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not-neverland06 · 3 months ago

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you're not her

The 'Worst' Logan x fem!mutant!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eat me-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ominous, but whatever. “Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, look, my favorite fuck buddies.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t. Hold. Back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wade

Did you fuckers have sex???

In my bed!!!!

And you didn’t invite me?!

….

Wade

Tell Logan I want his claws in me next

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

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

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

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist: @nonamevenus ♡

#logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #the worst logan x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool #hugh jackman #praying this doesn't flop

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creative-hanyou-girl · 1 year ago

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Just now convinced my mom to watch the Percy Jackson show with me by playing some songs from the musical and showing her the tv trailer. I got her now, boys!!!! I'd call this a win!!!!😈😈😈

We love watching Harry Potter together and I'm hoping Percy Jackson will be the next big thing we marathon together!

Even better is that my mom was asking who Percy's godly parent is and I refused to tell her. She knows nothing about Percy Jackson so I can't wait for her to find out all the stuff I already know.

#my mom's interested in mythology and loves HP and said the trailer reminds her of HP #which YES I told her it would!!!!#i told her Percy Jackson was basically like Harry Potter but make it Greek mythology #we love Harry Potter so I'm really hoping she loves Percy Jackson and we can make it a thing we marathon together #I got so insanely excited when mom started asking questions about Percy Jackson mid way through the campfire song #she was like 'he doesn't know who his godly parent is?' and was confused in how the others knew their parents #so I DID briefly explain the who claiming thing to her but thats it #i dont want to spoil her anything else #so I'll probably watch the PJO episodes by myself first before I watch with mom #just to get my fangirling out and not spoil her anything while we're watching ya know?#imagine if my mom falls in love with PJO like HP and reads the books😂#I'd be so happy if she did that #she's been meaning to read HP eventually and I'd love if she put PJO on that list #I've got the HP and PJO books so she borrow them if she wants #I love the fact that my brother introduced my mom to HP years ago and I'm about to introduce her to PJO #it'll be even better if she falls in love with PJO just like HP #also she snorted at the 'Aphrodite in her nighty' line from the campfire song #that is a pountless add in tag but I wanted to mention that cus it was funny #one day I'd love to see the musical in person with her since we love musicals too #and my mom loves rock music so she should like it too right?#percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson tv show #percy jackson musical #percy jackson trailer #please no HP hate in the comments #i like both #my mom watches PJO #harry potter

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lalunanymph · 4 months ago

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KITTEN, BEHAVE ☆

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ there are consequences to teasing your biker boyfriend...

⋆｡°✩ semi-public s/ex, fem!reader, biker!sylus, reader wears a skirt, reader's a nasty gal <3, undertones of dom/sub (sylus is one kinky mf), finger sucking, finger gagging, petnames (kitten, baby), fucking on his bike (hehe), c/um countdown, unprotected s/ex (wrap it up babes), sylus matches our freak perfectly, based on this thot i had

⋆｡°✩ dawn says: i've been a nasty girl ive been a nasty girl nasty nasty (sorry zayne)

Sylus isn’t one to find beauty in the mundane but the wind whipping past his frosty locks and your arms wrapped tightly around him makes him feel like he’s on cloud nine.

“Kitten, are you alright?” he calls over the lashing breeze.

His leather jacket is ridiculously thick, but even through the material, he can feel the heat of your cheeks seeping through.

You always flush whenever he calls you your favorite pet name, and Sylus forgets that just like a kitten, you can be just as playful.

A slender hand tipped with French nails slides down his torso, leaving blistering heat in its wake. The thin compression shirt he’s wearing under his jacket can barely fight off the warmth of your palm bleeding past the material and onto his skin.

His heart doubles in speed, and in response, he revs the N-907 Ultrabike, its wheels kicking up more dirt and dust. Linkon City speeds into a blur, White Coves’ beaches in the distance and to his right, Bloom Forest spreads her velvety green arms open for adventurous outdoor lovers to play in.

Your hand trickles down his abs, stealing his attention back to your whims, and he smirks behind his visor when he feels your dainty, pretty little palm resting on the front of his pants.

Looks like the little kitten wants to play a dangerous game.

Two can play the same.

Sylus pretends to ignore you, and he can tell it only frustrates you more when he remains stone cold and unmoving; a statue you’re trying to thaw.

Your free hand creeps under the hem of his shirt, and thank fuck the wind is too loud because a groan slips past his clenched teeth—it would be absolutely embarrassing if you heard it. His mind works doubly hard to focus on not crashing the bike, maneuvering it down the winding steep roads.

“I thought you said you wanted to take me for a ride,” your voice touches his heated ears, innocent and alluring.

“Isn’t that what we’re doing, kitten?” He tilts his head back slightly and hears your snort.

Your antics will never cease to amaze him. Whatever possessed you to be bold also eggs you on to be audacious. Your hands travel further up his shirt, pressing right onto his broad pecs and you smirk when you feel the bike wobbling slightly under his control.

“Kitten,” he hisses. “Stop it.”

But, you don’t listen to him. You never do.

This insolent prey. He tries his damndest not to buck his hips when you start to rub his bulge, merciless with your teasing. Your other hand reaches up to his neck, where his favorite leather collar sits prettily on his defined clavicles, and tug on it, earning another hiss.

The bike skids to a stop and you’re not sure how you ended up pushed against the pillion seat, Sylus looming over you. He kills the engine and kicks down the stand, the sudden deafening silence exacerbating your heavy breathing.

“Wait,” you squeak, and he shakes his head.

“No more waiting. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Looking around in a panic, you notice that he’s parked the bike under a secluded shade of trees, next to an empty strip of road.

This was the same route you took to the edge of the N-109 when you were given the mission to retrieve Sylus a few months ago.

“Familiar, isn’t it?” He reads your mind with a dark chuckle.

Those ruby red eyes bore into yours with the grace of a predator provoked, and you, his favorite prey, will finally get what you’ve been asking for.

“I think it’s high time we recreated some memories from the first night we both saw each other,” he drags his palm up your bare thigh, making you shiver. “It’s a good thing you’re in a pretty little skirt, kitten,” he hums, pushing the hem of your leather mini skirt—a gift from him—out of the way.

Sylus inhales sharply when he notices the micro thong you’re wearing which barely covers anything, his nostrils flaring.

“Insufferable.”

“Sy,” you whine, unsure what he's waiting for. It's never like him to play with his food.

The press of his bigger body on top of yours cages you to the pillion seat, the friction burning when he unceremoniously drags you closer to him.

Those intense eyes seem to devour you, and for the first time since you’ve been together with him, you see a shadow of his villainous evil in them.

“Is this what you wanted?”

Is this what you’ve been begging for?

Sylus wraps a hand around your throat in broad daylight, not caring for morals or decency when he squeezes. Hard.

Your eyes roll back into your head, regret streaming in for how you teased him earlier.

“A-ah—” you choke lightly. “Was jus’ tryna play around.”

Sylus ignores your whimpers, a bored look on his face as he loosens his fingers, letting you suck in a wheezy breath.

“Little hunters never learn their lessons, do they?”

He smirks unexpectedly.

“Remember that night you tried to tame me during our interrogation? In the end, I was the one who had you screaming, didn’t I, kitten?”

You did remember—of course, you did.

The shine of your boots spreading his kneeling thighs apart. Leather collar around a pale strip of throat you just wanted to suck on and leave a mark. His smug leers, those glowing ruby eyes that shone like dying embers when he finally snaps off the handcuffs you placed him in and pins you to the ground for a taste of your own medicine.

As much as you hate to confront the truth, it stares you down with an impassive face and dark eyes—a truth that breaks the delusion that you were the one in control when it came to Sylus.

He touches your thighs, spreads them further. Bright sunlight speckles through the trees, casting webs of shadows across his crooked nose and high cheekbones.

Sylus takes his time to peel your thong off, and you bite down on your lip to muffle a whimper.

“What? Don't tell me you're all shy now?”

He snorts in amusement at your attempts to be innocent, prying your lower lip free, stroking the curve of your plush mouth with his thumb until you relent and suck on his digit docilely.

While you’re not inexperienced when it comes to such carnal submission, it’s the first time you’re doing it outside of the bedroom where anyone could stumble upon the both of you.

The thought makes your thighs tense and your needy pussy clench down on thin air, something that Sylus doesn’t miss.

“You like this, huh? Being slutted out so publicly… it turns you on to be so open to me.”

He continues to push his thumb around your mouth; pressing down on your gums, flicking the tip of your tongue, inspecting the ridges and juts of each pearly white tooth. Intentionally drawing out your humiliation.

Satisfied with the oral inspection, he removes his thumb, swiftly stuffing your protests with two thick fingers.

“You say ‘no’, but I can smell that sweet little cunt getting wetter,” he murmurs, flitting his dark gaze right to your folds flushing readily with need; right to that cleft which houses his favorite hole.

Lewd doesn’t begin to cover how Sylus can treat you in bed. Outside the sheets, he’s content to play the role of your partner and friend, tagging along on your adventures and explorations.

But the second he has you trapped in his bed, he becomes a different person.

Meaner. Assertive.

Downright cruel.

“Do you want me to touch you?” He goads, locks of silver hair falling across his damp forehead. Sweat dews across your chest, and you feel the heat of shame rising in you.

Sylus, I was just joking, you try to argue, but he’s not hearing it.

“Didn’t seem like a joke when you were pawing at my cock earlier, kitten,” your lover hums, unable to take his half-mast red eyes off of you.

He slots a hand between your thighs, and you swallow a cry when he drags your thong to the side, spreading your wetness around roughly with his thumb. Sylus rubs tight circles on your aching clit, forcing you to slap a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans.

“Ssh,” he whispers when you give a tiny, choked cry. Sylus takes this chance to nuzzle your neck, inhaling your scent like a starved man. “We don’t want anyone to find us out, don’t we, kitten?”

Evil, evil man. You bite on the inside of your palm to keep quiet when he lifts one leg to wrap around his narrow waist, effortlessly tugging his zipper down and freeing his cock.

“One single sound and I will stop, do I make myself clear?”

