiar scent, feeling the warmth of his embrace. “Thank you,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out as he tightens his hold on you, letting you feel his silent promise to protect you, no matter what comes next.

He kisses you again, soft and lingering, his hands warm on your cheeks, grounding you. “We’ll figure this out, sweetheart. Together.”

And with that, you feel the weight of the past slipping away, the future opening up before you. You’re no longer bound by their rules, no longer caged by expectations. You’re free, here with Bucky, ready to carve out a life that’s truly yours.

Living with Bucky is an adventure—an unpredictable, exhilarating departure from the perfectly orchestrated life you’ve always known. The first few days are an intoxicating mix of quiet mornings with coffee shared over soft laughter and long, lingering evenings where you fall asleep wrapped in his arms, feeling as though you’ve finally found your place. It’s your first taste of real freedom, and the thrill of it is liberating.

But you soon discover that sharing a life with Bucky means confronting a world that’s nothing like the one you grew up in. The second week, you wake up one morning to the sound of deep voices drifting from Bucky’s office down the hall. Pulling on one of his old shirts, which falls almost to your knees, you pad softly down the hall, stopping just outside the office door, where it’s slightly ajar.

Bucky’s voice is unmistakable, calm and controlled as he speaks, “That shipment better be on time, understood? I’m not going to tolerate any delays.”

There’s a low murmur of assent from the men gathered inside, their voices respectful but wary. Curiosity piques as you lean a little closer, catching a glimpse of Bucky behind his desk, his usual warmth gone, replaced with an air of authority that’s almost intimidating. You realize that these men look at him the way others looked at your father—with respect, but also a hint of fear. It strikes you how different this is from the world you knew.

Before you can pull away, Bucky looks up, his sharp gaze softening immediately as he spots you. He nods, and the men around him quickly follow his line of sight, their eyes shifting to you with expressions that range from curious to wary. You straighten, suddenly feeling the weight of their stares. You’re not used to these kinds of men—rough around the edges, hardened by a life of survival and loyalty to Bucky.

Bucky stands, moving to the door, and the men’s gazes shift downward as he opens it wider. “Morning, doll,” he says with a small, reassuring smile, his hand slipping around your waist as he pulls you in for a quick kiss. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You shake your head, offering him a soft smile. “It’s alright. I just… heard voices.”

His gaze flicks over his shoulder at his men, his tone turning firm. “This is my girl. I want it understood that she’s off-limits to all of you, got it?”

A few murmurs of “Yes, sir,” echo from around the room, followed by respectful nods. One man, who you’ve only seen a few times in passing, speaks up, his voice low and respectful, “Anything happens, she’s got our protection, boss. You have our word.”

Bucky’s eyes flicker with something close to pride as he nods in approval. “Good. That’s exactly what I expect.”

Once they’re gone, you feel a weight lift, but a small unease lingers, a new awareness of the life Bucky leads. You glance back at him as he closes the office door, his hand slipping back around your waist, drawing you closer.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your hip.

You nod slowly, glancing around at the office now empty of his men. The heavy scent of smoke and the distinct aroma of leather fill the room, along with a faint trace of cologne that reminds you of him. “It’s… different,” you admit quietly, looking down as you search for the words. “I’m still getting used to it, I guess.”

Bucky’s hand moves up to cup your face, tilting it so you’re looking at him. There’s a gentleness in his gaze, a contrast to the hard edge you just saw him display with his men. “I know it’s different,” he murmurs, his eyes softening as he brushes a thumb along your cheek. “This world isn’t what you’re used to. It’s rough, messy… but you have me. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

You place your hand over his, smiling faintly as you lean into his touch. “It’s not that I’m afraid,” you say quietly. “I just… I never realized just how much of a life you built outside of me. I think maybe I was… naive about it.”

He sighs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Maybe you were, but you’re adjusting faster than you think. You don’t flinch, don’t back down. You’re tougher than you give yourself credit for.”

That quiet confidence in his words warms you, and you give a small smile, letting him pull you closer. Life with Bucky might not be the fairytale romance of the novels you once read, but there’s something far richer in the intensity of it, in the way he makes you feel alive and protected in a way that no one else ever has.

Over the next few weeks, you settle into a rhythm. Bucky’s hours are unpredictable, often interrupted by meetings or calls at odd hours, and more than once, you wake in the middle of the night to find his side of the bed empty. But no matter how late he comes back, he’s always there by morning, slipping back under the covers to hold you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he murmurs, “Go back to sleep, doll. I’m here now.”

Some mornings, you watch him as he shaves, noting the quiet, focused way he moves, the small scars along his jawline that tell stories you haven’t heard yet. You help him button his shirt, fingers grazing over his skin as he watches you with a tender smile, his hand slipping around your waist to hold you close even in those small, stolen moments.

But one evening, as he walks through the door, his brow furrowed and jaw tight, you sense something is wrong. He doesn’t give you his usual greeting kiss, just strides to the bar in the corner, pouring himself a whiskey in silence. You approach him slowly, worry gnawing at you.

“Bucky?” you ask softly, touching his arm. “Is everything alright?”

He nods, but his eyes are distant, his jaw clenched as he takes a long sip of his drink. “Just some business. It’s… complicated.” He sighs, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ve been dealing with some trouble in the city. A rival family’s stepping on our territory.”

You feel a shiver at his words, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you place a hand over his, squeezing gently. “Is there anything I can do?”

He glances down at you, his expression softening as he brushes a thumb along your knuckles. “You’re doing it already,” he murmurs, pulling you close. “Just… keep being here. You’re the only thing that keeps all this from feeling like it’s gonna swallow me whole.”

As the days pass, you begin to understand Bucky’s world a little better. You learn to accept the constant presence of his men, the tension that sometimes fills the house when they discuss matters you don’t entirely understand. But through it all, Bucky is steadfast, grounding you with gentle touches, soft murmurs, and stolen moments of laughter that make the weight of his world seem almost bearable.

One evening, after dinner, he pulls you into his arms, swaying slowly to the soft hum of a jazz tune from the record player. His hand rests on your waist, his eyes warm as he looks down at you.

“Think you’re still up for this?” he asks quietly, searching your face.

You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’m right where I want to be,” you whisper, feeling the truth of those words settle deep in your chest. No matter how unfamiliar, how dangerous this life may seem, Bucky’s presence makes it feel like home.

Living with Bucky brings a cascade of new experiences, each a lesson in how to navigate his world. His men regard you with a mix of respect and wariness, giving you wide berth, yet always keeping a careful watch. As weeks turn into months, Bucky shows you the ropes of his world in small, deliberate steps. He insists on teaching you skills he says every woman in his life should know—things that make you feel stronger, more independent, and, if you’re honest, a little daring.

One evening, he leads you to a room in the back of the house that he keeps locked, and as he opens the door, you’re struck by the cold steel of the weapons glinting from the shelves. Handguns, revolvers, rifles—they’re all there, neatly organized. Your eyes widen, and you look up at him with a mix of surprise and nervous excitement.

“Bucky… you think I need to know how to use these?” you ask, your voice wavering as you step inside.

He nods, his face serious but warm, as he wraps his arm around your waist. “Yes, doll. This life, it’s unpredictable. I need to know you can defend yourself if something ever happens. I’d never forgive myself if you got hurt.”

His hand trails to a revolver on the nearest shelf, lifting it with practiced ease and placing it gently in your hands. It’s surprisingly heavy, cold against your palm. “It’s a .38 Special,” he explains, his voice a low rumble as he stands behind you, guiding your hands to hold it steady. “Good for close range, packs a punch without much kickback.”

Under his patient instruction, you learn how to load the revolver, align the sights, and control your breath as you pull the trigger. He takes you out to a private spot on the edge of town where you can practice firing without drawing attention, setting up makeshift targets and coaching you on how to aim. His arms are warm around you, his words a low, steady cadence in your ear as he whispers pointers and praises your progress.

The first time you hit a target square in the middle, he lets out a low whistle and wraps his arms around you, lifting you off your feet with pride. “Look at you,” he says, beaming. “Sharp as a tack, just like I knew you’d be.”

The next week, he starts showing you hand-to-hand defense moves, teaching you how to break a hold, how to twist out of a grasp, and where to strike in case you ever need to incapacitate an attacker. “You’re stronger than you think,” he murmurs after you manage to push him off balance, grinning as you catch your breath. “Keep that up, and no one will dare lay a hand on you.”

It’s during these lessons that you realize just how deep his care for you runs. He watches you carefully, keeping you close, his focus unwavering. To him, this isn’t just training; it’s a promise that he’s arming you with the tools to thrive in his world, to share in his life not just as his love but as his equal.

One evening, as he’s teaching you how to tuck a small pistol into the folds of a dress without making it obvious, he turns to you, his face lit with a mischievous grin. “What do you say we work on making a mark somewhere a little more… public?”

You tilt your head in curiosity, and he chuckles, gesturing toward the coat rack where his hat and coat are draped. “How would you like to redesign the bar?”

You laugh, but his face is serious, his eyes warm. “I mean it. That bar has seen the same wallpaper and fixtures for far too long. Do what you like. I’ll handle the finances.”

The idea lights a spark within you, and in the following days, you dive into plans for the bar’s transformation. Armed with Bucky’s unwavering support, you work with a designer to bring a fresh, sophisticated flair to the bar, capturing both elegance and subtle mystery, a reflection of his complex world. You choose sleek, dark wood for the bar counter, deep crimson velvet booths, and warm, ambient lighting that gives the place an intimate feel. Chandeliers cast a soft glow, adding a touch of glamor to the smoky atmosphere.

Bucky watches with a mixture of pride and amusement as you negotiate with suppliers, debate over wallpaper samples, and insist on the exact shade of red for the booths. He’s there with you every step of the way, his hand on your waist, whispering words of encouragement as you bring your vision to life. And when the renovation is finally complete, you both stand back, surveying the new look with a shared sense of accomplishment.

“This place has never looked so good,” he murmurs, pulling you close as he surveys the bar, his gaze soft. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

The bar becomes more than just his place of business; it’s now a part of you, a symbol of the life you’re building together. You visit often, and each time, Bucky’s men nod in recognition and respect, their murmurs of “Good evening, ma’am” making you feel as though you’re finally part of his world.

As the weeks pass, Bucky’s men begin to notice the change in you. You hold yourself with more confidence, unafraid to meet their eyes, and they, in turn, begin to look at you with a mix of respect and a bit of awe. They know you’re Bucky’s woman, and they also know that Bucky’s trust in you means they can trust you too.

One evening, as you’re seated at the bar, sipping a gin fizz while Bucky tends to a business discussion in his office, a young, scrappy-looking man approaches, tipping his hat with a shy nod. “Ma’am,” he says, his tone reverent. “Boss says you did a fine job with the place. Just wanted to say it looks real nice.”

The compliment catches you off guard, but you offer him a warm smile, nodding graciously. “Thank you,” you reply, feeling a sense of pride swell within you. “I’m glad you think so.”

Bucky joins you a little later, his hand possessive and reassuring as he places it on the small of your back, signaling to his men that you’re his. When you’re together, he’s never far, his gaze constantly checking for any sign of trouble, his fingers lightly grazing yours as though grounding himself in your presence.

One night, as you’re locking up after closing hours, he takes your hand, guiding you to one of the newly installed booths. “You know,” he begins, his voice low as he leans in, “watching you work on this place, the way you took charge… I’ve never felt more sure that you’re meant to be in my life.”

You smile, tracing the outline of his jaw with your fingers, savoring the way he leans into your touch. “I think I was always meant to be here,” you whisper, your voice soft. “Just took me a while to find my way.”

Bucky’s hand comes up, cupping your cheek as his eyes search yours, dark and intense. “And you’re not afraid?” he asks, his voice thick with emotion. “Not of me, or this life?”

You shake your head, lacing your fingers with his. “Not when I’m with you.”

He smiles, pressing his lips softly to yours, his hand cradling the back of your head as he kisses you, deeply and thoroughly. When he pulls away, his voice is a soft, reverent murmur against your skin. “Then you’re my queen, now and always.”

Together, you sit in the dim glow of the bar you’ve crafted, feeling more like partners than ever. You know this world isn’t easy, and you understand that there’s danger in every corner. But Bucky has taught you to stand tall, to defend yourself, and most importantly, to embrace who you are—brave, strong, and forever his.

The proposal comes in the most unassuming way, wrapped in a quiet evening as you and Bucky walk through the city under the soft glow of streetlights. You’re tucked under his arm, your fingers laced with his, listening to him talk about everything and nothing when he pauses, turning to face you.

“Doll,” he murmurs, his eyes intent, holding an edge of something you haven’t seen before. He takes your hand, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles as he speaks, “You’ve changed my life more than you know. I want you with me for all of it—for the long haul.”

Before you can respond, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small ring—a simple, understated band with a single diamond that catches the light just so, elegant and timeless. You gasp, feeling your heart hammer in your chest as he goes on, his voice quiet but firm. “Will you marry me, sweetheart? Just you and me, no fuss, no big to-do. Just us.”

The answer is a breathless, tearful “Yes,” and within a few days, the two of you find yourselves in a small chapel at the edge of town, where only the preacher and a few witnesses look on as you exchange vows. The simplicity of it all feels intimate, beautiful—just as you both wanted it. Bucky looks at you like you’re his whole world, his hand never letting go of yours as he speaks, each word holding the depth of his love and loyalty.