There’s no choice but for you to nod. Sylus doesn’t waste a single second once he’s got you all nice and wet for him, grasping the base of his girthy and veiny length, stroking it a few times to make sure he’s hard and ready for you.

The thick tip breaches past your tight ring of muscle, and you bite down on a sharp gasp, squeezing your eyes close.

His breathing is getting heavier, and he curses the second he bottoms out in your tight heat.

The bike begins to shake with every clean stroke, his thrusts making your toes curl and heels dig into his back. Luckily, the pillion seat is wide enough to accommodate your shaking bodies; never imagining for a single second that your lover would be boldly fucking you on it in the middle of a dangerous zone.

But, Sylus has always been like this—addictive, painful.

Dangerous.

How he fucks you is no different.

The blunt head touches the deepest spot inside of you, and you’re helpless to do anything but cling onto him like second skin, muffling your whines into his broad shoulder.

“Looks like the little kitten is enjoying her cream,” he murmurs, trailing his gaze down your body taking him so well.

The veins on the back of his hands stand out, drawing your attention to him dragging the front of your blouse down, tucking your bra cups under your heaving breasts.

Sylus’ mouth wraps around one turgid bud, sucking it till it’s shiny with his spit and throbbing from oversensitivity.

He repeats the same motion on your neglected nipple, savoring your hitched breaths and muffled whines.

Your thighs start to shake, and you turn your head to the side.

Look at you, he coos and grabs your chin, forcing you to gaze at the spot between your thighs where he’s fucking into you. Look at how well you’re taking me.

You’re so wet that droplets of white are trickling down your inner thighs, frothing into stickiness where his cock is rutting shallowly inside of you.

“Sy,” you moan softly, eyes glossing over with tears of pleasure.

He loves how needy and pathetic you look for him with your swollen, parted mouth and tight nipples just begging to be pinched or flicked.

A furrow creases between his brows, drops of sweat trickling down his jaw.

You surprise him by leaning forward, flattening your tongue and lapping it right up, shameless in your desire for him.

“Naughty girl,” Sylus purrs, his red eyes darkening to an impossible black until you’re sure not a shred of your sweet boyfriend remains. Two thick fingers part your mouth open, sliding down your welcoming throat until he’s knuckle-deep in you.

Sylus chokes you out as his other hand trails down your body towards your clit, rubbing the flushed nub until your hips buck and you cry out; a master at bringing your body closer to the pleasurable brink.

The tears beading in your lash line finally freefall down your face, triggering his devilish satisfaction.

Returning the favor, Sylus licks them clean, chuckling cruelly at the arousal turning you cross-eyed.

He loves it when you look this fucked out, and one day when you’re comfortable enough, he hopes you’ll relent to him taking a picture of that messed up, pretty face for his safekeeping.

Baby, you gurgle around his fingers. I’m close…

Yeah? He goads. Gonna break for me? Come on this cock? Make a mess? Fuck—do it baby. Mess me up. Make me feel so good because that’s all you’re good for, huh?

He grits his teeth, fighting back the cresting pleasure, needing you to come first.

Come on, baby. Come with me. Five… four… three… that’s it, baby. You’re so close, aren’t you. Don’t come until I reach zero. Fuck—that pussy’s so tight. Two… one… fuck, fuck.

High strung keens are escaping past the cracks of his fingers stuffed in your mouth, your entire body shaking violently that Sylus thinks you’re being wrecked by an internal earthquake.

Zero. Zero. Fuck, baby. Come for me. Come on, give it to me. Give me that sweet cum. Yeah, that’s it, that’s it—

He grunts, his patience breaking, flooding inside of you in waves of heat; filling you up to the brim.

In this moment of weakness where anyone targeting him can put a bullet right through his head, Sylus thinks that if he dies right now, he would do so happily in your arms.

His forehead gently thumps onto yours and you must be as fucked up as him because you push his hair back, scratching his scalp lightly.

Your sculpted, 6’2 menace of a lover who’s seen death and destruction since the day he could speak, groans and nuzzles your cheek like a weak puppy. With every version of Sylus that you have seen before, this will always be your favorite one—where he’s comfortable enough to kiss you affectionately, bringing you down from the high.

He hums. “Satisfied?”

Sylus would never say he loves you out loud—that’s not in his nature.

But, his actions scream louder than words when he adjusts your rumpled clothes and gives you a peck on your cheek.

“Do you still want to visit that mad scientist or should we scrap it for another day?”

The implicit invitation tempts you.

A boring lecture or a whole day spread out on my sheets, kitten?

“Let’s go home,” you choose the latter, and Sylus tries his hardest to hide his smug smile when you refer to his penthouse as your own home.

“Of course. But, for the sake of not violating any more public decency laws, you better keep your paws to yourself until we get home, kitten.”

Proving your disobedience and your unwillingness to learn your lesson, you sink two fingers under his collar, dragging him close enough for your lips to touch.

“That depends on if you can get us home fast enough, Sy.”

He takes it as a challenge, a grin touched with a hint of lunacy splitting across his face.

“Is that a challenge, sweetheart?”

“No, I—”

He pulls you into a kiss, devouring your breaths until your lungs are filled with nothing but him, him, him.

His fingers in your hair, an arm wound tightly around your waist so his favorite prey can never escape him. Sylus breaks off the kiss, ruby eyes like two bloody pools when he stares at your warm cheeks and puffy mouth.

“You should know I always—always—win our petty bets.”

— feedback and reblogs are appreciated luvs <33

©️ lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, or translate to another site

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mostly-imagines · 6 months ago

Text

The Alchemy vol. I

jason todd x fem!reader

aka the progression of your relationship with the red hood

vol II

warnings: slow burn, mentions of attempted sa for reader, depictions of blood and injury, mentions of standard gotham violence

Dear fuck, he’s as heavy as he looks.

You use all of your weight to pull him backwards towards the couch, almost giving up when you realized you’d have to lift him up off the ground to actually get on it.

Getting him through the window was enough of a hassle, challenging the difficulty of the decision to bring him in here at all.

Thankfully you don’t have to think too hard on it because you feel his body stiffen up suddenly. He jolts upright, though clearly pained to do so, hand flying to the gun holster on his side.

You take a step back, hands out in front of you. “Hey, it’s alright.”

“Who are you?” His voice is interrogative.

You put your hands down, “You’re the one who passed out on my balcony, I think if anyone gets to ask that question it’s me.”

He stares at you, white lenses bearing into your soul.

Okay, yeah. You tell him your name. He doesn’t move. “You just looked like you needed some help..”

His posture loosens a bit, and his hand finally leaves the holster.

He glances down at his abdomen, a sizable tear in his suit and a nearly alarming amount of blood. “You got any bandages?”

“Uh, I—yeah, yeah, I do.” You dart down the hall into the bathroom, shuffling through your first aid kid. You toss a few wraps into your arms, along with some antiseptic spray you suspect he’ll need. You grab your hand towel and get it wet under warm water.

When you return, he’s moved himself onto the sofa, lifting his shirt up to assess the damage. You round the couch, seeing more blood than you’d have hoped for.

“Can I?” You ask, motioning to his injury.

He looks up at you for a long moment. He nods.

You kneel down in front of him and replace his hand in lifting up the shirt. It’s a cut, it doesn’t look terribly deep, but still not shallow enough that he could just leave it.

You take the rag and dab it around the wound, trying to clean up the blood as much as possible without making contact with it.

He’s very still as you work, and you get the strong impression he’s watching you carefully.

You grab the antiseptic spray, shaking it. “This’ll sting.”

He grunts.

You apply the antiseptic thoroughly and he doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t move his gaze from you for a second.

You unwrap one of the bandages and place it on firmly, making sure there’s no bleedthrough.

And not that you particularly want to be thinking about this right now, but the man is noticeably ripped. Stacked like a house of cards.

You rip away your gaze and stand up, hands on your hips, taking a deep breath. You look at him—at his helmet.

You don’t know how you can tell, but he’s studying you. Trying to get a read on you, maybe. Regardless, you’re eager to escape the gaze.

You shovel the remainder of your supplies back into your arms and bring them back to the bathroom, calling out, “I didn’t take off your helmet, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

There’s a short beat.

“Do I seem like someone that worries often?”

You peek your head out of the bathroom door.

You look at him. “You seem like someone that doesn’t worry enough.”

He snorts. “You’re not far off.”

You make your way back once you’re done, looking at the disregarded meal you’d been interrupted from. “I have pasta if you…eat.”

“I do.”

“I can go in the other room if you—”

He clicks the lock on his helmet, taking it off. He’s left with a second mask underneath, covering his eyes and nose. His dark hair sticks up from the helmet, a white streak poking out in the front. He looks younger than you would’ve expected. Cuter, if his jaw is anything to go by.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Okay then.

You grab a second plate out of the cabinet and scoop on the rest of the pasta from the pan.

You hand him the plate, avoiding standing too close.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

You turn back around as casually as possible after hearing the name, wanting to avoid letting your face give anything away.

This guy kills people, right?

You sit down in the armchair across from the couch, spooling the pasta on and off the fork. He doesn’t show the same hesitation in dining away that you do—you guess fighting crime would require some calorie exchange.

“You a nurse?” He asks after a few minutes.

The question takes you by surprise. You hadn’t taken him as a small talk kind of person. “Huh? Oh, no, I’ve just taken a few first aid courses and stuff.”

He gives a short hum, thoughtful.

“What?”

“You’re good.” Hardly.

“I didn’t really do anything.”

“You did enough.” He says, not leaving much room for argument.

He stands up at once, walking past you to the kitchen. Your gaze follows him silently. He puts his empty plate in the sink and returns to the edge of the living room.

He looks at you once more and pops his helmet back on followed by the click of the lock.

“I’ll see ya.” He says shortly, before ducking out the window.

You’re left alone, sitting in your armchair, plate of cold pasta forgotten on your lap.

That could’ve gone very badly. Maybe not your most thought-through decision to literally drag the Red Hood into your apartment, but hey. Maybe you’re exercising your ability to be an upstanding, helpful person. Or maybe you were just hoping to prevent a vigilante being found dead on your fire escape.

Regardless, you close the window after him, leaving it unlocked. Just in case.

You wake in the middle of the night to the sounds of footsteps in your living room. You shoot upright, immediately spotting the lamp light flooding in from under your door.

Creeping to a stand, you grab the baseball bat next to your bed and slowly walk to the door.

You creep the door open as quietly as possible, inching out half a step at a time. A nearby creak on your floorboards had you swinging blindly, only to have your bat get stopped midair. You look up to see Mr. Hood himself, blocking the blow of your hit with his hand.

“Wow. You and a bat against Gotham, huh, sweetheart?”

“Fuck!” You let go of the bat and drown your face in your hands. “What is wrong with you?”

“Apparently that I don’t carry enough baseball bats with me.” He says coolly, inspecting your bat. Though he’s got to admit, your bat is probably a hell of a lot more useful than his.

You drop your arms at your side. “If I’d known bringing you into my apartment one time was going to be considered a free pass forever, I might’ve thought twice.”

“If I’d known I was going to nearly be concussed with a baseball bat, I might’ve too.” Barely. If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re still half asleep and it was not a very good swing.

He looks at you straight on for the first time. His helmet quickly drifts down and back up to your face just as fast.

You look down. T-Shirt, underwear, and…no that’s it. Not…ideal. You pull down on the unfortunately not at all oversized shirt, wanting to creep back into your room.

He turns his back, allowing you to do just that and scramble for some shorts to throw on.

“Very gentlemanly of you.” You call out from your room, “And only thirty seconds after breaking into my apartment.”

“Okay, one, I’ve been here longer than that. In a non creepy way.”

“Right.”

“And two, I didn’t break anything. You live in the middle of Gotham and don’t lock your window?”

You reemerge in the doorway, “I live on the eighth floor.”

He turns around to face you again, helmet in his hands. “Didn’t stop me.” No it did not.

“Mm. So are you here specifically to judge my home security or was there something you needed?”

He takes a deep breath, “Actually yeah. I just need a place to rest for a minute.”

“Rest from what?”

A series of gunshots echo from down the street.

“Next question.”

Concise.

You and Hood sit on the couch in the dark, per his insistence, because for some godforsaken reason, you have no curtains. It takes a few minutes for the silence to dissipate into forced conversation, which takes a few more minutes to fade into actual conversation.

“Can I be honest with you?” You ask him.

“Does it matter how I answer?”

“I don’t understand how you’re not dead.” You poke your head up, turning to him. “Are you human?”

He cranes his neck to look out the window, “Maybe getting shot at isn’t the worst thing that could happen tonight…”

You roll your eyes with a smile that you’re glad is hidden by the darkness. “Oh, fuck off.”

“You don’t have much in terms of self-preservation skills, do you?”

You ignore him as to not acknowledge that he’s probably right and roll through to your next curiosity, “Who the hell was shooting at you anyways?” Though, you don’t really expect an answer.

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. They got ‘til sunrise anyway.”

You tilt your head, “‘Til sunri—” oh. Yeah. Come to think of it, he does have two guns on him right now. At least that you can see. You squint blankly at the wall, “You know, I’m placing a lot of trust in the hope that you’re not just as bad as those guys.”

“Yes you are.” He nods, not doing anything to convince you that he is in fact a good guy. He hasn’t tried to harm you in any way though, so you guess that’s a good sign.

You tilt your head at him. “Do you get paid to do this?”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a lot of people who would pay me not to do this.”

You nod solemnly, mouth turned into an exaggerated frown. “So you have a day job?”

He looks over at you, “Do you always ask this many questions?”

“Are you always so dodgy about answering them?” You shoot back. If you’d thought for .5 seconds longer on that, you might not have said anything. But you feel comfortable here, in your apartment with a man whose face you’ve never seen, name you don’t know, and always has at least two loaded guns on him.

He huffs out a laugh, “Yeah. I am.” He looks over at you. “You live here by yourself?”

You look around at the empty apartment before turning back to him, “Seems that way.”

He shrugs, “Boyfriend could be out or something.”

“Well most people are asleep at one in the morning. Like I was. Remember that?”

“No.”

You sigh, curling up into a ball on your end of the couch, resting your chin on your knees. You’re quiet for a minute before piping up, “Do people actually break into apartments on high floors a lot?”

“Stupid people.” He pauses, looking over at the frown on your face. “Look, I’m in the neighborhood a lot. If I see somebody climbing your fire escape I’ll shoot them.”

You let a little smile out, “I’m thinking there’s other steps you could take before you get to that point.”

“If you want to waste time.” His gaze doubles back at you, “That was a joke, by the way.”

You bark out a tired laugh, “Yeah, I picked up on that, thanks.”

He removes his eyes from you, fixing on a set of pictures you have hanging on the wall.

Your eyes flutter and you move to rest your head on the arm of the couch. “Is this going to be a regular thing then?”

“You could lock your window.”

“Living on the eighth floor didn’t stop you, I can’t imagine a shitty lock will do much more.”

“If you don’t want me here, I won’t be here.” He says gruffly.

“If I don’t want you here, I’ll let you know.” You mumble, eyes closing.

You can barely make out a laugh from him, “Good to know.”

You’re not quite sure how much time goes by when he leaves, but you have a pretty strong feeling you’d fallen asleep. Your main indicator was feeling the blanket draped nicely over you that you could’ve sworn was on the chair across the room.

Maybe it’s ten o’clock at night and you’re sat on your kitchen floor, bawling your eyes out. Maybe you’re going to have to quit your job. Or maybe you’ll have to face a lawsuit. Maybe this is the worst day in the history of time. Maybe it’s about to get worse.

The sound of your living room window sliding open has you startling into a rush, body panicking as if you’ve done something wrong and desperately need to cover the evidence. The past few weeks of sporadic visits leaves no question about who it is, and you just hope the kitchen island in front of you will be enough to convince Hood that you’re not in and he’ll leave.

But because today is today, that’s not how it goes down.

You can vaguely make out the sound of his footsteps approaching, a courtesy that you’re sure he incorporated on purpose.

“Oh fuck…” you mutter to yourself, wiping your eyes.

He rounds the counter, looking down at you. “Wha—what’s wrong?”

“Fuck. Nothing.” You say, standing up and adjusting your clothes. “Are you hurt?” He better fucking not be at only ten.

“No, I—why are you on the floor?”

You roll your eyes, “I live alone, forgive me for assuming I would be given the privilege to cry on the floor in private.”

“Did something happen?” You’re trying really hard not to call him an idiot.

You raise your eyebrows, giving a light nod. “Uh, yeah, I’d say so.”

He shifts in his stance, “Do I need to talk to someone?”

You scoff, knowing damn well his version of ‘talk to someone’ does not include talking to someone. “Why are you even here so early?”

“Wanted to stop by before I went out.” he says quietly.

You’re about to snap something at him again, but the burning in your eyes takes immediate priority. You wrap your arms around your middle and try to calm yourself down, with very little success. The tears fall easily and your shoulders start shaking as you look at the floor, letting the melancholy take over.

It feels like much longer than it probably was, but sometime after the first few tears fall he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. This only makes you cry harder, sobbing against his armor. Your arms stay wrapped around your center, while his hands remain completely still against your back, though firm. You don’t realize it immediately, but he’s holding a good portion of your weight up, you’d for sure collapse onto the floor otherwise. You kind of wish you would. Sitting on the floor felt nice, maybe falling down on it will feel even better.

You slowly start to regain your breathing, the well in your eyes drying up again. He waits for you to stop completely and slowly pulls back from you, hands momentarily still wavering next to you like he’s ready to catch you.

It takes you a minute to notice, but his helmet is locked on to the finger-shaped bruises on your forearm. You awkwardly move your opposite arm to cover them, looking around your apartment with nothing to search for.

He’s quiet for a long while, clearly thinking hard. “What happened?”

You sniffle, “Some asshole at my job.”

“Some asshole?” He doesn’t believe you. Rightfully so, but he has no business being able to tell that you’re lying about one single word in that sentence.

“My boss. Was very intent on successfully hitting on me.” You exhale deeply, “His approach could use some work though, if I’m honest.”

His posture remains statue-like. “Where do you work?”

You look at him straight on for the first time that night, “What does that matter?”

“I’ll take care of it.” He says simply.

You wave him off, “It’s fine.”

He waits a moment before letting you know, “I’m being polite by asking, I’m going to find out either way.”

You plop back down on the kitchen floor, knees to chest. “Well, then do it the hard way.”

About ten seconds of him staring down at you in silence go by, before he sits down next to you. It’s a bit funny how he tries to shrink himself down next to you, you’re assuming because he doesn’t want you to get panicked again because this massive stranger is sitting next to you in your kitchen in the dead of night.

You don’t look at him as he clicks his helmet off and sets it on the other side of him. It’s quiet for another minute when he holds his gloved hand out to you, and you’re not quite sure how you know what he wants, but you do. You place your bruised arm in his hand, letting him gently pull it closer to him and scan over it.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Again, you don’t know how, but you can tell he’s asking how far things went. “I started screaming and it freaked him out. He let me go.” you say numbly.

You can see him nod out of the corner of your eye, bits of red making their way into your peripheral despite the discarded helmet. You turn slowly to look at him, finding him looking at you already.

His face is more covered than it had been the first night, the same black mask covers his eyes but the lower half of his face is also hidden by a red mouthpiece. You’re in the lamp light and closer to him than you had been before and you’re counting out specks of green in his blue eyes. He lets you, to your surprise, and when you run out of emerald hues you take focus on his thick, dark eyelashes. Your gaze moves back ever so slightly to make eye contact with him and you tear your eyes away, zeroing in on the kitchen tiles.

You sigh contemplatively, “I’m worried if you kill my boss it’ll be traced back to me and I’ll get pinned for it.”

He doesn’t laugh. But your delivery was a little dry in the wrong way so really it was on you.

“I’m not going to kill him.” he tells you, “I wouldn’t gamble with my pied-a-terre like that.”

Your head falls back, hitting the drawer behind you with a light thud. “Then why waste your time at all?” Maybe you should slow down with the snide comments.

He wants to, but he doesn’t call out the implied self-slighting in your words. “Maybe it’s a ‘me’ thing but I don’t particularly like men that hurt women.”

You let out a dry laugh. “In Gotham, it just might be.”