When he leans in to kiss you, sealing the vows you’ve made, his hands cradle your face, his touch soft and reverent. It’s the start of something that feels profound, and as you walk out of the chapel hand in hand, you know you’ve found a home with him that you’d never leave.

Married life with Bucky is as wild and beautiful as you expected, with Bucky’s fierce protection and deep loyalty extending now to you in every possible way. His men, though hardened and somewhat rough around the edges, respect the shift that comes with you now being their boss’s wife. Some of them even seem taken aback, perhaps not having expected Bucky to settle down, but they adjust quickly, understanding that you’re a part of their world now.

Your presence doesn’t go unnoticed, and you catch them watching you from the corner of their eyes, their expressions a mixture of admiration and curiosity. Bucky has made it clear that you’re his, but he’s also drilled it into them that you’re off-limits. Not only are they to respect you, but they’re to protect you with their lives, should anything happen.

One evening, you’re sitting in Bucky’s office, sorting through some paperwork to help him keep his records organized—a task that started as something you could do together but eventually became your little project. One of his lieutenants, a man named Red, comes to the door and knocks, glancing in with an air of hesitation. He’s got a few years on Bucky, graying hair and a hardened face marked by the years he’s spent in the trade.

“Ma’am,” he says with a respectful nod. “Boss around?”

You smile, nodding toward the main room. “He’s handling a few details out front, but he’ll be back in just a bit.”

Red shifts uncomfortably, but his gaze is sincere as he speaks, “Just wanted to thank you for the new setup in the bar. Been working here since it was falling apart. Nice to see it’s finally had a woman’s touch.”

There’s a roughness to his voice that’s softened by the genuine compliment, and you feel a small, pleased flush at his words. “Thank you, Red. I’m glad it’s been good for business.”

Red nods, glancing away as he adds, “Boss always did well by us, but since you came around, he’s… different. Happier, I’d say. Gives the rest of us some hope.”

The words linger, warm and honest, and you realize that Bucky’s men may be as loyal to him as they are because he’s given them more than just orders; he’s given them respect, a family, and maybe even a little hope. You nod back at Red, giving him a warm smile. “He’s done the same for me.”

A few of the younger men, though more rough-hewn than Red, begin to warm up to you as well, quickly growing protective of you in a way that surprises you. One afternoon, a few of them return to the house after a particularly rough day, bruised and tired but in good spirits, their banter filling the hall. You’re in the kitchen when you overhear them.

“Boss’s wife made some tea for us last time,” one of them—Jimmy—mutters with a half-smile. “Think she might be up for it again?”

You chuckle to yourself, preparing a tray of tea and a few snacks for them. When you bring it into the room, their eyes go wide with surprise and maybe a little embarrassment, but they’re grateful all the same, mumbling thanks and compliments as they tuck into the food. Their guarded attitudes soften gradually, each interaction building a bridge between you and them.

As the months go on, Bucky decides to show you more about his business dealings, explaining the basics of the operation, from shipments to negotiation tactics. He wants you to know the essentials, to understand what’s at stake if anything were to go wrong. Though you’re initially overwhelmed, Bucky’s calm and thorough explanations ground you, and soon, you’re able to follow along, asking questions and even offering ideas.

One night, as he’s going over the logistics of a particularly tricky deal, you suggest a more discreet route for his shipments, one that would minimize the chances of a police raid. He pauses, regarding you with admiration.

“That’s… clever,” he says, grinning as he pulls you closer. “You’re catching on fast.”

You smile, feeling a little thrill at the idea that you can help him. “Well, I figured if I’m going to be part of this life, I should understand it as best as I can.”

He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Smart and beautiful. I’ve got myself a hell of a wife.”

Living in Bucky’s world isn’t easy, but with him by your side, you find yourself adapting more every day. His men, once guarded and wary, now greet you with warm smiles and friendly nods. They even start calling you “Mrs. Barnes,” a title that sends a thrill through you each time you hear it. They respect you, not just as their boss’s wife, but as someone who’s proven herself resilient and unafraid, willing to stand by Bucky’s side in every sense.

One evening, as you and Bucky sit by the fire after a particularly busy day, he takes your hand, his gaze warm and full of pride.

“You’ve done more than just fit in,” he murmurs, tracing circles on the back of your hand. “You’re making this life better—for me, and for them. They’d walk through fire for you, you know.”

You smile, leaning into his embrace as you whisper, “I’d do the same for them. And for you.”

Bucky pulls you close, kissing you deeply, his touch filled with all the love and respect you’ve come to know. In this life, he’s given you a place, a purpose, and a family of sorts. And though it may be rough around the edges, it’s everything you never knew you wanted.

It’s a quiet evening in your home when you decide to tell Bucky. You’ve known for a few days now, caught between excitement and nervousness, wondering how he’ll take the news. The idea of Bucky, this fierce man with so much fire in him, as a father—it fills you with a kind of joy you can barely put into words. You can already picture him holding a little one with his protective grip and soft touch.

You find him in his office, going over some paperwork, his brow furrowed in that familiar way. When he sees you standing in the doorway, he smiles, putting his pen down and beckoning you over.

“Hey, doll. Everything all right?” he asks, his gaze warm.

You nod, a little flutter in your stomach as you sit down beside him. “More than all right,” you say, taking his hands in yours. “I have some news.”

He raises an eyebrow, his thumb brushing over your fingers. “News, huh? What’s got that look on your face?”

Taking a breath, you let the words tumble out. “I’m pregnant, Bucky. We’re going to have a baby.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his mouth parted slightly, as if he’s trying to comprehend what you’ve just said. Then, his face breaks into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen, and before you can react, he’s lifting you up off the chair, spinning you around as he lets out a loud, joyous laugh.

“You’re kidding,” he says, his voice thick with emotion as he pulls you into a tight embrace. “You’re not kidding, are you? We’re really going to have a baby?”

You laugh, tears in your eyes as you nod. “I’m not kidding, Bucky. You’re going to be a dad.”

He pulls back, cupping your face in his hands as he looks at you with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world, you know that?” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “My girl… carrying our little one.”

From that moment on, Bucky is even more protective, if that’s even possible. He insists on accompanying you everywhere—walking you to the bar, the market, even down the street to visit friends. His arm stays wrapped around you, and he keeps a vigilant eye on everyone and everything, always hyper-aware of your surroundings.

His men catch wind of the news almost immediately—Bucky’s excitement is hard to contain, and soon it’s the talk of the whole operation. The older men, like Red, take on a near-brotherly protectiveness, fussing over you every time they see you. When you enter the bar, Red is the first to pull out a chair for you, insisting you sit down, rest your feet, and have a drink of water. He’ll even bring snacks, going on about how “a growing baby needs the right nourishment.”

“It’s just some crackers, Red,” you say with a chuckle one afternoon as he hands you a napkin with a few biscuits on it.

He huffs, shaking his head. “Crackers or not, it’s something. Boss says you need looking after, and by God, we’re all here to do it.”

The younger men, though, are even more amusing. They look at you now with a reverence that borders on idolization, like they’re seeing a saint. For them, the news of your pregnancy somehow cements you as a maternal figure—half of them treat you like a mother already, despite being barely younger than you.

One evening, you catch Jimmy and a couple of the other young guys following you at a short distance as you walk from the bar back to the house. When you turn around, hands on your hips, they come to a halt, shuffling their feet awkwardly.

“Are you… following me?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Jimmy scratches the back of his head, looking sheepish. “Uh, just, you know, keeping an eye out, ma’am. Making sure you’re safe.”

You bite back a smile, crossing your arms. “Bucky put you up to this?”

“Well,” Jimmy shrugs, looking to his buddies for help, “kinda. But we’re, uh, happy to do it. After all, you’re carrying the boss’s kid.”

The other young men nod earnestly, and you can’t help but laugh, touched by their earnest protectiveness. “You boys are something else,” you say, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine for the two blocks back to the house. Go on and get back to your posts.”

They look reluctant, but eventually they nod, tipping their hats before scurrying back down the street, casting looks over their shoulders just to be sure you’re all right.

But the most amusing situation happens one evening at the bar when you’re seated at your usual table, nursing a glass of water while Bucky wraps up a meeting. You see a group of young men hanging back by the door, glancing at you as if they’re unsure whether they should approach. Finally, one of them, a lanky kid named Tommy, gets a nudge from his friends and steps forward, clearing his throat.

“Mrs. Barnes?” he says, his face a little red.

“Yes, Tommy?”

“We… well, we just wanted to, uh, say that we’re here for you, you know? Anything you need, even if it’s something small, you can call on us.”

You smile warmly, touched by the sentiment. “Thank you, Tommy. I appreciate it.”

He nods, looking relieved, then turns back to his friends, giving them a thumbs-up. They all visibly relax, one of them even muttering, “Told you she wouldn’t bite.”

When Bucky returns and notices the young men lingering, he chuckles, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “What’s going on here? You boys causing trouble for my wife?”

Tommy quickly shakes his head. “No, Boss! We were just… making sure she’s taken care of.”

Bucky laughs, looking at you with pride. “Hear that, doll? You’ve got your own little entourage now.”

The protectiveness doesn’t end there. As your pregnancy progresses, Bucky’s men make it their mission to see you have everything you need. They show up with all sorts of things: blankets, pillows, snacks, even a few old baby trinkets from their own childhoods that they insist might bring you luck. Bucky can’t hide his amusement, shaking his head as each new offering arrives.

One afternoon, Red shows up with a hand-carved wooden cradle, rough around the edges but lovingly made. He clears his throat, looking a little embarrassed. “Made it myself, ma’am. Thought the little one might need it.”

You gasp, tears filling your eyes as you take in the beautiful, rustic cradle. “Red, this is incredible. Thank you.”

He grunts, shuffling his feet as he glances away. “Ah, well. Figured it’d be sturdy enough for the boss’s kid.”

Bucky squeezes your hand, beaming. “Look at that, doll. Already got a nursery started.”

By the time your due date draws near, you feel almost invincible, surrounded by Bucky and his fierce band of loyal men who’d go to the ends of the earth for you and the little life you’re carrying. And as you sit back one night, Bucky’s hand resting on your growing belly, you can’t help but feel grateful for this strange, wonderful family you’ve found yourself part of—rough around the edges but bound by a love as fierce as Bucky’s world itself.

The night your daughter is born is one of the most intense yet beautiful moments of your life. Labor stretches on through the evening, the pain fierce and unrelenting, but Bucky is right there, holding your hand, whispering words of encouragement. He’s a rock, his presence grounding you, his words calm and steady even when you can see the worry etched on his face.

When, finally, your daughter enters the world, she lets out a strong, piercing cry that fills the room. You’re exhausted, but as soon as she’s placed in your arms, a wave of overwhelming love washes over you, and nothing else matters. She’s tiny, with soft, dark hair and Bucky’s nose—a perfect blend of you both.

Bucky, watching from beside you, looks at her as if he’s seeing a miracle. He stares, his expression softened and filled with awe. He’s practically holding his breath as he takes in every detail, and then his hand reaches out, trembling slightly, to gently stroke her tiny fingers.

“Look at her,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s… she’s perfect.”

You look up at him, tears in your eyes, and ask, “What should we call her?”

After a moment of thought, he murmurs, “Rosie. I think… she looks like a Rosie.”

You smile, looking down at the beautiful little girl in your arms. “Rosie Barnes,” you whisper, kissing her forehead. “It’s perfect.”

As the hours pass, Bucky holds her close, absolutely smitten. He’s careful and tender, his large hands dwarfing her tiny body as he cradles her against his chest. She settles there, soothed by the steady beat of his heart, and Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off her, as if afraid she might disappear if he does.

The next day, word of Rosie’s arrival spreads quickly, and before long, Bucky’s men begin arriving in groups, each eager to get a glimpse of the boss’s baby girl. They linger outside the house, trying to act casual, but their anticipation is obvious. When Bucky finally steps out, holding Rosie bundled in a soft blanket, they all fall silent, eyes wide as they take in the tiny baby nestled in his arms.

Red is the first to step forward, glancing between Bucky and you with an almost shy smile. He’s seen his fair share of the world, but the sight of his boss holding his newborn daughter seems to bring a sparkle to his eyes.

“Boss,” Red says, clearing his throat, “she’s… well, she’s just beautiful.”

Bucky beams with pride, his gaze flicking down to Rosie. “Yeah, isn’t she? Strong little thing, too. Just like her mom.”

The men gather around, each taking turns to offer congratulations and quietly marvel at Rosie. Jimmy, one of the youngest, looks utterly awestruck, his face softening as he whispers, “She’s so small. Boss, how’re you even holding her without breaking her?”

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head. “Carefully, Jimmy. You’d be surprised how tough she is.”

The men crowd around, the tougher among them looking a bit like kids as they lean in, captivated by the tiny face and the faint coos that escape her lips. One of the older men, Bruno, a giant of a guy with hands as big as dinner plates, seems almost afraid to look too closely. But when you offer to let him hold her, he stammers a bit before reluctantly accepting. His large hands are surprisingly gentle, and his face softens as he holds her, muttering, “Well, ain’t she just a little rosebud.”

Each of the men takes their turn holding Rosie, and as they do, their faces transform, hardened lines replaced by wide smiles and soft expressions. They each offer their own brand of affection, quietly promising to look after her and keep her safe.

“Boss, you can bet your life she’s got an army looking out for her,” Red says, his voice gruff with emotion. “Anybody even thinks about messing with Rosie, they’ll have us to answer to.”