He sits with you on the linoleum tile of your kitchen until your eyes start to droop and he lightly corrals you to your bedroom before taking his exit through the window. You told him multiple times that he could go and you were fine, but he insisted that nothing important was happening in the city that time of night. You didn’t quite believe him though, because it was past midnight by the time he’d headed out.

When you showed up to work the following day your boss wasn’t there. Wasn’t there the day after either. Or the day after. He didn’t make an appearance again until the following Monday. And when he did show face, he did so with a neck brace and a cast on his leg. But once more, he absolutely refused to make eye contact or speak to any of the female employees. It actually became a whole thing when he wouldn’t give instructions or feedback to any of you, and insisted on having his secretary replaced with a man, who he then used as a middle man to speak to all of the women for him. HR got involved three times in the span of the next five days, and by the Monday after, he’d been fired.

So to recap: yes, no, no, undecided, and hard no.

Maybe you’re really starting to like this Red Hood guy.

Hard yes.

You’re slightly on guard upon hearing a clattering on the balcony, though if the past few weeks have been any indicator, you’re not in much danger.

Your posture slumps as you peer around the hallway corner, “Oh, it’s you.”

“Good to see you too.” he grumbles, dropping onto the floor.

“Well, I have to imagine I’m a step up from the last person you saw.” You say, looking him up and down, seeing what sure as hell looks like a gunshot wound on his chest armor. “What happened to you? The Mad Hatter uses guns now?”

He groans, “Ah, I said something about him being a heartless fuck, and I guess he took it personally.”

You sigh, “Jesus Christ, Hood.”

He waves you off, “It’s not that big of a deal.”

You scoff, “He tried to shoot you in the heart.”

“Yeah, well, he missed.” He grumbles, adjusting his position on the couch.

You exhale sharply, “How do you know?”

“How do I know?” He tilts his helmet at you, exasperated.

You throw your arms up at your side, “I don’t know! I’m not equipped for this scenario.”

He huffs, “Look, it’s fine, it hit my armor. It’ll probably just be a bad bruise.”

“Probably?”

“I don’t think there’s blood. Could you…” he vaguely gestures to his torso, but it's enough for you to get the hint.

You shake the panic out of your head, “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

You help him shrug off his jacket as he strips off his armor, and you lift his shirt up as slowly as you can in case the injury is worse than he thinks.

You’re not shocked to see that he has scars, that’s kind of a given in his line of work. What you are shocked to see is one very long scar that lines directly up the center of his body. It’s a deep scar, too.

And, oh. The long scar extends further, splitting off into a fork at his collar. That’s—oh. Oh. Oh. That is an autopsy scar.

You’re not sure what to do. You’ve never seen a living person with an autopsy scar—though you have to imagine neither have most people.

He clearly does not want to talk about it and you’re happy to let him keep the skeleton in the closet.

You avert your gaze back over to his diaphragm at the area of reddened skin.

“There’s no blood, but…” You inspect it a bit closer, “I think there’s going to be a bad bruise. You might end up with bruising on your ribs, you need to get that looked at.”

“I am.” He says shortly.

You stand up straight, dropping your shoulders. “By someone who went to medical school. Or has taken more than one anatomy class in their life.”

He yanks down his shirt, standing, apparently too quickly, and wobbling. You catch his arm as he sways, attempting to steady him. “You should sit down.”

“Need to go back out.” He grunts, trying to pull away from you with little force.

“To get killed? ‘Cause you’re going the right way about it.”

He tilts his head at you like he’s daring you to be so bold again. At least that's what it felt like. You sigh, gesturing to the couch, “Sit down.”

You didn’t expect it to work but he does as told.

You look around, unsure of what to do next. “Do you need ice?”

“What?”

“You’re hurt.” You say slower. “Do you need ice?”

He falters for a second, “No, it’s—no.” A couple beats pass before he adds, “Thanks, sweetheart.”

It’s impossible not to notice that he’s staring at you. You feel hot under his gaze, not knowing what to do with yourself. You clear your throat, telling him to hang on for a second.

You call out behind you as you walk to the kitchen, “Take your helmet off, it’s rude.” You grab the painkillers from their new easily-accessible place on the kitchen counter and grab a water bottle from the fridge.

It was a joke but when you come back his helmet is off and he’s just wearing his domino eye mask. His hair is extra tousled, the white streak barely visible in the mess of loose curls. You toss the bottle of meds at him, followed by the capped bottle of water. He catches them easily, downing more than he probably should have but he got shot tonight so you figure you’ll give him a break about it.

You plop down on the couch next to him, honestly closer than you’d meant to. Your knees and shoulders lightly brush against one anothers, though neither of you make any moves to scoot over.

You both look straight ahead at the wall, simmering in the amity. “So did somebody else deal with the Hatter or when you get shot do you just bounce back like a T-1000?”

He scoffs, “No, getting shot at is a bit of an inconvenience for me.”

“Wrong line of work.”

He cocks an eyebrow, “You’re telling me.”

You turn your head to him, “Why do you do it then?”

He looks back at you earnestly. “Someone has to.”

“Someone does.”

He tenses up a bit at that, breaking eye contact. “Not well enough.”

Your head slowly lulls and drops into a rest on his shoulder, causing him to stiffen up a bit more before almost completely relaxing.

“So violence is the answer to violence?” you ask, not argumentative, just genuinely musing.

Hood sighs, “Half-assed reform programs didn’t do anything, shitty ‘crisis interventions’ didn’t do anything, the cops sure as hell don’t do anything.” He shrugs under you. “You run out of options eventually.”

“And that’s why you took it upon yourself to intervene?”

“Mm. ‘When reason fails, the devil helps.’” He says, quite melodramatically, in your opinion.

“I-Is that—” you squint, shooting off of his shoulder to look him in the eye. “You spend your nights getting in street fights and shootouts and you spend your days reading Crime and Punishment of all things?” You gawk at him, “That explains a lot about your disposition.”

He shrugs with a shake of his head. “It’s a rough world. Can’t afford to be reading about Hogwarts.”

You pause, combing through your next words, “‘Man only likes to count his troubles; he doesn’t calculate his happiness.’”

His eyes crinkle under his mask as he smiles, clearly pleasantly surprised that you know your shit. “Touché.”

You grin back, pleased with yourself.

There’s a brief recession where your smiles both get caught in the flicker between on and off, where your eyes take the opportunity to scan over each other’s faces.

You realize that this may be the first time you’ve seen him properly smile and it’s so magnetizing. So much so that you don’t realize you’re staring at his lips until your eyes snap back up to his and find that his are on yours.

His eyes don’t leave yours as he nudges you a bit with his shoulder. It does just enough to break the trance, giving you the cue to rest your head on him again. This time you allow more of your weight to lean against him and he actually seems relaxed for once.

You glance at the clock on the wall without moving and realize it��s almost four in the morning. “I’m tired, Hood.” you mumble into his shirt.

“You don’t—” he falters for a moment, “You don’t have to call me that.”

You squint at him, “What should I call you then?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “J.”

“J?” you whisper, like it’s a grave secret. You guess it kind of is.

He nods.

“Okay.” Your cheek flattens against his shoulder. “J.”

You nearly think you’re imagining it when you feel him rest his head against yours.

“You don’t know how to protect yourself?”

You roll your eyes at him, “You saw the way I swung at you with the baseball bat, what do you think?”

It’s only just after sunset, you could still see some purple-pink hues in the sky if you looked out the window. He’s started showing up before patrol some nights, saying he felt bad about waking you up at 3 am multiple times a week. So now, he mostly only drops in late if he’s a manageable amount of injured.

You stand in the middle of your living room together, after you’d made a joke about needing him as a bodyguard in Gotham. As it turns out, that was a one way street to him finding out that you’re useless in a fight.

“I was hoping you were having an off night because you just woke up, but now I'm concerned.” He says, grimacing.

You shrug, “I carry pepper spray.”

He grumbles, displeased. “Put your hands up.”

You drop your head to the side and glower at him, “Really?”

He raises his eyebrows at you. Just do it.

Alright, you’ll humor him. You put your fists up and he holds his hands open in front of you in kind. You throw a light punch.

“Come on, put your weight behind it.”

You do, hitting his hand harder. “Hood—”

He tilts his head forward at that, looking at you through his brows.

You inhale impatiently, “J, Why do we have to do this? I don’t have any illusions that I could knock you out and I can’t imagine you do either.”

He shakes his head, “It’s not about knocking someone out, it’s about defending yourself. Gonna be a hell of a lot harder to hurt you if you’re throwing punches. Harder.”

You give a raised hum, “Not if they have a gun…”

“Well, we’ll work on that too.”

You groan, throwing a half-assed hit. “Where’d you learn to fight?” You ask before throwing another.

“Turn your body into it.” He corrects. “My, uh, my dad taught me.”

You hum, hitting him again. “Are you guys close?”

“You’re being nosy again.” He grunts amidst a hit.

“You’re being evasive again.” You shoot back.

He drops his hands, taking your wrists in his, “Here, put your hands in front of your face when you shoot so you can block counters.” He tells you, adjusting your stance accordingly.

You make a face, “I’m confused, am I fighting a mugger or a kickboxer?”

He ignores you, moving his hands around to give you different angles to hit at.

You go at it for a few minutes, taking his critiques with reluctant concedence. “Alright, that’s good.” He says, relaxing his body.

You perk up, “We’re done?”

“No,” he shuts you down before asking earnestly, “Do you trust me?”

Your brain hadn’t even fully processed the question before you nod, mumbling a ‘yes’. He takes a measured step closer to you, watching carefully for your reaction. You almost back up in surprise, angling your head up further to look at him properly. You give no objection, so he continues, “I want you to try to get me on the ground.”

You let out a sound that’s half-laugh, half-scoff. “You’re twice my size.”

He sighs, looking at you somberly. “Sweetheart, odds are you’re not going to be evenly matched against someone that wants to hurt you. You get ‘em on the ground ‘n you have the upper hand or it’ll give you time to get away.”

You throw your hands up at your sides, “I don’t—” You huff, “Fine, okay.” You try to trip him by sliding your leg behind his and kicking, but he blocks you expertly.