Bucky’s face fills with gratitude, his arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders. “She’s got one hell of a family, that’s for sure.”

In the days that follow, Rosie becomes the unofficial darling of Bucky’s men. They treat her with a fierce loyalty, doting on her in ways that surprise even themselves. On nights when Bucky’s busy with business, some of the men stay at the house, watching over you and Rosie, always willing to lend a hand or sing a lullaby in gruff, off-key voices. It’s a strange sight—a group of hardened men cooing over a newborn—but they take to it naturally, each of them feeling a fierce need to protect this tiny life.

And as Rosie grows, you see how much she’s loved by this unlikely family. By the time she’s old enough to toddle around, she’s got each of Bucky’s men wrapped around her little finger. She even develops her own nicknames for them, each title bringing a proud smile to their faces.

“Uncle Red,” she chirps one day, tugging at Red’s sleeve to show him a flower she’s found in the garden. Red, whose heart might as well be on his sleeve when it comes to Rosie, kneels down and lets her place the flower in his graying hair.

“That’s a good look, kid,” Bucky teases, watching as Red, entirely unbothered, adjusts the flower to make sure it stays put.

Jimmy becomes “Jimmie-boy,” a nickname that sticks even when she’s older, and he loves it, wearing the title like a badge of honor. And every one of them takes her antics in stride, always willing to let her “play boss” when she totters around the bar or “inspects” the back office, clutching Bucky’s hand.

Rosie is a little sunshine in their world, a reminder of what they’re protecting, and they become even more devoted to their boss because of her. Each of them, from the youngest to the oldest, would lay down their life for her without a second thought.

But Bucky’s protection is something else entirely. He never lets her out of his sight if he can help it, always watching with a proud, fierce smile. And each night, as you watch Bucky tuck Rosie into bed, his touch gentle, his voice a soft murmur of love, you know that you and Rosie are his whole world.

As he closes the door to Rosie’s room one night, he turns to you, his eyes filled with emotion.

“You gave me a family I never thought I’d have,” he whispers, pulling you close. “Every day with you two… it’s more than I ever dreamed of.”

And as you rest in his embrace, listening to the quiet peace of your home, you know that you’ve built a life together that’s both beautiful and fierce—a life filled with love, loyalty, and the strength to face whatever may come.

me when soft men. if you liked the story don't forget to leave a like and a reblog, drop a follow if you want to read more! <3

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divinity-devoured · 5 months ago

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i cannot comprehend this

#monsoon posting #it is like I am mourning a fresh corpse #this grief is foreign. I have never experienced it like this #i will never see indigo again #this sort of awful plea;#one more moment. please #i miss him #i miss being small enough to curl into his hands. i miss him #please #i can remember it so vividly. being held in his hands #his claws digging into my flesh. my bone cracking and burning #and his hands. within my chest. close to my awful traitor heart #i could feel it. for moments. and I was so deeply terrified. I was so scared #but I reminded myself that he was just a moment away #but now he’s not #please. please #i cannot express this loneliness in words #it has been said once. i will say it again #indigo and monsoon are perhaps of the same heart #what am I meant to do? grieve and move on?#there would be no reason to move on. i remain because there is the vain hope that he will appear here #just as I have #but it is such a fleeting hope #and oftentimes I can do nothing but grieve

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eufezco · 3 months ago

Text

LIKE THE FIRST TIME

it has been a long time since you and logan had sex. you should show him that despite everything he hated about himself, you still craved him.

logan x afab!reader (smut, angst) + no use of y/n. english isn't my first language (!). gif credit to @/asgardswinter

it was a shitty place where you were living with logan. it was always dirty, no matter how many times you cleaned it, it was noisy, because despite being in the middle of nowhere, the train tracks were very close to it, and it was the least home-like thing in the world. both of you were working your asses off to get out of there as soon as possible.

in your free time, you helped caliban with the housework and took care of old charles xavier while logan spent the whole day out, driving and having to deal with one of the things he hated most in the world, people.

he always came home late, tired, with his whole body aching. some nights you would fall asleep while waiting for him and even though logan asked you to do it, to not to wait up for him, most times you stayed up so just to make sure he arrived safely. you waited for him curled up in bed. when he was a minute late, your heart began to beat faster and you imagined the worst. but then he would come into the room, dragging his feet and with his head bowed down.

—how was your day?

logan grunted as he sat at the foot of your bed, you felt how the mattress sagged with his weight.

—did something happen?

you crawled to him and rested your chin on his shoulder. he let out a sigh of relief when your arms wrapped around his body and you hugged him from the back.

—just a tired fuckin' day, that's all.

you hummed, understanding. —well, now you are home so you can finally relax. would you like something to eat?

logan shook his head as he let it fall back and rest on your shoulder. he just wanted to stay like that a little longer with his body between your legs and his eyes closed. he placed one of his hands over yours resting on his stomach as you hugged him. one of his big hands was enough to cover both of yours.

—i've missed you, lo. i always miss you when you are away.

you placed a kiss on his neck. the first thing he did when he entered the house was to get rid of his shirt, keeping only the white tank top he was wearing underneath. his broad shoulders were at your disposal, his muscular arms and warm skin as well.

logan swallowed when he felt your lips on his neck. you noticed so you placed another kiss there.

—i miss you too. every second i spend away from you, i miss you.

you hummed, your heart gave a small jump of joy. while your love language was words of affirmation and you were always reminding him how much he was loved by you, logan was more of an act of service man. removing makeup from your face when you got home and were too tired to do it yourself, washing your hair and massaging your head when you showered, and leaving your coffee ready when he went to work earlier than you. hearing those words come out of logan's mouth meant the whole world.

your hands traveled down his abdomen until they reached the hem of his tshirt and easily slipped under the fabric. you felt his perfect abs under your fingertips and the hairs growing below his belly button as well. he took a deep breath, it had been so long since the last time he had allowed you to touch him like that.

you took your hands out of his tshirt and moved one of them to his neck to make logan turn his head resting on your shoulder and look at you. you connected your lips with his, his bushy beard pricked your face as you kissed him, but you didn't mind, it had been so long since you and logan had kissed so passionately that you could take it.

your tongue slipped past his lips and logan moaned, allowing his to go inside your mouth as well. you moved on the bed, putting one leg on each side of logan's body and sitting on his lap, all this without stopping kissing for a second. his hands now rested on your lower back, yours were on the back of his head to deepen the kiss.

his cock got rock hard the moment you sat on his thighs and you started to roll your hips timidly against his crotch. you felt his growing bulge rubbing against your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear. god, how bad you needed to feel him.

your hands slid down from his neck, caressing his entire torso, until they reached again the hem of his tshirt. you tried to pull the white tank top over his head, but logan stopped you. his lips parted from yours and he shook his head.

—it's okay. i want you, logan. i promise everything is fine.

you held his cheeks so he would look you in the eyes.

he was getting old, there was nothing left of the young and charming boy you met at charles' academy. his body had changed, his hair and beard were becoming whiter every day, and you were still young and full of light while he was fading away. yet you still loved and desired him, like the first day you craved his body. you found him just as hot, even hotter now, but you didn't want to force him to do something he wasn't going to enjoy.

you kissed him so he could stop worrying. —let me take care of you. i want you, lo, i need to feel you —.you mumbled against his lips. he let out a grunt when he felt you pressing your pussy harder on his bulge.

your hands traveled the same path down his chest one more time until you reached the edge of his tshirt again. you expected him to take your hands off him again but he not only allowed you to keep going but he also lifted his arms so you could pull the white tank top over his head.

—fuck —. you let out in a mix of moan and gasp. his body was breathtaking. your hands were quickly attached to his chest, hairy, hard under your touch, warm, with each of its muscles perfectly defined. abs, pecs, perfect broad and muscular shoulders, and wide strong arms, with veins running from his shoulder down his arms to the back of his hands. you ran your fingers along the thick scars that marked his body. —fuck, you're so hot.

with his hands on your back, logan gently pushed you to keep rubbing yourself against him and you moaned, he was harder if possible and you were so wet that you knew that your panties would be completely soaked. you kissed the crook of his neck while his fists clenched, clutching at the tshirt of his that you were wearing as your pajamas. logan fought against his instinct, against the animalistic way you were making him feel, but his grip became so tight that he ended up ripping the fabric.

—it was one of your favorite tshirts.

—don't care.

and logan kissed your lips as he ended up tearing the fabric completely and threw it on the floor. you grabbed the back of his head when his lips moved down your neck and collarbone. your nipples were already painfully hard when logan cupped one of your tits and wrapped his mouth around your sensitive bud.

all of a sudden you got up from his lap and he had to let your nipple go. he was worried about the way you had moved away from him, had he done something wrong?

now you were standing in the middle of the room, in front of him, only wearing your panties. your body was the most beautiful thing his eyes had ever witnessed, with scars very similar to his, with all those things you hated about yourself. was that how you felt about him? if it had not been for the pain in his whole body he would have fallen off the bed on his knees in front of you.

he huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes once you started swaying your hips from side to side while you slid your underwear down your legs. you laughed too, you felt stupid, but at least you had managed to make him smile. you two weren't the type to do those things, things were always more animalistic, more passionate, rougher. you walked towards him and leaned in to kiss him as your hands worked on the zipper of his jeans.

—you're beautiful —. he whispered.

logan helped you to straddle him again. you held your body over his thanks to your knees on the bed. with one hand you grabbed his hard cock resting impatiently against his stomach. he gasped because of your firm grip and squeezed your hips when you lined it up against your aching entrance.

you lowered yourself just enough for his tip to go in. he let out a deep grunt straight from his chest, you let out all the air you had in your lungs in a moan. you never forgot how big he was, the thickness of his cock, the patch of hair on its base, and the veins running along his shaft, but you did forget about the way it stretched you open, about the sting that his dick going deeper inside you caused.

—careful —. logan mumbled against your lips.

you kept taking him, closing your eyes shut and biting your lower lip, hissing every time you took a centimeter more inside of you. you rested your forehead against his and whined when his cock finally bottomed you. —i need a moment.

logan nodded. one of your hands sneaked in between your bodies and found your clit while his hands lovingly caressed your back. it had been so long since you had sex. logan wouldn't let you touch him, he was disgusted by his own body and he was afraid that you would see him the way he saw himself. that's why that night you decided that you would make him feel so good that he would never doubt the way you felt about him or his body.

you started by slowly rolling your hips as your fingers worked on your clit. his jaw tightened while he felt your body moving with his whole cock inside. his big hands on your hips helped you to move, setting a pace and keeping you from going faster so you wouldn't hurt yourself.

—that's it, take your time —. he said. young logan wouldn't have given you a second to get used to it, he would have fucked you mercilessly and you would have loved every second of it. but now, his eyes were focused on where your bodies became one, enjoying how your pussy adjusted to his size thanks to your fingers rubbing your clit.

he moaned once you lifted your body just a little and then dropped back onto him. you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his lips while you repeated that same move again and again. your cries and his moans mixed in your mouths. all his body jerked every time you lifted yourself a bit more and then sucked his cock completely inside you again.

—you make me feel so good, logan. always have, fuck—. you purred in his ear. his hands, previously resting on your hips, slid all the way to your ass your hands and squeezed it. in those little details you could see how he was gaining confidence, which encouraged you to keep moving without changing your pace. it was slow, passionate, intense and intimate.

between moans and cries, you kept worshiping him, telling him how much you had missed feeling him inside you, how your fingers were no comparison to his cock, how you didn't want to share these moments with anyone other than him. there was no one like him. you didn't care about his scars, his moodiness, the gray of his hair, there would never be another one for you but logan, you did not want another one.

you were close, he could feel it in the way your walls were squeezing his cock and he knew he wouldn't last longer. logan wrapped his arms around your body, pressing you against his hard chest, and your fingers knotted into his hair. he groaned, your little jumps became irregular, your legs began to shake. logan hugged you tighter and sunk his teeth into your shoulder, getting a little choked cry from you.

—cum inside me, lo. fill me up, please, i need it. let me have it, please.

oh god, your words were driving him insane and after how well you had treated him, who was he to deny your wishes?

logan held your body down on his cock as he came, hugging you tighter against him. you buried your head into the crook of his neck, moaning into his skin while your legs shook and your pussy clenched around him. it was too much. as he released himself inside you, his claws came out and trapped you between them and logan's body, you had no escape. he groaned when he felt the pain of the adamantium ripping the skin off his knuckles mixed with all the pleasure of cumming inside you.

—shit —. he immediately put the claws away when he realized. —i haven't hurt you, have i?

you shook your head, still coming down from your high. he exhaled with relief. once you had caught your breath, you straightened your back, still sitting on his lap and feeling his cock getting soft inside you. you brought his hands to the front.

—are you okay? that probably hurt —. you caressed his knuckles.

—felt too good to even think about it.

you smiled proudly and kissed him. when you broke away, he noticed the mark of his teeth on the skin of your shoulder. —'m so sorry, fuck.

—don't be. i wish you had bitten me harder.

he shook his head, keeping himself from laughing. —you're a freak.

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eupheme · 2 months ago

Text

— double the pleasure, triple the fun

[part iii of come on and show me | masterlist]

logan howlett x f!reader x wade wilson

rated e - 5.6k

tags: MMF threesome, mutual pining/crushes all around, dirty talk, poly relationship, multi-tasking, the world's worst romantic porposition, oral sex, vaginal fingering, ass play (fingering & rimming), double penetration, creampies, fluff and feelings

a/n: massive thank you to the wonderfully talented @avocado-writing, who kindly beta'd this for me! 💖

“Are you asking me out?” It comes slowly, in a rough rasp.