You, against better judgment, shove your shoulder into his side, though it does nothing to phase him, let alone knock him down.

“You gotta get more creative than that.” He chastises with a tut.

In response, you take a step back to reassess the situation. You try to maintain a poker face as you strategize in your head. You make a dive for his legs, wrapping your arms around the back of his legs and pulling hard to make him lose balance. You’re sure if he were actually trying for a damn you would immediately be done for afterwards, but it does make him wobble. You then throw all of your weight against him, pushing him backwards and causing him to hit the floor with a thud.

He probably allowed for gravity to come to your aid, but he lands on his back all the same. You land half on him, half on the carpet, your hand resting on his chest. He looks up at you nodding, “Good. That was good, sweetheart.”

You smile, quite proud of yourself, and start to stand up when he hooks his arm around the back of your knee and pulls you to the ground too, switching places with you. You hit the ground gently with a sigh, “Really?”

He has one hand rested next to your head to balance him in his place above you. He smirks down at you and lets a tussle of white hair hang over his forehead. “Can’t be getting cocky, sweetheart.”

You laugh sourly, “Coming from you?”

You quickly push at the bend of his arm and use the distraction to adjust your position to wrap your legs around his center and push your arm against his chest in an attempt to rotate him off of you.

He counters you by pushing your shoulder down, holding you down to the floor. His opposite hand flies to pull your forearm away from his chest, pinning it next to your head, careful to avoid your hair. He moves so quickly that you have half a mind to think he acted on pure instinct. That, and the look on his face when the dust settles says that he hadn’t intended for you to end up in this position.

Your legs are still wrapped around him and you’re too frozen in the moment to make any changes. He’s in no more of a rush to move, large frame towering over you. You feel his touch stutter against your shoulder, his eyes flickering across your face.

You gaze up at him, taking in the soft look in his eyes behind the mask. You think you can see more green than you did before. You unwrap your legs from around his waist and slowly start to sit up. He releases your wrist and eases the pressure on your shoulder. He leans back half as quickly as you move forward, stopping when you’re propped up on your elbows.

Your faces are only a few inches apart and it feels like your only option is to look down at his lips. You have a feeling he’s doing the same to you. The adrenaline of the hassle has long since faded but the rhythm in both of your chests remains quick.

He leans forward so barely, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. “J…” you say breathily, not sure what implication you’re aiming for.

He stills and this time you’re sure he’s looking at your lips. He blinks a few times like he’s trying to come back to himself and inches his face away from yours slowly.

You let the hold in your breath release, disappointed more than anything. He eases off the floor to a stand and holds his hand out to help you up too. You take it with more of a frown than you’d meant to let out and rise to your feet.

“Let’s, uh…” He looks at the ground before taking a step back and putting his hands up again. “Let’s try some combos.”

You blink up at him for a second before raising your hands too.

Alright, one step at a time.

vol II

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moonstruckme · 3 months ago

Note

hi my love i’m obsessed with all your works and this is my first request!

poly! marauders and cuteness aggression. like maybe reader coming home a bit tipsy from girls night and just seeing her boys and losing it. grabbing remus’ face and just kissing all over his cheeks, gnawing on james’ biceps and playing with sirius’ hair or tracing his tattoos.

Hi lovely, thank you for requesting!

cw: alcohol

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 589 words

You leave a trail of things down the hallway that you swear you’ll pick up in the morning. Your bag, both shoes, your jacket. There’s no time to put any of it in its proper place, not when you know your boyfriends are all cozy and waiting for you in your bed. Everything else is secondary.

The moment you get your eyes on them, it’s already too much. Remus is reading while Sirius chats to a nearly-asleep James, and you don’t know whether to scream or hug them or burst into tears. One feels more socially acceptable than the rest.

A grin spreads over Sirius’ face as you crawl clumsily up the bed, so you go to him first.

“Hi, baby.” You smear a kiss over his lips, burrowing your hands in his lovely, silken hair. It smells like his conditioner, smokey and heady and just slightly sweet. You wish you could snort it up into your nose like a drug.

“Hi, baby,” Sirius says back at you, amused. “Did you have a good night?”

“No,” you lament, though you think you might have enjoyed it at the time.

Impulsively, you move to Remus, clambering across James to get on your quietest boyfriend’s lap. He’s already set down his book, so there are no barriers to your whims as you take his face between both hands, squishing his cheeks up and kissing them all over. You think you can hear the other boys laughing somewhere beyond your lovesick haze. Remus’ skin grows warmer with each ardent press of your lips.

“None of you were there,” you go on. It’s impossible to articulate the full extent of this injustice. “You were here, being so lovely and perfect and lovely without me.”

“That’s lovely twice.” Remus seems to recover somewhat from your surprise attack. His hand comes to rest in the middle of your back, a touch just for touch’s sake. “How much have you had, dove?”

You make a petulant, whiny sound, burying your face in his neck. There will never be enough of them, your lovely boyfriends. Or maybe it’s that they’re enough, but you just can’t get enough. Regardless. You’re doomed to remain just on the brink of satisfaction.

“Enough to know that I missed you a lot,” you say pitifully.

“Awe, babydoll.” James’ laughter is at odds with his compassionate tone. “Come here, m’love.”

This sounds like a grand idea to you. You wish they’d simply all squish together so you could lay your affections on them one by one, in rounds.

James puckers his lips as you approach, readying for a kiss, and so is taken entirely aback when you forgo his face entirely.

“Oh, well,” he says as you suck a hickey on his bicep. “I feel properly objectified.”

You’re too pleased with yourself to be sorry. He flexes playfully, eliciting a string of giggles from you as you latch on tighter.

“Do you think she’s been drugged?” you hear Remus ask.

“Dunno.” James’ tone is fond. His big hand lands on the back of your head.

“No, I sort of get it,” says Sirius. The mattress dips slightly, and then you feel him plant a wet kiss on your shoulder. “You just need to get it out of your system, yeah, sweetness?”

You hum in affirmation. You wrap your arms around James’ middle, squeezing tight.

“I love you so much,” you mumble into his skin. “I’m gonna kill you.”

Your boyfriend’s frame rumbles with laughter. “Okay, lovie,” he says indulgently. “You go right ahead.”

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emmyrosee · 9 days ago

Text

your phone has been buzzing non stop for the past fourteen minutes. you know it’s been fourteen minutes, because the blinding light that emanates from the device blings every few seconds. when you grumble and turn to glance at it, the bright lights read 00:14.

your body is fatigued, tired from being pulled out of your sleep, and to be at the mercy of whoever is texting you so early- late?- has you feeling more and more agitated than the last. the room is dark, vision adjusting to the lack of light, save for the brightness coming from your phone. you furrow your brows, grimace, and it isn't until your phone starts to ring that you whip it off the charger and hold it up to your ear. "someone better be dying-"

he chuckles softly, "i take it i woke you up?"

"of course you did, asshole," you hiss. "what, what, what could be so important that you couldn't wait until morning-"

"i wanted to be the first one to wish you a happy birthday."

your breath hitches and you feel your eyes soften, a warmth spreading across your cheeks as you process what he said. your lips curl into a small smile, and you scrub your face with your hand, "you could've been the first even if i only saw your message in the morning. you didn't have to stay up until midnight."

"yeah, but whats the fun in that?" he offers. "and this way, you know i was first. no room for debate."

you giggle and shake your head, letting a comfortable silence linger over the phone.

"happy birthday," he says softly.

"thank you, baby,” you whisper back.

"i'll let you get back to sleep," he hums. "know how much you need your beauty sleep."

"watch it. you disturbed me, remember?"

he snorts. you shake your head fondly, letting your smile not falter thanks to him not being able to see it.

"i love you."

"i love you too."

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zephyrchama · 8 months ago

Text

Mammon stares down at his youngest brother snoozing away on your lap. Belphegor has made himself at home with your thigh as a makeshift pillow. It’s far from the first time this has happened, and very unlikely to be the last. Any more, he just walks over and does it, falling asleep within moments without even asking. He’ll wake up if you try to stand. As long as you can still study, read, or scroll your D.D.D., it’s usually not too bothersome and easier to let Belphegor do what he wants.

The scowl on Mammon’s face says otherwise. “Ya really gonna let him walk, err, sleep all over you like that? How many time’s he done that this week?” He tisks and stomps his foot, looming over you with crossed arms. “Belphie, wake your ass up! Yer big bro has a bone to pick with you!”

You feel a warm exhalation on your leg. Belphegor seems to be sighing, but doesn’t bother opening his eyes or acknowledging Mammon in any other way, much to the elder’s chagrin.

“Push him off!” Mammon insists.

“I’m flattered you think I’m strong enough to push a full grown demon off of me,” you admit, lightly ruffling Belphegor’s hair. “But, no. I’m not.”

“Don’t encourage ‘im!” Mammon grabs Belphegor by the collar.

At this provocation, the youngest curls an arm under your thigh and nudges his nose into the fabric of your clothes. He refuses to budge. “They don’t mind it, so just leave us alone.” Belphegor’s muffled voice sounds tired and annoyed.

“Belphie, let go! Ugh, use your pact!” Mammon literally growls. “Don’t coddle this jerk, you spoil him too much!”

“Don’t yell at me about it! I’m just sitting here!” you pout. ”And Belphie, watch where you’re grabbing.” It’s not your fault these guys go crazy over you. “Pact orders are painful for you guys, yeah? I don’t want to go through all that trouble. I’m still learning how to control the magic and it’s not worth it right now.”

“Hah? You kiddin’ me?” Mammon taps his foot and gnashes his teeth as Belphegor gives him the cold shoulder. “Fine then. Be that way.”

He goes to walk away, but abruptly turns back and returns. It’s evident when Mammon gets a new idea into his head. You can practically see the light bulb pop up over his head as he dons a cheeky grin.

“Spread your legs for me,” he demands.

“What?” Now you’re staring at him, disbelief etched into your features. You knew Mammon had the occasional lewd thought but even for him this was brazen. Maybe his brothers are right and he’s finally lost it.

“Spread your legs for the Great Mammon! C’mon!”

Belphegor snorts and turns his head ever so slightly, just enough to give his dumb older brother the evil eye. Mammon is tired of waiting and seizes his chance to yank your knees apart. By your own admission, you can’t fight the strength of a full grown demon.

“You’ve got two legs, there’s plenty a room for two demons here.” There isn’t exactly much space, but Mammon lays his head back on your thigh and grins up at you, bumping his noggin against Belphegor in the process.

Ah. You realize this was his goal and Mammon was just being too stubborn to come out and say it.

Your face grew hot. It felt weird to manspread with two doting demons on your legs. “You really could have phrased that better.”

“Whatddya mean?”

You sigh. “Think about it.”

Belphegor exhales again, probably laughing under his breath this time as he re-adjusts his arm to a cozier position.

Mammon is content just to admire you from below until he connects the dots, and a deep red blush spreads across his face. He turns, winding his arms around your back to better hide his face in the folds of your shirt.

He closes his eyes against you, his nose brushing against your side. “I don’ wanna think ‘bout anything. I work too hard, just lemme rest here a while.”

You allow it, ruffling his hair knowing full well you coddle both of them too much.

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sistertotheknowitall · 9 months ago

Text

Danny is Some Guy with a not so secret admirer.

Part four? Post #four? I don’t know, none of these are exactly in order. Post one, post two, post three.

——

By the time Tim opened the door, Danny had his coffee made and handed to Mia at the register. He resolutely ignored her smug face and went back to making the other orders.

Tim had been a regular long before Danny had started at the coffee shop but it was three days into Danny’s third week when Tim had stumbled in at eight a.m. and did a double take upon seeing Danny. A very obvious double take followed by intense staring before Mia had cleared her throat. The blush that lit up Tim’s face was only rivaled by the one on Danny’s.

He had never had anyone openly stare at him before.

Mia had been insufferable ever since.

It also didn’t help that shortly after their first meeting Tim had started taking his breaks at the little coffee shop. It’s been three weeks, nearly a month and Wayne Enterprise’s CEO went from a bi-weekly regular to an everyday one. (Danny wondered if he should be concerned for the man’s caffeine intake but he only had the one cup every time so probably not.)

Originally, Danny had no plans to talk to Tim. It seemed obvious the guy had a crush on Danny if the constant looks over his laptop were anything to go by and Danny didn’t want to encourage it. Danny barely had time to make new friends let alone start a relationship.

There was also the added problem of what was quickly becoming his bat stalkers. How do you explain to someone that you were being watched by Gotham’s vigilante’s for no reason? (Or worse because he had made a poorly timed sleep-deprived comment.) Danny didn’t think you could without seeming suspicious.

Incidentally though, Danny’s plan went out the window when on a slow afternoon as he was cleaning tables and passed behind Tim. Once he saw the article the other man was reading he snorted.

Bruce Wayne and The Batman? Could This Be A New Romance For Gothams Most Beloved Billionaire?

It was one of those gossip rags that printed things like: Elvis: alive and well and Superman: a mild mannered farm boy? It was all nonsense.

Danny asked Tim why he bothered with the site and Tim responded that he found it amusing to read and that his family had a group chat where they sent the articles to each other.

“Okay. But Batman? Really? Your dad could do so much better.”

“You don’t like Batman?” Tim asked. Danny had slid into the chair next to him and shrugged. “I respect what he does but for as intimidating as he is, he also seems a little silly.”

Tim had given him an incredulous look and Danny hadn’t given him time to ask for an explanation, “and his kids can be just as rude. Like that flying monkey one.” Tim choked on air and Danny politely waited for him to calm down. “Kids? Wait - flying monkey one? Which one -?”

“The one always doing back flips with the blue bird symbol. He’s also a dick that gives hypocritical lectures about fighting.” Danny wouldn’t say he hated the guy but he wasn’t sure how many more lectures he could endure before going ghost and fighting him.

Tim had turned to Danny completely and was watching him with a look of disbelief, “you mean Nightwing?”

“Is that his name? Imma call him Dickwing.”

Tim had started choking again, this time Danny patted his back hoping to help. Yet it was all for not once he kept talking, “I think I’ve only had positive interactions with the one who looks like a walking red flag.”

“Red flag? Do you men hood-?”

“No, although he is definitely a red flag, I mean the other Red one. I’m sorry, I don’t know all these peoples names yet.”

“Danny!” Mia called.

Danny stood and patted Tim, who looked a little shell-shocked, on the shoulder. “Well work calls, see you later Mr. Drake-Wayne.” As he walked away he heard Tim mutter “it’s just Tim.”

(Tim for his part, placed his head in his hands and thought, well at least I have his name now.)

After that first interaction Tim stopped playing the lurker and started to actually talk to Danny and vise versa. Danny never asked if he still had a crush on him, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Unfortunately, their growing friendship had only encoraged Mia as she happily sang “your boyfriend’s here!”

Danny, very maturely, did not stick his tongue out at her. He did however flip her off under the counter like an adult.

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pseudowho · 1 year ago

Text

Men With Big Noses

(help me find the Higuruma artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

You accidentally let on to Hiromi Higuruma that you find his big nose sexy-- so he shows you exactly what he can do with it.

Warnings: 18+ as always, Higuruma is nearly face-sat to death and would absolutely die a happy man.

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"Why have you poured me another glass of wine?"

"Why not? You've had a long week. I've had a long week. And I don't want to finish the bottle alone, so..." Hiromi pressed the glass into your hand, planting a deliberately sloppy kiss on your cheek as you laughed, slapping him away, "Drink up."

Feigning disgruntlement, you mumbled into your wine as you shot Hiromi a side-eye.

He loped, slim and wiry, to the windows, swirling his wine glass thoughtfully, one hand in his pocket as he stared out over the Tokyo skyline. Your relationship was new, only just into the early stages of physical intimacy, but you caught yourself looking him up and down over the rim of your wineglass.

It was his brain that had attracted you at first. Fiercely intelligent, Hiromi appeared to see straight through you, and adore you anyway. His passion certainly wasn't limited only to his career. He was dry and sharp, but conversely so mellow at points. He kept you guessing, but never about how he felt about you. You had never found a partner so unusually thrilling as him.

But you couldn't deny...there was a certain something about how he looked that made the gears deep in your belly whir, puzzled and magnetic in your attraction towards him. But you couldn't work out what that something was.

You approached him slowly, breathing in the heady fumes of your wine as you appraised him; his eyes, and the way they turned into pools of pitch black when he looked at you? No. His fine-boned hands, so articulate and clever, that you wondered what else they could be clever with? No, not that either. His body, lithe and slim but deceptively strong? You sighed, unable to puzzle it out. You were halfway through your third glass of wine now, feeling loose, warm, intimate--

"I can't work out what it is that you find attractive about me."

You jumped, your remaining wine sloshing as he turned to you, his sloped eyes sparkling with curiosity, inquisitive and dark. You gaped for a moment, your brain short-circuiting as you swore he had read your thoughts, and said the first thing that came to your head--

"Your nose." Hiromi snorted into his wineglass, hand over his eyes now as he shook with mirth. His hand lowered, fingering his big, hooked nose, and he laughed again.

"Be serious," he chastised. Your inhibition had abandoned you, emboldened by the alcohol.

"No, I...I mean it. There's something sort of...sexy about it. Men with big noses."

"Oh?" He approached you slowly, hand still in his pocket, a slow, sloping walk, "All men with big noses? Is that a kink?" Oh, those eyes. Dark and glowing, like little coals in the dark, and looking at you like that, you felt heat rush through you, so scrutinised--

"Or-- or maybe-- just yours I think. A you-specific kink. I wonder what you could do with that nose, other than-- other than--" You flushed, downing the rest of your wine. He was close now, and your skin felt electric. Not breaking eye-contact as he stared into you, he slowly reached out to take your empty glass, draining his own now and placing them both on the table.

Pulling you in with one hand on the small of your back, and the other creeping up the side of your face, he leaned over you. Still teasing you, his big eyes hooded, he ghosted the tip of his nose over the side of your neck, tracing shapes against your pulse point.

You pressed one hand against his chest, the other into his hair as you shivered.

"--other than?" he prompted. He laughed again, rich and bold, "My nose," he scoffed, "Where would you like my nose?" You blushed, mortified, and tried to shove him away for teasing you, but he held on tight, rubbing his nose gently against yours now. He kissed you, leaning you backwards, deep and convicted in his hold on you.

Your head wasn't swooping just with the wine now. Plaiting your fingers behind his neck, you suddenly didn't feel embarrassed to tell him what you wanted. You pulled away from his kiss, and he leaned his forehead against yours, nose to nose, as he stared into your eyes, your gaze shy and averted.

"Between...between my legs, maybe." You regretted it the moment you said it, hands up to slap over your eyes, cupping your red-hot cheeks, and Hiromi still didn't let go of you, his nose and lips pressing soft, tipsy kisses to your decolletage. He whispered to you, only deepening your regret.

"You could sit on my nose, if you like. Undressed, obviously." You felt his hips pressed against you, and felt his cock against you, now half-hard and growing--

You nearly imploded, stammering, "Oh please, no man actually likes that. Face-sitting is just one of those stupid things you joke about. Men don't actually like giving women oral," you scoffed, cynical and embarrassed. Hiromi raised his eyebrows, releasing you now, looking mildly offended.

"Oh dear. Another sceptic. Were your other boyfriends that bad?" You swatted him with a cloth.

"Pretend I never said anything!" You shouted in from the kitchen, "Forget about it! I'm going for a shower. There's more wine on the side if you want it."

You honestly considered drowning yourself in the shower. You'd barely even got past heavy make-out sessions, and you'd just told him you wanted his nose between your legs, you could just die of shame--

Stepping out from the shower and into your bedroom, you squeaked to find Hiromi lying on his back on your bed, the top of his shirt unbuttoned, and as he saw you, he smiled loosely and rubbed one of your pillows over his face.

"What are...what are you doing?"

"Polishing your seat, of course."

You melted against the wall, mortified, gripping your towel in one hand and covering your eyes with the other. You heard slow footsteps creep up behind you, long-fingered hands pulling you against a hard torso, feeling Hiromi's nose rub behind your ear. Despite yourself, your eyes fluttered closed, wanting him.