It’s you that turns then, your eyes finding his. Your smile is sweet - a swirling heat of hope in your belly, “Depends on your answer.”

There’s something dark in his eyes. A curl of his lips, as his head dips. A kiss pressed against your spine, then lower.

“Come on Wilson.” Logan husks, “Let’s get our girl ready.”

(Or, your two becomes three.)

“God, I want him to put a baby in me.”

Wade’s sigh rumbles beneath your ear, where your head cradles against his chest.

Legs entwined as you stretch out together on the couch - a late-night wind-down after your boyfriend spent the evening picking out his To-Do List at Sister Margaret's.

To kill. Not fuck, apparently. Something he was quick to clarify.

“What are you watching?” Your eyes pull away from your own phone - seventeen chapters into an enemies-to-lovers slow burn you haven’t been able to put down all evening.

A little stretch, as your head tilts to face him - knuckles propped under your chin, “That video has been looping for like, ten minutes.”

“And yet, still not long enough,” He sighs, flashing the screen at you, “Sir Mix-a-Lot, you never miss.”

The video flickers, a quick and skillful transition of clips - your eyes squinting at the screen from your angle.

“Is that... Logan?”

“Close, baby girl.” His finger boops against your nose, “Huge Ackman.”

There’s a little shake of your head, as your shoulder lifts, “I don’t know who that is.”

“And thank god,” He grins, letting the phone drop onto the cushions. A shift, as his hands dips against the small of your back, “If you did, you would divorce me so fast-“

Your eyes roll, as you bite back a grin, “I wouldn’t.”

“Definitely, maybe.”

Wade grunts as you push yourself with a huff - head dipping to press your lips against his. A low swirl in your belly, as his eyes go soft and his smile goes dopey.

“I love you, Wade Winston Wilson,” You grin back, “New fake boyfriends and all, apparently.”

He hums, head tilting.

“And what about not-so-fake boyfriends?”

Your brow furrows.

“You are talking about Logan now, right?”

Wade’s knuckles brush your cheek, the humor in his eyes turning searching, “What do you think?”

And what a question it is.

You’ve talked about it often. The occasional partner had cycled in for a night or two, but there had never been someone that struck you both like Logan had, arriving in your lives like a storm of thunder and lightning.

And you can’t deny that there’s feelings. Obvious ones, apparently, with how you acted in the past. Wade was still teasing you about your jealousy - you never had a handle on that emotion in the way he did.

That innate knowledge of how he felt about someone, trusted them. Flirting was easy, but you’ve seen the way he looks at Logan, too.

It was different. Special.

“Two musketeers becoming the full set,” He holds his fingers up in front of you, two and then three, “Only unlike them, we’re fucking.”

You let out a sound of dissent, with the lift of a shoulder.

“Oh, worm?” His brow raises, “Guess Disney wasn’t ready for that, either. Dibs on the religious one, then. I am a man of the cloth.”

“It’s a bad analogy, there’s four of them.”

He chuckles indulgently, “Okay, now I think you’re making things up-“

Now it’s your hand reaching, a finger tapping against his lips.

“I’d like that. I think Logan being our… boyfriend-” The word sends a rush of heat to your face as you stutter over it, Wade’s eyes gleaming.

“Oh my god, you are so fucking cute.” He crows, “We’ve fucked nasty-style and you can’t even say boyfriend-”

Your face buried in his chest, his name a muffled whine. A beat as the laughter still rumbles in his chest, before you peek at him.

“Do you think he wants that, too?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Wade hums, “That man is at least a 6 on the Yearning Richter scale. Felt by all, many frightened.”

You brighten at that prospect - your brain is already slipping ahead, “Do you think we should like, plan something? Ask him together?”

“Oh, don’t worry, gorgeous.” Wade grins.

“I’ll handle it.”

It's strange, seeing Logan in your space.

A good strange. A strange that feels nice - the subtle sweep of his eyes, as he takes in your apartment. The bag slung over his shoulder already tucked in your room, set on the ottoman at the foot of your bed.

He fits in, you think. Tucked into your couch as you put the finishing touches on dinner. Too used to being in their shared space at Wade’s. Of stolen moments when Althea was out. Hushed moments when she was home, muffled moans and bitten-back sighs.

It will be nice to be able to take your time.

They had arrived together, and there had been a certain thrill to that, too.

Wade's knock that mimics the opening beats of "Smooth", before the door burst open. Funny to think about them crammed in a car together - they took Althea's, Wade tells you, when you later asked if they'd walked.

How he was already turning to you to referee, as you tip your head to kiss his cheek.

"All I'm asking is if we're both sheathing our swords in the same scabbard, then why is he getting his panties in a twist about me putting my clothes in his bag?"

"Ignore him, sweetheart," Logan softens, leaning into the matching kiss you press against his jaw, "Been doing that for the last two months. It's good to see you."

And it is. Good to see both of them, something warm glowing bright in your chest.

The round table that always felt a little big for two feels perfect now - tucking between each other as dinner passes in a warm jumble of savory aromas and comfortable conversation.

Smiling at the way they're both as engaged with your stories about your day, as you are about the work they've been doing together.

"-absolutely vaporized. It was disgusting, babe." Wade grimaces, "I was fine of course. Red, and all. But Lo here, eeugh. Still scrubbing the blood out of the nooks and crannies."

Logan makes a grunt of acknowledgement, "Had worse."

"Worse? Worse than getting gut-mist blasted across your chest?"

"I'll help, if you want." You offer, "Haven't seen your new suit yet."

At Wade's request, you try to keep out of his business - other than the stories he shares, the occasional repairs of his suit. Doesn't want his life mixing, not after what's happened in the past.

Dutiful boyfriend by day, mercenary by night. And also sometimes, by day. Evenings, weekends.

It’s an unsteady schedule, but it's one you've grown accustomed to. Maybe that’s what helps make this easy, the way you’ve already adjusted to mutant-regenerative-boyfriend-life.

But it doesn't mean you're not curious. That you don't appreciate certain aspects - especially when they come in tightly wrapped in leather and lycra.

And when you eventually rise to collect dishes, it's Logan that beats you to it. A finger sternly pointed towards the couch, Wade's hand at your back - already guiding you towards it, as you protest.

"Least we can do, sweetheart," Logan smiles, "Can't remember the last time I had a meal this good."

"Excuse me," Wade gasps, as he slips on elbow-length mis-matched gloves,"Did my midnight toaster strudels mean nothing to you?"

It's your turn now, to sit on the couch. To watch, as Wade supervises. The quiet talk that swiftly turns to bickering. A yelp and a splash of hot water, before he's retreating.

Sinking down on the seat next to you, as your thoughts swirl. Soft memories of past shared evenings, and the planting of something that you’ll tend to carefully, hoping it will flourish.

"You're looking at him like he's got balls on his neck," Wade’s arm slings around your shoulders, tone knowing, "Got something on your mind, gorgeous?"

Your nose wrinkles at the visual, but then you turn thoughtful.

"Just like seeing both of you here." Your smile is soft, "It feels right, you know?"

He hums in agreement, and you glance his way, "Do you feel that way too?"

"Feels as right as Ryan Reynolds playing me in my upcoming biopic."

That has you cocking an eyebrow - whatever reference he's making flying over your head, "And that's... good?"

"Yeah, baby." He grins.

"Really fucking good."

The hunger follows you into the bedroom, after. Your question about dessert gets swiftly turned around on you - hands catching at your waist.

Threats and promises to devour you instead - that the ice cream you bought can wait - as lips press against yours. Another mouth at your neck, in your slow and often-interrupted journey to the bedroom.

Ganging up on you again, almost as if it were planned.

And you’re not sure if it was, or whether they’ve unconsciously become more in-sync, between their hours together at the apartment and in their work.

More alike than they are different, at their core - something you’re not sure you’d be able to convince them of, even though you see it.

It’s sweetly familiar, when you finally fall into bed together. Clothes already stripped off, a messy pile mixing together against the woven floral rug as you fit together.

Spit pools on Logan’s tongue, as he sucks on his teeth. A low tilt of his head before his lips are parting, letting it drop where he has your thighs nudged apart, belly pressed down against the bed.

Warm, where it hits the cleft of your ass. His hand follows - a broad palm curving against soft skin, tugging you open.

“What do I have to do to let me have you here?” Logan’s thumb smears his spit against the tight ring, voice low and honey-smooth.

It makes you jolt, a soft sound pulling from your throat. Squirming, as his thumb comes back - rolling the pad against you.

“She, shit-” Wade groans, as your mouth leaves his cock - the tip glistening as it drops against his belly, “Only lets people she’s dating fuck her ass.”

“Wade!” You whine, as your thighs try to close - Logan’s spreading to keep you open.

A low rasp of a laugh, “Is that right?”

“Not me though. If you’re curious.” Wade hums, his arm still slung under the pillow, “Sometimes even a first date is too slow.”

Dark eyes drag up, to the shift of hips. Over the leaking cock, lying flushed and hard against Wade’s belly - something like hunger in the slow sweep up to the pulled-wide grin.

“This is you handling it?” You hiss.

“You’re acting like the man invented the elevator.” Wade shrugs - shifting to push himself up on an elbow, “Trust me, there is nothing more romantic than a ‘what are we’ conversation slipped into a discussion about double penetration. We’re multi-tasking, gorgeous.”

Some of the tension eases, with the way he smiles at you. There’s not an ounce of worry in his expression, only the dark shadow of desire, highlighted with humor.

Waiting until you smile back, before he fixes Logan with a pointed look.

“Look. I’m gonna level with you,” He sighs, as if divulging something imperative, ”Until you’re ready to commit to being Mr. Y/L/N, then fifth base is just gonna be out of the question.”

There’s the shake of a head, a low huff behind you. The slight stroke of fingers against your skin.

“Are you asking me out?” It comes slowly, in a rough rasp. As if putting pieces together.

It’s you that turns then, your eyes finding his. Your smile is sweet - a swirling heat of hope in your belly, “Depends on your answer.”

There’s something dark in his eyes. A curl of his lips, as his head dips.

A kiss pressed against your spine, then lower.

“Come on Wilson.” He husks, “Let’s get our girl ready.”

A moan rips from you. First, from his words - the jolting butterflies in your belly, a pooling warmth. The sound lengthening, as his tongue flattens where his fingers had teased. Your back arches as Wade pumps his fist, before throwing a filthy “I-Told-You-So” smirk your way.

It glances off you. Your fingers curled in the sheets, as Logan shoulders your thighs further apart. A wet swipe that travels from your cunt to your hole, smearing your slick and his spit against your skin.

A finger nudging against you, as Wade leans - hand fumbling for the handle of the bedside table.

“You think you can take both of us?” Logan purrs, as he carefully works you open. A fingertip sinking inside you, as you whine.

”What, you think we were joking about role-playing?” Wade scoffs,”Why did you think all the dinner knives were missing? Lost ‘em all beneath the bed.”

There’s a shuffle, as he works himself further beneath you. A bottle of lube dropped on the bedspread, as his fingers reach - petting against your clit.

“Tried two before, didn’t we gorgeous? Me and the Pulverine, as we call him.” Wade coos, “Not as big as you, of course. But definitely a lot more sparkly.”

“Toy’s not the same thing,” Logan hums, as you clench around him. Sinking deeper, slowly pumping, “‘s gonna be a tight fit, baby.”

The sensations are already overwhelming. Wade’s fingers slipping down - fitting one, and then two fingers inside your slick pussy. His thumb nudging against your clit, teasing.

Logan’s weight against you, shifting as his hips grind into the mattress. The messy swirl of his tongue, more spit added to the mess. His thick finger already feels like a lot, pressed down to the knuckle. Slow in the way he works you open, the hot embers in your belly roaring brighter.

“I want it.” You moan, “Want both of you.”

Wanted it for a while now. Wondered if they’d take you like this. If you’d be able to take them, stuffed so full you could barely draw breath. Wanting to know what it feels like to come, with both of them pressed to the hilt inside you.

Words fail you, soon after. There’s the cold smear of lube against your skin, a second finger notched. Your cry muffled with the press of Wade’s lips, tilting your face to his as their fingers find their rhythm together.

That steady swirl against your clit. How you’re clenching around them, your arousal slick on Wade’s palm. The sharp rhythmic slap ringing through your ears as you pant into his mouth. Logan’s teeth against the soft curve of your ass, a muffled groan as he fits a second inside you.

It’s a mimicry of later, but it’s enough. Something bright burning in your belly, fueled by their desire. Hot breath against your skin, Wade’s cock grinding into your hip.

“Come on, gorgeous.” He murmurs against you, “Let me feel you come with his fingers buried in your ass.”

You choke on your moan. Hips shifting, pushing one deeper and then the other as you chase the building high. The sharp stretch long spooling into pleasure, twisting around your guts, shimmering.

“‘m gonna-” It’s breathed out, your eyes screwing shut. Focused on the countdown that’s begun inside you, swiftly approaching with each crook of their fingers, “Fuck, I’m-”

Logan shifts, his breath ghosting against your spine, “Come for us, sweetheart.”

For us.

Your face buries against Wade’s shoulder, as they bring you over the edge together. Working in tandem to take you apart, and they haven’t even really begun - fingers crooking and curling as a bright pleasure blooms in your belly.

Wade had been right - it’s not the first time you’ve been full like this. But Logan was right, too. It’s different - the way you can feel them move together, as you whine. The orgasm ripples through you, the sensations drawing out as kisses are dropped between your shoulder blades.

Soft crooning in your ear, but it’s all muted - barely aware of the palms that run across your skin. The press of mouths against your heated skin - until the pulses in your core fades, the room coming back into focus.

They slip from you - first Wade, and then Logan. You’ve felt empty before but never like this, already missing the weight inside you. Craving more.

There’s a shift on the bed, Logan shouldering himself next to Wade, who you’re still stretched out on.

“C’mere, baby. Fuck, need to feel you.”

Hand at your hips, coaxing you up. Encouraging you to straddle his thighs, but then Wade is tsking - reaching for you, trying to turn you around.

“Annnd I just gave myself a promotion to Director,” He adds with a long-suffering sigh, “When you want something done right, gotta do it yourself.”

Logan growls, as your weight leaves him, “The fuck you talking about?”

Wade’s brow arches, “The fuck I’m talking about is you doing this all wrong, peanut. When was the last time you partook in the devil’s threeway? Was it this century, at least?”

Hand gentle as he guides you to face away from Logan, your ass settling against the cradle of his hips.

“There you go,” He coos, “How am I going to give your pretty little kitty the attention she deserves if you have her all hidden away?”

Logan’s hard cock nestles against your belly, as your knees press into the mattress. Breath hitching as you gauge the size of him again. Hoping that the prep he did was enough - the soft buzz beneath your skin certainly has you feeling more than ready.

Slicking your fingers with more lube before they wrap around his shaft - a rough hiss sliding from his throat as they circle around, squeezing. Smearing it against swollen flesh, thumbing over the leaking head as you line yourself up.

Wade shifting to watch, his head tilted against Logan’s shoulder, his fist already wrapped around his cock as you start to slowly sink down.

“Sit on it, sweetheart, there you go.” Logan growls, as he breaches you.

A sharp, inhaled breath as the tip sinks inside you. The building pressure and then the give - as you try not to clench down.

Pulling a rough sound from him. Fingers twitching at your hips - set on only steadying you. A rough edge creeping into his soft encouragement, “Nice and easy, baby.”

Another inch, but it feels like double. Sweat beading along the nape of your neck, as you stretch around him.

“Doing so good,” He rasps, “Take it slow.”

“Taking it like a fucking champ, baby.” Wade interjects, “Couldn’t have done it better myself, and Levy knows how often I thought about it.”

Your nails bite into his thighs, but it only makes his hips flex. Twin moans when it nudges him the rest of the way - your breath stolen when he’s seated flush inside you.

Not that different than when Wade’s fucked you, even with the length he’s got on Logan. But it’s the girth that has your lips parting - a ragged moan with the experimental roll of your hips.

“Pretty fucking sight.” Logan groans, through gritted teeth. Palms slipping around, gently tugging you back towards his chest.

His growl low in your ear, as his hips lift in an experiment thrust.

“Gonna stuff you full, gonna let us do the work.” He husks, a hissed breath when you clench around him. “Make you feel good, alright?”

Palming at your tits, as Wade shifts into position. Swallowing your begging, whined out “please-” as he kisses down your throat.

Over your breasts. The back of Logan’s hand, against the curve of your belly. His fist still working at his cock, an audible moan of appreciation when he settles between Logan’s thighs.

“You look so good full of him.” It’s mumbled out against your hip, “God, I want to jerk off to this and let you use my cum as lube.”

Logan’s fingers tighten - pinching a peaked nipple as you moan, as kisses are peppered against your mound.

“Fuck us into your tight ass.”

You cry out, when his tongue flattens against your clit. Fingers teasing at your hole, dipping inside to test how full you feel.

“Soaking wet, baby. You feeling good?” Wade croons, “Or does your greedy little pussy need more?”

“Wade,” You keen, desperate. Rocking into the slow pump of Logan’s hips, his breath harsh in your ear.

His fingers crook, and curl.

“You want us to take you there and back again to pound town?”

“I swear to god,” You pant, desperate, “If you don’t get inside me, I’ll-, I’ll call Nate.”

His eyes gleam, “That right? Still thinking about riding the ol’ Cable car?”

It’s Logan’s added growl that finally gets him moving. A smile still pulling wide, as he slips from you. His own desperation betrayed by the wet smear against his belly.

The slick tip of his cock, as he ruts against your folds. Your breath held, as he notches himself.

His dark eyes on your blown-wide ones, as he starts to sink in. It has your thighs trembling, as you whine. Clenching down without meaning to, as Logan groans.

Feeling the way he inches into you. What little space left filled as your pussy makes room for him. The tight clutch of your walls, a moan at the way he can feel Logan through the thin layer of skin between them.

A choked-out moan punched from his chest.

“Made to take us both. Weren’t you, gorgeous?” He murmurs, as his hips move, “Goddamn perfect fit.”

They both move inside you. Stilted thrusts, off rhythm as you squirm between them. Logan getting impatient - throwing a glare Wade’s way.

“Stop moving when I do.”

It’s met with a laugh, as Wade’s hip snap a little harder. Filling you, the force jolting you against Logan, as your nails bite into his biceps.

“I’m driving this thing.” He counters, “Call me Sandra Bullock, because I’m not about to let this bus dip below 50.”

His hand catching Logan’s wrist - resistance when he tugs, but then it’s going with him. Fitting the curve of his fingers against the base of your throat.

“You do what you do best and be the anchor. Keep her still for me, will you?”

Logan’s fingers flex, but he grunts - the slightest pressure against your chest.

A pat against your hip, with a wink, “Let Daddypool do all the work.”

You huff, but the sound turns strangled as the sets the pace. Hands at your hips, tugging you to meet his thrusts. Fucking you back on to Logan, when his weight presses into you.

“There we fucking go. How you feeling, baby?”

“Feels so good,”You gasp, as the movement gets familiar. The slick slide of them inside you, the back and forth as they stroke your walls, as your arousal gleams against their cocks.

“Know it does.” Wade grins, “They don’t call me DP for nothing.”

Logan grunts beneath you. Something biting held back - distracted, as his other hand wanders. Slipping across your hip, then down.

Tracing over your mound. Feather-light against your folds, feeling how you stretch open each time Wade goes balls-deep.

Your moan coming out ragged, when he teases your clit. Soft strokes with the pad of his finger, before two press and circle.

It makes you jolt, his laugh low in your ear.

Finding that familiar rhythm. Feeling the way your hips flex, seeking out his touch. How easily he’s able to wind you up now, from the times he’s taken you apart.

How it’s almost overwhelming, with the stuffed-full pressure of them inside you. With the saw of Wade’s hips, as his cock nudges against the spongy spot inside you.

A rough hum when you clench down. Unable to do more than take what he gives you, with the way Logan cradles you against his chest.

It only adds to the surge of pleasure inside you. A near-divine pairing of sensations that has your fingers reaching, Wade’s name a soft cry on your lips.

He flattens against you, to meet the way your mouth tips up. It’s messy, open-mouthed as his hips slow to a grind. Hands skating up your body, against hips and waist.

Letting him in when he deepens it. A groan as he licks against your teeth. Needy presses of his mouth, spit smeared across your lips when it breaks. Another kiss peppered against your jaw, where Logan groans into your ear.

A unconscious shift of his head, and then their lips are brushing.

Logan’s cock throbs inside you, as Wade goes stiff and still. It’s softer than it should be - no more than a shared breath, before Wade pulls back.

The hand at your neck flexes. Loosens, as it slips between you. Wrapping around the back of Wade’s neck as he yanks him back down.

A growled out “fuck” when they meet again, insistant this time. Vicious with the scrape of teeth, the wet swipe of tongue as Logan’s nails bite into skin.

Messy, as they pant into each other's mouths. Calloused fingers drifting down from your clit to split against your folds. Teasing where you’re filled, as Wade’s moan turns filthy.

A matching sound escaping from Logan, long held back.

“Fucking holding out on me,” Wade mumbles, when the kiss breaks, “Haven’t been this wet since Cap’s beard reveal.”

Eyes dark, when he feels how Logan moves inside you. Forgetting himself, as he chases the pleasure that threatens to peak inside him.

“Bet you love knowing you’ve been in all of our girl’s holes. Don’t you, handsome?” Wade grins. Eyes still watchful - catching the clench of a jaw, as his lips return to yours.

The kiss is sweeter this time, even as he begins to drive into you. Each of your breaths coming in a whining gasp, pleasure once again winding inside you.

His mouth running away from him, determined to send you both over, ”Should let me into some of yours. You know I’d treat you right.”

“Shut the fuck up. C-Can’t come with you running your mouth.” It’s panted out - half-hearted at best, and Wade’s eyes gleam.

“Fucking liar.” He crows, “Bet you jerk it all the time to the thought of us screaming your name.”

Voice pitches up then, in a mimicry of yours, “Oh, Logan. Fuck me right there with your monster dick-”

Logan strings tight beneath you with a snarl, as he tries to bury himself in your ass. The hand at your neck dipping to grasp at your hip, as the practiced rhythm turns sloppy.

Wade shifts - his weight leaned into your hips. Pinning you both down as he fucks into you, stroke after stroke.

Logan’s touch is sloppy against your clit - but with the way your boyfriend’s cock pounds against that spot inside you, it’s enough.

You don’t even realize you’re whimpering. The way their names string together, the “please, please, please-” that catches in your throat.

“You gonna come too, baby?” He coos - thrilled, “You’re both so fucking easy, aren’t you?”

Logan moans in your ear when you squeeze around him, fingers pressing harder. A little faster, and with the next plunge of Wade’s cock - you shatter.

It’s all white noise, the faded star stickers on the ceiling becoming swirling the sky above as you’re pulled under.

Helpless, with the way you’re pinned between them. Coming again with the tight swirls against your clit, with them fully sheathed inside you.

The tight pulse of your orgasm around his sends Logan over.

Even with Wade’s weight his hips still lift as he bows off the bed. A wounded groan, as he comes with you clenching down around him. Grinding himself into your hole as his cock throbs, emptying himself into you.

There’s a sing-songed and muted “money shot” that has you groaning. Half-exasperation, half-mindless pleasure, as Logan’s hands roam. Holding you against him, ragged breath against your neck as you milk him empty.

Keeping you stuffed full, hilting his cock deeper when you squirm. Leaving Wade to catch up.

Shameless in the way he watches now, as molten pleasure thrums in your veins. Leaning back to see how you take them both. Picturing how you’ll look after, thoroughly-fucked holes that will drip with them until morning.

Doesn’t notice when his breath turns short, but you do.

“Wanna feel you come, baby.” You coo, your smile soft and pleasure-drunk.

Hands tracing over his, overlapping and squeezing. The shallow lift of your hips to meet his thrusts, purposely squeezing him when he inches out - trying to keep him in.

“Make a fucking mess, Red.” Logan growls - joining you, “Let me feel you come inside her.”

“Jesus Titty-Fucking Christ,” The rough laugh turns into a groan, “Think I’m going to blow two loads at once-”

Hands overlapping, grasping on, holding you, as his hips pump faster. Head tipping - fitting between yours and Logans - as his back bows.

Coming inside you with a muttered out “oh fuck. fuck yes-”, cock jerking with each needy rut of his hips. The sound turns into a whine when teeth sink his neck, hard enough to bruise.

Yours on the other side, your soft moan in his ear as you feel the way he throbs as he spills into you again, and again.

Intense, in a way you’ve never felt before. A connection that loops through you - from the press of your mouths, down to where you fit together.

It’s fortunate that Logan’s hands still fit at your hips, with how fucked-out and boneless you feel. Trading one cock for another was one thing, but this - being claimed by both of them, the phantom ache as Logan withdraws- it’s something else entirely.

Your head dropping back to rest against his shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded as you wait for your pulse to stop galloping. Logan’s nose ghosting against your temple, an arm still thrown around your hips.

A hiss, when Wade slips from you. You can feel the mess they’ve made, sticky against your thighs. How they drip from your fucked-out holes, when you clench around nothing.

It must do something to him, the way Wade moans when he sits back. Fingers raising - mimicking a camera, complete with the click of his tongue as the shutter.

“If that doesn’t win me an academy award,” He hums thoughtfully.

“Then I don’t know what the fuck will.”

Time slows down, after. The low hum of artificial rain from a device on your dresser, layering with the muted city outside. Doesn’t know if it’s minutes or hours since he last moved, and he really can’t bring himself to care.

As long as it’s still dark, then he knows they’ve still got time.

“So are you going to bake us a sex cake?” Wade yawns, “You know, for completely rocking your shit.”

“A what?” You stir against him - an eye cracking open.

Logan grunts, his face buried in your shoulder. A hand splayed across your belly, a tug as he pulls you closer.

“Oh my god,” Wade chuckles to himself, “There I go, mixing up timelines again. I infinitely prefer this one, by the way.”

Logan lets the two of you bicker, his eyes slipping shut again.

Your apartment is quieter than Wade’s. The bed comparable to the one they shared last time. Can’t remember the last time he’s felt a warmth like this.

Soft, where your back tucks against his chest. His hand shifts to your hip, curving against soft flesh. Wade’s hand rests close enough to touch, fingers just brushing. Facing you, thighs twined together as he sandwiches you between them.