"I think you'd like it," Hiromi insisted, voice low and convincing, "and I like it when you tell me what you want. It's...bold. Honest. Sexy." You moaned softly as he pressed into you from behind, his cock hard and insistent against your body, and he loosened the front of your towel to snake his clever fingers to your breast, fingers brushing it softly at first before cupping and giving an appreciative squeeze.

"So please sit on my nose. And the rest of my face." You bit your lip...and slowly nodded. You felt warm air huff out of Hiromi's nose behind your ear, "Good girl."

Spinning you round, Hiromi pulled you in for a deep kiss, the wine heavy on both of your tongues as he slipped his against yours, probing, curious. You accepted warmly, your hands tracing down to untuck his shirt from his trousers, your hand slipping flat against his abdomen and trail of dark, wiry hair, and Hiromi shivered, tongue trembling against yours.

He fell back onto the bed, pulling your legs up to straddle his lap, panting and kissing the sides of your throat as you unbuttoned his shirt, your fingers gliding over the taut muscles of his shoulders in appreciation. He nuzzled you, hooked nose rubbing over the shell of your ear, unintentionally bucking his cock up against your unclothed sex as your fingers grazed his nipples in their exploration of his torso.

"I can't wait...I want to taste you," he insisted, breathless, his eyes dipped and flinty as he fell back onto the bed, pulling you with him, but holding you upright by the hips. Suddenly shy, so aware of your body with those smouldering eyes looking up at you, Hiromi sensed your hesitation and grabbed your knees, scooting you up his body so you were straddling his upper chest.

With your legs parted, you felt his breath roll over your folds, now so wet with your arousal, and Hiromi stared up at you, seeming grave in his devoted assessment of your face as he traced his hands up your thighs, two fingers slipping idly between your legs to rub a long stroke from entrance to clit and back again. He sighed, thrilled to feel you plant a hand on his abdomen, grounding yourself as he started to rub smooth circles over your clit.

"You're perfect, and those other guys didn't deserve you," he insisted, slipping his fingers teasingly close to your entrance as you let out a breathy moan, and Hiromi stared at his fingers, scientific in his appreciation of how your arousal was glazed over them.

Raising his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean, Hiromi stopped, considering. He placed his wet fingers over your towel instead, gripping your hips.

"No," he puzzled, "I want to taste you straight from the source." You squeaked as he dragged your knees and hips upwards again, your pussy now hovering directly over his face. Hiromi lifted his face, looking at you with a glint in his eyes, "Sit."

You hesitated, and Hiromi pressed his nose up, nuzzling it between your folds and pressing it firmly against your clit, holding your hips tightly as you jolted and gasped, never realising that nose could feel so good on your aching core. Thighs trembling, you lowered your weight until you sat directly on Hiromi's nose, mouth and chin.

Hiromi got to work like a starving man, groaning with desire as he nuzzled his nose and mouth between your puffy folds, his nose rubbing firmly over your clit as his tongue sank as far as it could into your hole, and you cried out, gripping his hair tightly with one fist, and grasping his hand on your hip with another.

As the firm tip of his nose rubbed insistently on your clit, making you burn with pleasure, you involuntarily ground your pussy down onto his face, and mewled when his shaky moan vibrated through you. Hiromi began to move your hips above him, encouraging you to hump his mouth and nose while his tongue alternated between dipping into you, and flicking against your clit as Hiromi sucked it into his mouth.

Your pleasure building, your cries and the hand grasping his hair becoming more and more urgent, Hiromi squeezed his rigid cock through his trousers, determined not to embarrass himself by cumming untouched while you humped his face. But as precum leaked through his trousers, wet on his thigh, Hiromi was drunk with the taste of you, sweet and natural, and he felt his cock throbbing as he neared his release.

Hiromi rocked your hips urgently against his face, his nose creating a constant alternating pressure on your clit, and you felt your belly tighten, pressing yourself down on his nose in a desperate need to cum, babbling his name in sweet praise.

With one last determined nuzzle against your clit, you shook, waves of pressure breaking through your whole lower body and Hiromi moaned, hips bucking against the air as he tasted and smelled you, overwhelmed by the authentic intimacy of the moment, feeling streams of cum soaking his boxers as he came completely untouched.

You moaned, short little mewls as you came down from your high. Gathering yourself, you shifted yourself down onto Hiromi's chest, looking down at him, blushing and concerned. You had never seen a man look so delighted with so much cum on his face. You were baffled, and of a mind to marry this man.

"Any man that actually likes women, sweetheart," Hiromi panted, dazed, "Would happily die like that."

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Love you Hiromi Higuruma, MWAH! 😌☕

#jjk #higuruma x reader #i love him #jjk higuruma #higuruma hiromi #higuruma #higuruma smut #higuruma angst #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jjk headcanons

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starkeysprincess · 14 days ago

Text

⟢ LET THIS BE A REMINDER

presenting kinktober day 5 ➔︎ ghostface!rafe x final girl!reader

warnings: DUBCON !! primal play (predator/prey), knife play + carving/branding, blood + blood play, unprotected sex, creampie, spitting, choking, pussy slapping, spanking, degrading, praise, brief orgasm denial, threatening/blackmail 18+ mdni word count: 3.2k

A/N: i just want to say thank you to everyone who took the time to read my silly, slutty little fics. i came into kinktober highly nervous because this year is my first time doing it, but y'all have truly made this experience the absolute best !! i love you all so so sooo much, MWAH !!!

kinktober m.list ⟡ rafe m.list

you jerk awake, sitting up with your chest heaving frantically as you flip the switch of the lamp on your bedside table. the small white light illuminates the room, and you turn your head to look at the corner of your bedroom, only to find nothing. a sigh of relief leaves you, and your body starts to relax, knowing there is nothing in the room but you, “it was just another nightmare. you’re fine. he’s long gone; he can’t get you,” you tell yourself.

you pinch the bridge of your nose; there is no way you could fall back asleep now. you reached for your phone, swung your legs off the bed, and planted your feet onto the carpeted floor. you lazily strolled down the stairs to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. you leaned against the counter, lost in your thoughts, as you stared at the bottle in front of you, debating if you should take the medication you were prescribed last year to help you sleep.

you grabbed the bottle, unscrewed the cap, and took two into your mouth before swallowing them. the loud ringing of your phone startled you, and you reminded yourself that you were safe. it’s probably nothing you tell yourself when you see ‘No Caller ID’ displayed on the screen.

“hello?” you answer, holding the phone close to your ear when all you can hear is the sound of heavy breathing, “hello? i think you have the wrong number,” you huff, growing agitated. who would call you this late at night?

“you and your little friends got the wrong guy,” the distorted voice echoed in your ear. ”what are you talking about?” you stood up, straightening your posture, “don’t play dumb; you know what I‘m talking about.”.

“the man they arrested last year, topper thornton. he isn’t the killer. he never was,” the voice snickers, “he isn’t necessarily the most innocent man, but it’s not him.”.

“there was enough evidence against topper; everything pointed to him being the killer. i don’t know who this is, but how are you sure it’s not him?”. there was nothing but an eerie silence for a second until the voice spoke again, “because I’m the killer.”.

“really funny, asshole. if you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working. don’t you think I’m used to receiving countless prank calls? do me a favor and don’t call me again,” you snort.

a chill ran up your spine at their chuckle, “oh, my sweet little bunny…a prank call? is that what you think this is? this is far from a prank call,” they paused, “y’know, you look good in white, it makes you look so sweet and innocent.”.

your hands trembled, pulling the phone away from your ear to end the call. you let out a shaky breath, ‘it’s just some asshole trying to scare you,’ you repeat to yourself, pushing the thought to the back of your mind as you head back upstairs to your room.

you push your door open, your eyebrows knitting in confusion when you notice the light from your lamp is off. you turn the bedroom light switch on, and a blood-curdling scream erupts from within you at the sight in front of you.

there, on your mirror, was a message written in blood, ‘i’m coming for you next.’.

you’ve been on edge since the incident occurred a few days ago, especially after sheriff shoupe informed you that not only weren’t there any indications of a break-in, but they never found the threatening message you received. it had been wiped clean, almost as if the ghostface killer was taunting you; it was his way of telling you he was still in your home when you had made the call, painting it to look like you had gone insane.

when you brought it up to the pogues, they tried to give a reasonable explanation, “there was blood on the mirror! i’m not making any of this up,” you argued, noticing the pitiful looks on your friends’ faces. “don’t look at me like that, okay? i know what I saw,” you scoffed.

“we’re not saying we don’t believe you, but it doesn’t make sense. i mean, think about it. it’s been a year since the murders,” john b pointed out.

the pogues nodded in agreement, “john b is right, if it wasn’t topper, then why did the murders stop when he got arrested? if the killer is still out there, why wait a year to attack and terrorize again? i think it was just another brainless kook trying to scare you,” pope theorized.

“you need a distraction, and the situation is bothering you. so, i say we go to the fair,” jj grinned, his smile dropping when the entire group groaned, “come on, it’s halloween! besides, it’s not like any of you have plans.”.

the fair was filled with laughter as most people, along with you and the pogues, waited in line for one of the rides. you were pushed up against random people, easily overwhelmed by such a large crowd, and wanting nothing more than space.

you slip out of line, catching your friends’ attention, “where are you going?”.

“this line is insane, and it’s too overwhelming. i’m just going to walk around a bit,” you informed, only for pope to ask if you wanted one of them to come with you. “no, it’s okay. i have my phone on me, so one of you can call me whenever you’re off the ride,” you waved your phone in front of the group.

you continued wandering away from the group and stopped in your tracks when you came across the closed-off entrance to the haunted corn maze, which piqued your interest.

figuring it would be the best place to clear your head, you looked around, noting that no one was watching as you ducked under the rope to enter the maze. your shoes scruff against the dirt, the few dried stalks of corn crunching under your feet the further you made your way into the maze, the only source of light coming from the soft, yellow glow of the moon.

you tap on your phone's screen, grumbling to yourself when you realize the pogues won’t be able to reach you due to no longer having any signal.

you continue walking, wrapping your arms around your waist, stopping at the feeling of being watched. “you’re just being paranoid,” you mumble as you come across the path that now forked into two.

the hairs on the back of your neck stand up at the sound of rustling from behind, and you whip around, your eyes darting back and forth, frowning when you find nothing. you turn back around, your eyes widening, and a scream escapes from your throat at the sight of ghostface standing before you, tilting his head as he stares at you.

“told you i was comin’ for you,” his altered voice rang through your ears before he lunged towards you. you duck, barely escaping from his grasp, before running down the left path of the maze, “go on and run bunny! i like the chase!” he chuckles.

you could feel your heart pounding against your ribcage, knowing he was hot on your tail, your feet carrying you as fast as they could. turn after turn, you look behind you, “you can run all you want, but there’s nowhere to hide!”.

your lungs were on fire the faster you ran, your head turning to look in front of you, panic starting to kick in when you’re met with a dead end.

“dead end? gotta say it must be my lucky night,” he taunts, taking in your trembling form, “aw, you poor thing. are you scared? you should be, but that’s okay, i like ‘em scared.”.

all you could do was back away the closer he stepped forward until your back was flush against the corn stalks.

“i’m a bit disappointed. i like a challenge, and you made the chase far too easy,” he ridiculed, “i’ll tell you what, let’s make it interesting and play a little game. the rules are simple. if you manage to find your way out of this maze before i catch you, i’ll let you go…but if you don’t, let’s just say I finally get to have my way with you.”.

you can’t help but press your thighs together, craning your neck to the side, turning away from him, ashamed at the fact his words turned you on. “don’t you dare look away from me,” he sneered, his knife glinting in the moonlight as he gently traced it along your cheek to your chin, turning your head to face him again.

“answer me,” he commanded, the blood draining from your face when he moved the knife down your neck, nicking the flesh enough to break through the skin as he removed his mask, revealing himself.

“surprised, bunny?” rafe smirks, enjoying the stunned look on your face, his eyes fixating on the small drop of blood coming from the cut on your neck that he caused. rafe dips his head down, letting out a throaty chuckle as he licks at the blood. his tongue sweeps along your neck and up to your ear, biting at the lobe, “what do you say? do you wanna play a game?”.

you nod when he pulls away, not trusting your voice, “good girl, i’ll give you a head start…starting now,” he whispers, stepping aside.

it was almost embarrassing, yet sick, how turned on you were, your panties sticking to you as you took off running. you run, turning right, then taking a left turn, letting out a shriek as you trip over your feet when rafe’s arms wrap around your waist, causing you to stumble onto the ground.

“gotcha,” he grins, turning you on your back as he pins your wrists above your head with one hand. “you gonna be a good girl f’me?” he asks, running the blade of the knife down your chest as you gazed up at him, nodding, “yes.”.

he hums, slipping the knife underneath the fabric and using it to pull your shirt up to reveal your bare tits, “no bra, hm? dirty girl,” he tsks. he lightly presses the flat of the knife against your nipples, watching as they harden from the coolness of the steel. he releases your wrists, his hand traveling down to your hips, reaching for the hem of your skirt, pushing it till it bunches around your waist. you winced as he nicked your sensitive, soft skin, blood slowly trickling from the cut he made when he dragged the blade between the valley of your breasts.

“hmm, even with blood staining your skin, you still look fuckin’ pretty,” rafe purred, lowering his head. his tongue reaches out, flattening against your sternum to chase after the trail of blood. a small yelp leaves your lips when his teeth sink into your nipple, sucking the hardened bud into his mouth. he presses his knee to your clothed cunt, grinning against your nipple as he feels your hips subconsciously rut against him before pulling away, sitting back on the heels of his feet, and tauntingly dragging the knife lower and lower.

you squirm under him as the tip of the knife reaches the waistband of your panties, his eyes catching sight of the wetness seeping through them, “huh, would you look that? soaking right through your panties…you like this, don’t you? like the fact that the big scary killer is takin’ what he wants?”.

“y-yes,” you breathed, feeling him hook the blade under the waistband of your panties, “mm, that’s what I thought.”.

“could’ve done this a whole lot sooner if i had known a filthy little pogue like you would be into this shit,” he teased, the edge of the knife slicing through the flimsy material. he pulls the now-torn panties off your hips, tossing them aside, your thighs parting when he silently tells you to spread them, tapping the handle of his knife to your inner thighs.

he licks his lips, “gonna show you who owns this messy cunt by carving my name into your pretty skin.”.

a yelp travels up your throat, eyes welling with tears and screwing shut when the tip of his knife carved an ‘r’ and ‘c’ into the flesh of your hip. “there you go. all done and branded as mine,” rafe coos, leaning back to admire his work that was now permanently etched into your skin.

he brings the blade to your mouth, “taste yourself, bunny,” he orders, carefully pressing the knife onto your tongue when you open your mouth. he groans to himself, watching the blood from the knife coat your tongue. he cups your jaw, fingers pressing into your cheeks and spitting into your mouth, “atta girl,” he praises as you swallow.

rafe turns the blade of the knife towards him, running the handle up your inner thighs to your soaked cunt, and you suck in a breath when he teases your clit with it before bringing it back down to your slick folds. a gasp spilled from your mouth when he slips the handle deep into your cunt, your hips bucking as he slowly fucks you with it, pushing it in and out of your sopping cunt.

”oh–” you moan as he continues fucking you with the handle, moving it faster. his cock throbs, watching with a smirk as your head lolls back, “this needy little pussy will take anything I give it, huh?”.

you roll your hips in time with each thrust of the handle. “i asked a question,” rafe gritted his teeth, earning a squeal from you when he gives a harsh slap to your cunt, his ring catching against your clit.

“yes!” you cry out, your legs starting to shake, and you clench around the handle. rafe lands another slap on your cunt, abruptly halting the movements of the handle and pulling it from your cunt, knowing you were on the verge of your orgasm. “n-no, why’d you stop?” you whined, jutting your bottom lip out to pout up at him, making him suck his teeth and shake his head, “should’ve been a good girl and answered me the second i asked a question.”.

your lips quiver, tears filling your eyes in frustration, “p-please, rafe. i’ll listen and be a good girl, i promise.”.

“p-please, rafe,” he mimicked, “you want it that bad? beg for it, then…beg for it, and i’ll make you scream so loud that the entire fuckin’ fair can hear me ruining this needy pussy.”.

“please, rafe. I need you…please fuck me,” you pleaded, looking at him with glassy eyes. “now that wasn’t so hard, was it, bunny?” rafe rasps, tossing his knife a few feet away onto the dirt. your eyes flicker to his hands working his belt, watching him shrug his pants and boxers down his thighs. his hard, thick cock sprung free, slapping against his stomach, and his hands settled on your waist, pulling you with him as he lays flat on his back onto the ground of the corn maze.

“go on. take what you want and fuck yourself dumb on my cock,” he grins, gripping the base of his cock, teasingly running the thick head along your slick folds, enjoying the way you writhed above him. his hands grab your hips, your pussy stretching around his cock as he pulls you onto his length. your palms lay flat on his chest, steadying yourself as you move your hips, moaning softly as he palms your tits, rolling and pinching your hardened nipples between his fingers.

the air is filled with the noises of your ass smacking against his thighs as you bounce yourself up and down his cock, “yeah…just like that,” rafe groans. his hand reaches up, grabbing your throat to pull you down, capturing your lips in a sloppy, wet kiss. you squealed when he rolled the two of you over, pulling out before flipping you onto your stomach.

your back arches as he shoves your face down onto the ground, giving him a perfect view of your glossy cunt. his fingers intertwined with your locks of hair, pushing on the side of your head, making your cheek press further into the dirt.

his large hands glide up the curve of your ass, “such a sweet little ass,” he hummed in approval. your body jolts forward when his palm comes in contact with the fatty flesh, “but it’s not as sweet as your perfect little cunt.”.

“rafe, stop teasing–” you whine out, a sharp gasp cutting you off when his cock slams into you in one harsh thrust. he grips your hips to keep you still, snapping his hips into yours, “so fuckin’ tight.”.

his lips part, watching the way your pussy swallows around him, sucking him in deeper. you squirm under him, your nails clawing into the dirt beneath you as he pounds into you, “this little cunt is nothin’ but a hole for me to use, isn’t that right?”.

“please use me–” you hiccup, pushing yourself back against his dick, “y’know I can’t say no when you’re acting like a little cock-hungry whore,” he chuckles, his grip on your hair tightening, tugging at the roots. you feel the thick band of his belt wraps around the front of your throat, gasping when your head is pulled back harshly, “knew you’d fuckin’ like this…could feel you dripping down my balls,” rafe chuckles.

your pussy squelches around his cock as he relentlessly pounds into your drooling cunt, the pleasure overpowering the pain of the leather of his belt digging into your neck. he yanks your head back even further, his belt tightening around your throat, your back flush to his chest, “look at you…you’re either sick in the head for letting a murderer fuck you, or your pussy is so fuckin’ desperate for some dick.”.

he slips his hand around your waist to your stomach and feels his cock bulging in your lower abdomen, “feel that? feel how deep i’m in your guts?”.

you thrash in his hold as his palm presses down against the bulge in your belly, his cock rubbing against your walls with each harsh thrust. your brain goes blank, your head spinning, and nothing but incoherent words fall from your lips as his tip repeatedly hits your cervix, “what was that, bunny? oh, right…that little brain of yours can’t form a single thought as I’m fuckin’ you dumb, huh?”.

“s’okay, i know what you need,” he purred, “c’mon, be a good girl and cum all over my cock.”.

your walls flutter and squeeze around him, eyes rolling into the back of your skull, your legs trembling and ready to give out. your hands grasp his arm around your waist, crying out his name as you come all over his cock.

rafe holds you steady as your body goes limp, his cock pounding into your abused cunt, “gonna stuff this pussy full of my cum, and you’re gonna take every single drop.”.

rafe’s thrusts become sloppy, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck as his cock twitches. his hips falter, giving you one more thrust; he pushes himself deep inside you, groaning in your ear as his thick ropes of cum spill into you.

your chest heaves, panting for air when he releases his belt from around your neck. his thumb caresses the initials of his name that he had carved into your flesh, “let this be a reminder that i own you. if you try to tell the cops that you know who the real killer is, i won’t be as nice next time”.

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