The shower had been nicer, as well. Snug, when you had pulled them in with you. Taking turns under the warm spray. He had commented on it - a way to drag out the scratch of fingers through his hair. The swirl of soap against his skin, and he had been too blissed out to bother with the facade when a second set of hands grabbed his ass.

Staying just a little longer, as their hands found their way between your thighs. Wade thumbing at your clit as his own fingers fucked the cum deeper into your cunt. Twin marks sucked into your neck, as your legs threatened to give out - still shaky from before.

You stir against him. Words heavy with sleep.

“Wade didn’t say it earlier.” You yawn - shuffling, so you can help over to face him.

Logan’s brow rises, as you clarify.

“There’s a caveat to our earlier question.”

“Good word choice.” Wade hums, “11 points, and I bet you were a real pleasure to have in class.”

A low chuckle, when your hips press back against his in warning - as your eyes flip up to Logan’s.

“It’s a two-for-one deal,” The corner of your lips tug up, “It’s both of us, or nothing.”

“All for one, and one for all,” Wade’s chin hooks over your shoulder, ignoring how you elbow him, “And can you really afford not to take that?”

Supposes it’s cute, that you think you have to tell him this. That his eyes haven’t equally wandered, even if it’s only half-admitted. Too caught on wondering if the only something good he had will change, if he truly allows himself to want something.

That it’s not only the feeling of your mouths on his cock that he revisits, though he does think of that often.

There’s other moments as well. Squeezing hands and smiles and the way you both look at him. The toothbrush that you had ready tonight, just incase he forgot his. The handle blue, when he slipped it in the cup - tucked next to red and purple.

Your words still spark brightly in his chest, settling low behind his ribs. It quells an uneasy twist that’s been lingering there for the past few weeks.

Something unsteady, finally finding purchase.

“Don’t know why you’re clarifying though, gorgeous.” His cheek rubs against yours like a cat. Those brown eyes meet his as well, and it’s hard to bite back the low inhale of breath.

“Considering he tongue-fucked the shit out of me earlier, I think he’s good.”

He huffs in reply, but he can’t bite back the curve of his lips. Not anymore - and he finds that he doesn’t want to.

“Yeah.” Logan agrees. That something turning soft inside him, the smile pulling just a little wider.

“I’m good.”

thanks so much for reading!! 💖 there's a couple more moments I'd love to explore with them in the future! (but in case I'm not able to, I wanted to end it on this sweet note between them all. )

#gif credit to the talented ayo-edebiri #wolverine x reader x deadpool #wolverine x reader #deadpool x reader #logan howlett x reader #wade wilson x reader #xmen x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x f!reader #logan howlett x reader x wade wilson #logan howlett smut #wade wilson smut #logan howlett

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satoruxx · 11 months ago

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pairing: toji fushiguro x reader | 1.6k words summary: boyfriend!toji headcanons, fluff, soft!toji, grumpy x sunshine, he’s a simp but he’ll never admit it !! rheya's note: grumpy man being soft for the person he really loves? i’m here for it. mamaguro is literal proof that he can and will love !!

bf!toji who is silent with his care for you. he's not one to be open or dramatic about his feelings, but you bet he'll show them in actions. small, mundane things that could only be picked out under critical eyes—like quietly placing an extra mug of coffee next to you as you work, or being the one to walk closest to the street, fingers firmly clasped around your palm. if you point it out he'll just grunt, shaking his head with a quiet "keep walking" all while pretending to ignore your silly little grin.

bf!toji who isn't really the type to be big on words of affirmation, but huge on physical touch. you tell him you did well on a project at school or work and he just hums, giving you a little nod. he doesn't say anything else—doesn't really have to because the soft lingering pat on your head is enough to tell you that he's proud.

bf!toji who is an aggressive yet affectionate lover. if you're doing something and he's not receiving your attention he will come up behind you and put you in a headlock. he thinks it's an appropriate response considering how much he craves your attention and company—why on earth are you focused on something that isn't him anyway? so be prepared to have his heavy bicep playfully curling around your throat or slinging you over his shoulders at random times—it's his way of telling you he misses you. and if anything, he'll do it to hear you whine and attempt to shove him off.

bf!toji who will absolutely take your phone and change your lockscreen to pictures of him. every so often, you'll turn your phone on and see an entirely different picture—sometimes a picture of him at the gym, other times a picture of him blocking out his face—but it's always him.

bf!toji whose own lockscreen is always something that's related to you. he's sneaky with it, always stealing pictures of you when you're not looking. he's got a separate album with them—probably hidden behind a password because it's something only he should be allowed to see. but whether it's a snapshot of his hand intertwined with yours or a blurry image of you fast asleep in his bed, it's always you. because of course you’re the first thing he should be able to see when he turns his phone on.

bf!toji who, as cliché as it sounds, is exactly the type to go feral if someone's made you upset. and he's freakishly observant, noticing even a slight pinch of your nose or wobble in your lips—he's caught them all. whether you're just down or outright sobbing, he's there, standing in front of you with pure anger weighing heavy on his brows. and yet for all his rage he's nothing but gentle as he firmly takes your face in his calloused hands, muttering a strained "what the fuck happened?" as he forces you to make eye contact with him. his own eyes will dart over your features, searching for discomfort or any other emotion as you explain, barely holding back his own emotions because there's no reason on the fucking planet that you should be upset at all.

bf!toji who rarely says the words "i love you" not because he doesn't but because the words themselves don't hold all that much meaning to him. no he'd rather spend his time proving it to you than just saying it for the sake of saying it. but, sometimes if you pretend to be asleep long enough, you'll catch him quietly whisper the words into your hair, almost like he doesn't want anyone to hear it. don't even bother trying to call him out for it—he'll deny deny deny.

bf!toji whose eyes flutter when he lets you trace over his scars. not just the one cutting over his lips but the ones that litter his back and torso—battle remnants that he doesn't remember much of. he's always hated the look of them, indifferent to old memories of a much more chaotic time in his life. but when your gentle fingers graze over the raised skin he'll sigh, oddly quiet but yet so comfortable.

bf!toji who will drop everything if you need him. don't ever hesitate to ask him for things because you're scared of being a burden—he will yell at you (affectionately). you drank too much with your friends and can't get a ride? call him and he'll pick you up even if it's 4 am. you're feeling nervous about walking home from the convenience store even though it's only ten minutes away from home? stay put and he'll come get you so that you can walk back together. shut up about all that "it's an inconvenience for you" bullshit—he'll do it and that's that.

bf!toji who asks if you've eaten today, and when you answer with a sheepish smile he'll click his tongue, crossing his bulky arms over his chest and giving you a pointed glare. then he'll say "get your ass to the kitchen. c'mon, up." while hoisting you to your feet—most of the time he'll just pick you up and plop you on the counter himself.

bf!toji who wordlessly makes you something to eat, whether it's a quick snack put together with leftovers or an actual full meal. then he'll stand in front of you with the plate and demand you eat. even a slight word of protest and he's scowling, already holding up a spoonful while grumbling a low "don't wanna hear it. open up, kid."

bf!toji who hates when you fall asleep on the couch waiting for him to get home. his job doesn't allow for the comfort of a strict schedule, and he's told you this many times. but you're nothing if not stubborn, and he can only sigh heavily as he sees you dozing against the armrest when he pushes the door open late at night. he'll click his tongue quietly, hooking both arms under your back and knees to cradle you against his chest before walking to the bedroom. though some part of him is pleased, knowing that you seem to care about him enough to make sure he's coming home every night.

bf!toji who glares at anyone who even breathes in your direction the wrong way. some guy eyeing you while you're walking on the street? toji looks like he's ready to rip his head off. some "friend" of yours asking too many questions about why you're dating a man like him? well…if looks could kill.

bf!toji who pulls you into his lap when he kisses you, because he likes the way you fit into his space so perfectly. he won't ever admit how it makes him swoon when you giggle against his lips, instead choosing to tighten his grip on your hips and pull you closer to his chest.

bf!toji who enjoys watching you sit on the kitchen counter and swing your legs back and forth—finding it so unbelievably endearing that he ends up just standing in between your legs and burying his face into your neck. his lips will map chaste kisses across your skin, and he'll hide a wry smile as your quiet giggles wash over him.

bf!toji who will notice when you eye something at a store, whether it's a pretty piece of jewelry or a new sweater or whatever—he keeps note. and then weeks later, once you've forgotten all about it, he'll come home and drop a bag into your lap before shoving his hands into his pockets. when you open it and start gushing about how much you wanted it and how pleased you are, he'll huff and turn away, muttering a low "whatever, kid. 's not a big deal."

bf!toji who sees you upset about something, and loops his bicep around your neck and tucks you under his chin. to an outsider it doesn't look like the most comforting form of a hug, but it's toji, and he's secure and he's safe and he's all the comfort you need—a tight squeeze that grounds you in a way that you can't quite describe.

bf!toji who will never admit how interested he is in your gossip. his ideal way to destress after he comes home is to sit on the couch with you in his lap, your arms looped around his waist as you press yourself against his torso and tuck your head under his chin. and even though his eyes are trained on the tv, he has no clue what's going on—he's more focused on the drama you're spilling or whoever you're ranting about. and he makes it known too, occasionally asking "then what happened, baby?" and adding in a few sounds of disbelief. by the end of your rant, he'll be saying something along the lines of "what a fucking bitch," or "honestly he deserved that," and then asks for updates on the situation over the next few days.

bf!toji who silently watches you trace your fingers over the lines on his palms. you're blabbering about something, tucked against his chest as his other arm remains wrapped around you securely, but he's just focused on your hands. it scares him a little bit—the difference between you and him. his palms are calloused, rough with battle and death, while yours are soft, clean of the horrors he's determined to keep away from you. and a small part of him tells him he shouldn't taint you with all his faults, that you deserve someone more capable of loving than he is. but then he feels you brush your lips over his scarred fingers and he sucks in a breath, tightening his grip imperceptibly. even as he hides a half smile against your brow, he knows he isn't going anywhere.

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sugume · 10 months ago

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CONJUGAL VISIT w/jujutsu Kiasen

Description: in which an inmate of a prison or jail is permitted to spend several hours or days in private with a visitors

More: Fem!Reader, explicit content, unprotected sex, some d/s dynamics with Toji, American prison system? (idk if other countries allow this lol?)

☾ Ryomen Sukuna

He's been in solitary for so long that you start to think you'll never see him again. He finally fixes his attitude enough to come in contact with others and eventually gets some visitation rights. Get used to having sex with him here because the guards inform you he isn't leaving for a long time.

“s’too much Kuna!” You whine into the flat pillow but your boyfriend Sukuna could care less and keeps pounding into you from behind.

“Think I care slut? Been away from this pussy for months now, shut up and take what I give you.” He grits out, pushing deeper into your back with one hand, fisting your hair with the other. He’d be damned if you tell him what to do after all this time away. Do you know how spineless he had to act in order to get this visit, on his ‘best behavior’, desperate to finally be able to sink in some cunt after being surrounded by irrelevant men and guards with their heads up their asses?

“Feels s’good,” you moan when Sukuna hits your special spot. “I’m gonna cum!”

“That fast slut, it hasn't even been ten minutes” He chuckles, leaning down to bite your shoulder.

“Missed you, ‘Kuna, c-cant cum ‘out you.”

“Can’t do shit without me, bet you can’t even function out there without me,” He groans in your hair, you don't understand half of what he’s saying you just nod mindlessly and slam your hips back on his cock.

“Then cum on my cock, whore.”

☾ Gojo Satoru

He's on a mission that requires him to go to jail. The prison warden is in on it, but that doesn't mean your boyfriend doesn't want to experience the "real deal." He convinces the warden to allow him weekly fuck sessions because he says he can't complete the mission without them.

“i-Im gonna cum ‘Toru!” you whine aloud, to far gone to be embarrassed that your boyfriend is fucking you on scratchy sheets in a bed that probably hasn’t been thoroughly cleaned in years or the fact that multiple other girls have probably been in the same position you’re in with other inmates, on the same bed.

“So tight love, haven't you been using your dildos in my absence?’ he questions as he thrusts into your glistening cunt. Watching as you throw your head back, tears running down your cheeks.

“They’re too small ‘Toru!” You wrap your legs around his hard ass trying to get him as deep as he can.

“Aww, they can't make you cum as hard as I can, can they love?” he pouts against your swollen lips. You shake your head furiously, listening to the sounds your squelching cunt makes when he thrust back in, his balls slapping hard against your ass.

“Think i'll ask if I can get out early on good behavior. I can't leave my girl unsatisfied now.” He chuckles before diving his tongue into your mouth.

☾ Toji Fushiguro

Your mans got locked up again! This isn't the first time, nor will it be the last. You don’t know how he convinces the guards to allow you to visit time and time again, but you won't complain. You always miss him when he's gone every few months. The guard just sighs when he sees you’re here for visitation again

“You miss me, little girl?” he grins, sticking thick fingers in your already sopping cunt. “You know I always miss you when you’re gone, daddy.” You gasp, your back hitting the cold concrete wall behind you when Toji curls into your g-spot.

“So so bad.” you whine, grinding your aching clit on his hard stomach, legs tightening around his slim waist when you find the perfect spot.

“You wanna cum little girl?” he asks while marking up your neck. He needs others to know you’re taken and if he can't be around you at the moment he’ll make it known another way.

“Yes Toji!” You scream.

“Yes what?” He stops his fingers.

“Yes daddy,” you whisper, moving your hips desperate to not lose the orgasm you were chasing. “Please make me come daddy, please!”

“That's what I thought little girl” He says before continuing his movements and biting down on your heavy bottom lip.

☾ Choso Kamo

Too ashamed that he ended up in prison to allow you to visit him for a while. After much reassurance from you that you don’t look at him differently he finally comes out of his shell and makes friends. Get’s out early on good behavior.

“You think someones watching?” You mumble, looking back at the camera in the corner of the dark lit room.

“F-fuck baby, don’t fuckin’ stop,” Choso whines, gripping your waist, trying to make you bounce on his stiff cock. ‘Who cares if they are, baby? They won’t touch.”

You turn back around and grin down at your boyfriend “mmm, isn't that how you got in here in the first place Choso, beating up a man for touching me?” You start grinding on his cock again.

“Do anything for you, baby.” He moans gripping your waist when your tight walls start squeezing down on him, trying hard not to bust a nut so quickly.

“Yeah,” you moan out, feeling his cock twitch in you. “Now you’re stuck in here for months away from me.” You pout and claw at his chest when Choso starts to bounce you on his cock. God, if only he didn’t beat that man up you’d have this every night.

“Worth it.” He looks up at the camera, imagining the security guard looking down at your ass recoil when he slams you down on his cock

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malavera · 3 months ago

Text

Cosplay (18+) — Hugh Jackman One Shot

pairing: hugh jackman x female reader

summary: Your hubby came home after filming one of the scenes for Deadpool & Wolverine with his costume on to surprise you

warning: SMUT! MDNI. PWP. Wolverine cosplay sex, unprotected sex, fingering, squirting, daddy kink, praise kink, the use of pet name bub (bubby / bubba)

a/n: i had this scenario every time i went to bed

"Bub, I'm home! Where are you?"

"In the kitchen!" Your voice echoes through the house, a playful lilt in your tone as you rinse the last plate under the warm, soapy water. The clatter of dishes is almost soothing, a rhythm you've come to appreciate in the quiet moments.

But then, without warning, a pair of strong arms snake around your waist, pulling you into a firm, familiar embrace. The unexpected touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you can feel the roughness of his stubble grazing against the soft skin of your shoulder blade. His warmth envelops you, seeping through your clothes, and suddenly the kitchen feels too small, too intimate.

"You’ve eaten without me?" His voice is a low, teasing rumble against your ear, and you can’t help but smile, even as your heart races.

"Well, I figured you'd be late, so..." You trail off, your voice faltering as you quickly dry your hands on a nearby towel. But when you turn around, the air catches in your throat.

Standing before you, with that trademark smirk you know all too well, is your lover. But tonight, he’s not just himself—he’s transformed. Draped in the iconic yellow and blue, his muscles defined by the snug fabric of Wolverine's original suit, he embodies the fierce, feral energy of the comic book legend. His eyes flash with mischief, and the scowl he wears—so perfectly in character—sends a thrill through you.

You stare, wide-eyed, your breath hitching as the reality of the moment sets in. The air feels heavy, charged with anticipation, and your mouth goes dry as you try to swallow, your body betraying you. He steps closer, the leather of his costume creaking ever so slightly, and you know—this night is far from over.

"H-Hugh..." The name slips from your lips, barely a whisper, as you stare, utterly transfixed.

His grin widens, the mischievous glint in his eyes sharpening. "What's the matter, bub? Cat got your tongue?" His voice is a low, teasing growl, sending a jolt of excitement through you.

You stumble back, the cool edge of the kitchen counter pressing against your spine as he advances, his presence overwhelming, magnetic. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can't tear your eyes away from him—this man, your lover, transformed into something untamed, almost primal.

A nervous laugh escapes you, breathless and trembling. "You look... incredible." The words come out in a rush, your voice barely steady. He’s so close now, the scent of leather and cologne filling your senses, and you know there’s no turning back.

"C'mere.." He muttered, an arm snatching to hug your waist pulling you close to him before he tilted his head, enough so the pointy nose of the scowl wouldn't poke you, to pull you in for a hungry kiss. You gasp, trying to follow his rhythm.

Hugh grabs a handful of your hair, tugging it, earning a loud moan from you. As your mouth went agape that's his moment to shove his tongue deeper. The heated make out session sent you to heaven without realizing everything around you as you are now being seated on top of the kitchen counter, legs spread wide for him to stand in between them.

"You miss me bub?" Hugh asks in between the kiss.

"S'much, daddy." You mewled and he groaned.

"Please, daddy. Do something.. to me." You moaned.

"Yeah? What do you want daddy to do huh? Tell me." He's teasing you. He knows exactly what you need, it's your second favorite thing about him; his fingers. He's so good with it. The way he would put one in, and then shove the other, thrusting in and out of your glistening cunt. Your favorite part is when he curls them inside you before he repeatedly flicks them.

"Want your fingers, daddy."

"These fingers, baby?" He tilted his head, acting dumbfounded, as the tips of his finger made a circle against your clothed pussy. "Yeah?" He pressed the pad of his fingers right against your clothed clit.

"Ah.. Yes." You gasp, smiling.

"You're soaked already, bub. What's gotten you so eager for me? Is this the suit? Huh? You love seeing your daddy in his costume?" He taunted.

You can only nod as you enjoy the way his fingers rubbing your, still clothed, cunt. "Daddy, please. I've been good. I deserve this."

"Of course you do, baby." You gasp once you felt one of his fingers enter your throbbing cunt. You shrieked when you felt his other hand make a handful of your hair and tugged your head back, making you watch him.

"Look at me when I'm making you feel this good, bub." There goes the second finger, entering. And he does your favorite thing, finger-fucking you.

You whimpered, closing your eyes briefly. "Urgh.. Daddy you're so good.. You're so good with my pussy." Between the two of you here, you both have the praise kink. He's an actor, of course he loves being praised for his skills and performances. You both are a master at this department, though only your words can get him going.

"Yeah? Like that bub? Tell daddy how it feels... So good yeah?" He coo’ed.

"Yeah.. Yeah.. so good daddy, deeper.. OH!" You gasped out a loud moan at the end once you feel him pushing in his fingers deep into your cunt.

"Only my fingers can play with this cunt, right bub? My cunt." He grunted.

"Yes, yes daddy! It's your cunt!" You whimpered, feeling as you're about to reach your high; You gasp once more when he harshly tug his fingers out of your cunt, jolting your body forward.

"W-what.." You breathlessly said.

"You're gonna have to cum on my cock, bub." He hastily spoke as he tries to take his heavy cock out of his pants. Swallowing down your saliva, you watch as he give himself a couple of jerks before tapping his heavy cock against your pussy, indicating he’s about to go in. Not that he’d need your permission to.

Your mouth fell agape watching the big tip of his cock, slowly entering your soaked folds, feeling every inch of his cock going in even the raging veins felt like they’re scratching the insides of your warm cunt. Hugh roughly grabs you by your neck, forcing you to look him in the eyes that are covered with the wolverine scowl.

“Look at me when i’m fucking you, bub.” He harshly spoke as he starts to move his hips back and forth, gently at first before he picks up the pace, turning the peaceful atmosphere filled with your moaning mess.

You’d never imagine you’d see the night filled with Hugh fucking you on top of the kitchen island with his super hot wolverine costume on. All you could think about is how this costume would be the one where people all around the world would see later in the movie theater once it’s coming out. And the fact that he has fucked you in it, makes your pussy flutters as he is not stopping anytime soon. The nasty sound of your pussy milking his heavy cock that is formed from the mixed of your fluid fills the entire kitchen. And you wished you could watch yourself being fucked by the wolverine in third person’s point of view.

“What are you thinking about bub?” Hugh piston his hips to a certain angle which caused you to loudly moan. “You’re thinking about how good i’m fucking you right, bub? You never want me to stop right, honey?” Hugh coo’ed.

“N-no, daddy. I never want you to stop. I want you to make me cum, please it feels so good!” You cried, your hands went up to play with your tits.

“Oh yes, play with those tits bub. My tits. Fuck, this cunt is so good I can never get enough.” Hugh grunted. He pulls you closer to him making your hips lying at the edge of the counter.

All you wanted is to get him to cum deep inside you. You could feel the brush of his pubic hair from every stroke, his heavy balls slapping against your ass. You’re going to cum anytime soon. But something is growing inside you and it’s inching closer, any seconds now.

“W-wait, Daddy, stop, something’s wrong!” You shrieked.

And you know better from stoping your beloved from fucking you hard, he will never listen. But instead, he gripped your hips harder and thrusts his cock in and out of you with a godly fast pace.

“Fuck, fuck, Daddy!” You screamed as you forcefully pushing yourself away from him before you feel yourself reaching your high. You couldn’t contain it, it sprayed everywhere, even to his costume. Your thighs are shaking, your chest heaves up and down.

Hugh stood there groaning as he just witnessed his baby squirted out. “Fffuckk… Bub, that was amazing.” He muttered, but he’s not stopping there. He grabbed his cock, aiming the tip against your entrance, softly rubbing it against your hole first.

“W-wait, I don’t think I-..”

“Shut up, Bub. Daddy hasn’t cum yet.” He hissed as he pushed the tip of his cock into your entrance.

Your pussy purred, “Oh.” You gasped, feeling a little bit embarrassed. But, Hugh loved it.

“Do you think you can give it to me one more time bub? This time, squirt on my cock?”

#Malavera #hugh jackman smut #hugh jackman #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman dirty imagine #logan howlett #logan howlett smut #wolverine #wolverine smut #logan x you #logan howlett x female reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine dirty imagines #logan howlett dirty imagines #hugh jackman dirty imagines

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luxaofhesperides · 4 months ago

Text

the beginning - danny

The Lazarus Pit brings Danny back.

The child who went into them, however, is gone forever.

Danyal al Ghul is the soul who should reside in this body. Danyal has a life still to live and Danny died ages ago, old and surrounded by loved ones, ready to spend the rest of his forever in the Infinite Realms.

Something's gone terrible wrong, he thinks rather wryly, squinting through the cold green water that surrounds him. An ache echoes through his body and he brings a hand—small, a child's hand that shouldn't belong to him— to his stomach, where he can feel a large wound slowly pull itself together.

Did I get stabbed?

He means to continue the thought, but a sharp pain hits his head, making him curl up. He gasps and air bursts from his lungs, water rushing to fill in the empty space. Danny chokes, panicking, as memories slide into place, the lives of Danyal al Ghul and Danny Fenton fighting for dominance in his head. His lungs burn, throat working futilely to push water out, but there's nothing to be done.

Danny is a child again, and just like last time, he dies young.

1. So.

Assassins.

Danny honestly can't tell if this is a step up or a step down from mad scientist parents. On the one hand: he knows they loved him, as clumsy as it was, even though they loved their work more. On the other hand: assassin cult sounds like something out of a fairy tale, and while cool, is definitely not safe for kids.

And Danny, somehow, is a child again.

This really wasn't what he expected when he woke up on the sandy bottom of the pit. He's in ghost form, which is an unpleasant shock, but at least its familiar.

He is also, if his memory as Danyal serves him correctly, nine years old.

Kinda sucks that he died so young this time round. Didn't even make it to the double digits before he was taken out of the running.

He can't remember what it was like being so small in his last life. He can't imagine how anyone would look at a child and run them through with a sword. It's a cruel world he's woken up in. It's made worse by the fact that he's alone.

At least being down here without needing to breathe is giving him valuable time to think.

Danny has lived a full life already. He didn't really need or want another one, content to be a full ghost in the Infinite Realms. But going back isn't really an option, now that he's in a new body. The kid he could have been deserves to live fully, and the least Danny can do is live that life for them.

It'll be hard, but Danny's sure he can manage a decent life for himself.

Being presumed dead will make his escape from the assassins easier, though he'll miss getting the chance to meet his new mother; assassin as she is, Danyal knows her not by her blades but by her soft lullabies and jasmine-scented hair. The loss of her child must be hurting her deeply, but it's necessary. If Danny wants any semblance of a normal life, he has to leave her behind.

Besides, he's seen enough death. He doesn't want to ever be the cause of it.

So, he needs a plan for this new life.

Step one: get out of dodge.

The rest he'll figure out on the way.

Turns out assassins weren't the most shocking thing in this new life.

No, that honor goes to superheroes.

Genuine, honest to God superheroes! With powers and everything!

To think that Danny once called himself a superhero. Ha! As if! He's nothing compared to the likes of Superman or the Flash or even Green Lantern. They're in another league. Literally. They're part of the Justice League, which has a whole slew of other heroes, and Danny is possibly their biggest fan.

Not like that's weird; most people in this world are huge fans of superheroes. Makes sense, since they're the ones who rely on their protection the most.

It does suck to know that his background belongs to that of a villain. Assassins aren't known for saving people, after all.

Part of him contemplates becoming a hero again, taking up the role of Phantom and joining the ranks of Superman. But he's had many years to come to terms with the loss of his teenage years and the bitterness that came with it. That experience, that life once lived, helps him decide each time that being a civilian is the gift this life owes him.

At thirteen, Danny lives in a foster home with six other kids. He's the oldest and has his hands full taking care of everyone else while their foster parents work three jobs between them to keep them all afloat.

When his younger siblings play superheroes, he gladly takes the role of the villain, swooping in with a blanket to kidnap away an innocent bystander that has to be rescued. He falls over dramatically at the end of each fight and praises his siblings' strength and teamwork, making them puff up with pride.

It's all fun and games so long as it only stays fun and games.

Superpowers are cool and all, but his came at the cost of his life, his health, his future. He knows, better than anyone, the price of being a hero. He knows that even Superman carries heavy losses on his shoulders, struggles under burdens no one can see.

He's lucky that the small town he ended up in—Luray, Virginia—has no heroes or villains. Too small a place to be on anyone's radar, apparently.

His classmates often complain about how they wish they could live in a big city where there's more to do, more to see, superheroes flying through the streets to protect them.

Danny is happy where he is. It's quiet, and small, and nothing like what he's used to, but it's safe.

That's all he really wants.

Here's something that stays the same no matter what world he's in: Danny is a magnet for trouble.

If the trouble stopped at bullies, everything would have been fine. Danny could handle Dash, and he could handle Justin just as easily.

But the universe loves to escalate with Danny, specifically, which is why Danny had to reveal his powers when some villain-wannabe school shooter attacked his high school.

And to think he felt bad for Jackson when he didn't make it onto the track team.

Luray does not have a meta population. They're too small to have much of a population at all, and much of it is white which made him, half-Iranian, stand out even before he threw out a barrier of ice to protect his classmates a second before the gunfire began.

"Danny?!" his seatmate, Clarrissa, cries out in alarm.

"Everyone get out the window and run for it!" he orders, "I hold him back as much as I can!"

"You can't stay here!"

"Don't worry," Danny says, offering her a tight smile. "He couldn't kill me even if he tried. Now go!"

His classmates hadn't wasted any more time, sending him shocked looks as they escaped the classroom. A glimpse of his reflection in the window revealed glowing green eyes and blue mist wafting out of his mouth.

Looks like his time in Luray is up. He hopes his foster siblings won't be too mad at him for running away.

The gunfire stops, and Danny takes his chance to leap through his ice, intangible, and tackle Jackson, easily knocking the gun away from him.

"Monster!" Jackson spits at him, and Danny laughs.

"Bold of you to say that. I'm not to one trying to kill people."

He doesn't want to hear anything else that comes out of Jackson's mouth, so he knocks the guy out with a solid hit to a pressure point on his neck. Hopefully that'll keep him down long enough for the cops to get him.

Danny stands and means to leave, but something hits the back of his head hard and he's out before he realizes what's happened.

When he wakes up, he's strapped down to a table in what is undeniably a lab, and sighs.

At least he made it to sixteen before he went into another lab. Maybe in his next life he might even get all the way up to twenty before he's pulled back down here.

4. Though he has all his powers and a ghost form, that doesn't mean he is a ghost in this life.

No, he's fully a meta, which means meta-suppressing cuffs work on him.

It's not exactly a discovery he was hoping to have while locked up in a lab, but it's what he's got, so he has to roll with it. The cuffs are heavy on his wrists and around his throat, keeping him from escaping as a group of people in masks and lab coats bustle around, ignoring him.

His head is still foggy, though likely more from the drugs than the hit he took to his head.

He doesn't bothering talking to any of them; they don't see him as human, and Danny's dealt with enough of that in his past life.

Mad scientists love to talk though, so he still hears the gist of their plans: recreating the meta gene for normal people, making a profit from selling powers, getting rich and famous from their accomplishments. They had been using Jackson to get corpses for human testing, but they got Danny instead — someone they can harvest bio material for, a much better find than a couple dead kids.

If he had the energy to rage, Danny would have killed everyone in the room already. They planned to kill his classmates just for test subjects.

He doesn't want to be an assassin, but he'd gladly lean into those old lessons to make sure they never hurt anyone again.

But the cuffs and drugs do a good job of keeping him docile, barely able to think, as they transport him around to different locations and cut him open.

He's not sure how long it's been when they ease up on the drugs a bit. It still takes time for his body to work through everything, and he comes too with a throat that's dry and a stomach that hasn't had anything in it for quite some time.

The first thing Danny does when they start asking him questions is throw up on them.

If they wanted cooperation, they should have treated him better. This is fully on them.

It makes for a convincing argument for food and water and a bathroom break, at least, so he gets what he demands and takes care of his human body under the cold gazes of three scientists.

"You guys suck," he says conversationally. "Keeping test subjects alive is like basic knowledge. No wonder y'all suck at your jobs."

"Your comments aren't needed," one of the scientists says primly. "Get up. We need to study how using your powers affects your body."

They hook a bunch of different things onto him, then lock him in a glass cage and use the cuff around his throat to send jolts of electricity through him when he doesn't do anything. He throws a chunk of ice at them, watching as it breaks apart into small pieces when it hits the glass. The scientists scribble in their notepads, and when they look at him again, he flips them off.

He gets shocked again, but it's worth it.

The process repeats for another few hours, then he's pulled out of the cage, gets an IV stuck in his arm, and drops off into drugged oblivion before he has time to start throwing hands.

It must have been months. Danny's not sure; it's hard to keep track of time when locked in isolation.

He knows he's fed at least once a day. He's been getting a tray of bland food at random times, but he's counted over 50 trays sliding through the little slot on the bottom of his cell door.

Turns out insulting scientists and their procedures is a bad idea, especially when he has the language to really bruise their egos.

So.

Isolation sucks.

But at least they don't drug him anymore!

The cuffs do their job of keeping him in place, and if he didn't have memories of another life to keep him company, he definitely would have lost his mind long ago.

There's other people in here, other metas. He's heard them screaming and begging for mercy. He's heard them go chillingly quiet. He wonders why there are so many superheroes in this world when not a single one has come to save them.

Surely at least one would notice metas disappearing and would investigate?

But no.

No one ever comes to save them.

So Danny needs to figure out a way past the cuffs, and then he can be Phantom again long enough to free the other metas and make every scientist involve pay for their crimes.

He just needs to wait.

He just needs—

When Danny wakes up, the alarms are ringing. It makes his head pound, throbbing with each piercing sound.

He stumbles up, using the wall to keep his balance, and freezes when he sees that the door to his cell is open.

…Huh.

The hallway is bathed in red light when he steps out. No one's around. He wanders around the facility, searching for answers and only finds more questions.

There are other cells, also empty. Certain rooms have blood splattered across the walls and the floor, but no bodies. Labs are destroyed, broken glass on the floor. But every room is empty.

He wanders until he finds what must be a security room. There's a strange device dangling off a keychain on a rack, and Danny eyes it curiously. He runs his fingers around the cuff on his throat, feels the little depression where the collar comes together, and takes the rounded device. If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work.

But if it does work…

The cuff pops open easily, as if it hasn't been his greatest foe these past few months.

All at once, his strength returns to him. He has forgotten what it was like to breathe easily, to feel his powers come to his call so easily, to be reassured that he can take care of himself.

It's almost like coming back to life.

He transforms, settling back into his ghost form with relief, and flies through the facility in search of any other metas that may need help. He finds no one, but he does catch a glimpse of the outside.

The sky is so blue it almost hurts to look at. Part of the facility has been blown apart; rubble surrounds the place and the surrounding forest has been flattened. It looks as though a fight has moved through the area.

Maybe a superhero did come to save them? Rude of them to leave only Danny, though.

He continues his search, poking his head into different rooms and hallways. He finds a staircase going down and follows it into the basement. More labs greet him, and the glow of computers and strange vials of liquid leave him unsettled.

There's a green glow coming around the corner than reminds him of the Lazarus Pit he flew out of, once upon a time many years ago, and that's what draws him forward.

Tucked away in that familiar glow is a small body, floating in a tube of liquid. There's an oxygen mask attached to her face, but that doesn't stop Danny from recognizing her.

"Ellie?"

Just like in one life, Danny is cloned. The difference is that this time, there's no reason for it, no insane godfather trying to recreate a version of him that will choose him.

No, this time it's from a group of scientists who should have known better, who decided to mess around with his genes, and brought his once little sister now daughter into such a cruel, dangerous world.

Danny barely remembers breaking the glass to get her out of there. He doesn't know where he found the coat to bundle her up in, flying out of the facility as fast as he could. He feels sick, knowing it's his fault that she's here now, forced into a painful, terrifying existence because he wasn't strong enough to save himself.

He's a runaway meta victim of mad science. He can't take care of her.

"I'm sorry, Ellie," he whispers to her, pressing a kiss against her head. "I'm so sorry."

She small in his arms. She barely weighs anything.

Danny blinks back tears and tries to find some place he can stop and rest, somewhere safe he can gather his thoughts and figure out his next steps.

This isn't like when he first woke up in this world, with both sets of memories.

This is Ellie.

She deserves more than just a wish and a half-baked plan for a better life.

She deserves a family that wants her, that can care for her, that can protect her. She deserves to grow up normally and not worry about destabalizing or being a replacement for him or being hunted down.

She deserves one life to be a kid and grow up safe and be whoever she wants to be.

Danny will never be able to give her that.

But maybe he can give her to someone who can.

Danyal grew up with an assassin mother and a cruel grandfather who expected far too much from a child. He was taught to kill and be more weapon than child. He was taught the world was something for him to take, to protect, to water with blood.

Danyal was meant to be the next Demon Head, and the next Bat.

Danny knows he can't go to his mother. If they're both lucky, he will never have to see her again. Knowing his luck, he's already planning explanations for why he never went back to her.

Danny's father, on the other hand…

It didn't take much to put the pieces together. The notorious Bat is Batman, Gotham's vigilante and one of the founders of the Justice League. While a child would have been left confused by the many comments his mother made about his father, it was simple enough for Danny to line them up with what he learned about the heroes of this world and realize, oh, that's my dad.

It takes a few weeks of research, using public libraries with Ellie tucked securely in a wrap to his chest, but he's able to learn more about Batman.

The most important thing being that he has kids.

Of course, none of this is officially acknowledged, but everyone knows that the Robins are his kids. Current Robin, especially, likes to remind people that he's 'the son of Batman'.

Okay. Cool.

Danny has siblings.

Awesome.

He's… not looking forward to those conversations.

At least it means more people to look after Ellie. Assuming they take her in, which Danny's really hoping for.

But it's the best he can do, so Danny sets course for Gotham and hopes that just this once, everything will work out.

Meeting the Bats of Gotham is a lot harder than he expected.

A week in the city and he's barely caught more than a glimpse of them. He can't dedicate a lot of time to tracking them down either, needing to break into grocery stores to get food for him and Ellie.

She's so quiet as a baby, and it terrifies him. She's only cried twice the entire time he's had her, and Danny spends every day begging her to hold on.

Time during the day is spent catching naps and researching common vigilante spotting areas in Gotham. He's got a map of Gotham taken from a library and has been steadily marking it up, putting stars in the best places to find a Bat. There are places all over the city, and Danny has no idea how to know which ones are the best.

The only thing he can do is wait at a different rooftop each night, clinging to Ellie, wondering if this is the last night he has with her.

On the ninth night, someone finally arrives.

"Step away from the edge," a voice demands.

Danny turns to see Robin approaching, hands held out as if to catch him. He's bigger than Danny was expecting. Which makes sense; most of the stories Danny got online are from when Robin was a kid, and it's been a few years since then. He must be a teenager now. Older, but still young.

"Robin," he manages to say, his throat tightening. It feels almost like there's a noose around it. It feels like that meta-suppressing cuff has clicked back into place, leaving him helpless.

"Step away from the edge," Robin repeats. "There is no need for this to be your last resort."

"But it is," Danny whispers.

Robin darts forward and wraps a hand around Danny's wrist, yanking him towards the center of the roof. "Why on Earth would you come up here? Surely you must have known that someone would stop you."

"Batman," he gets out. "I need to speak to Batman."

"What for?"

"I'm… I was told, once, that I'm his son."

10. Robin stares at him for a long moment.

Then he takes off his mask.

Danny knows those eyes: he sees them every time he looks in a mirror.

"Danyal," Robin breathes. "You died before I was born."

"I did. Are you…?"

"Mother told me about you."

So he has a little brother. If only he hadn't left first chance he got, he could have known his little brother, gotten away from that place before it hurt him too. Danny has made many mistakes since he arrived in this world. Missing a little brother is perhaps the worst of them.

"Mother…" Danny repeats. "She put me in the Lazarus Pit. I remember that. She didn't want me to die."

"I was born to replace you."

Just like Ellie.

So many mistakes repeating. He's never felt like more of a failure.

"Batman. Our father. He treats you well? You are safe with him?"

Robins brows furrow, but he nods, which is enough for Danny. "Yes. Of course. Isn't that why you're here now?"

"I'm not asking for me." Danny carefully, gently, unwraps Ellie. "I'm asking for her. Please, take care of her. She deserves more than I can give her. Ellie… she'd be your niece."

Robin's eyes are wide. He's frozen until Danny pushes Ellie against his chest, forcing him to lift his arms to hold her.

"Wait, what about—?"

When Robin looks up, Danny's already gone.

It's for the best.

(masterpost for all parts)

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #demon brothers #dcxdp fic #the harmless series #gonna make that a full series. all posts will be part of that. heres the beginning of it all!!#reincarnation + demon brothers + baby ellie #tw human experimentation #dw there will be more #i'll have a full masterpost to add to the end of each post once i write and post the next part #which will be damian's pov and the aftermath of danny revealing himself and leaving ellie #my writing

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