#i think wilson like being called a good boy

[kuuwo]

Good Boy

[fireinmoonshot]

misunderstanding | joaquín torres x fem!reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: When you overhear Joaquín talking about you being clingy, you assume he secretly hates that you have been lately. Joaquín sets out to make you realise it was all just a misunderstanding. Warnings: Mentions of food. Word Count: 3.1k A/N: This was requested and I loved the idea so much so I just had to write it. It took me a few days but I've gotten around to it. I love how it turned out as well – it ended up being one of my longer Joaquín fics!

“So, is Joaquin your boyfriend?” Cass Wilson, Sarah’s oldest son, asks.

You’re sitting in the living room at Sarah Wilson’s house with her two sons sitting on either side of you on the couch. You’d offered to babysit them for a bit while Sam and Bucky took Joaquin out for some training and Sarah finished up with her shopping in town. For a while you’d been watching something on TV, but then the boys had gotten bored and started an interrogation instead.

“He is,” you confirm.

AJ, the youngest, nods, as if pleased by your answer. “Are you an Avenger too?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m not an Avenger. I’m just a normal person.”

“That’s a bit boring,” AJ sounds a little disappointed.

It’s then that you hear the sound of a car door closing outside, followed by the sound of laughter – Sam, Bucky and Joaquin are back from training, saving you from a possibly awkward conversation with Cass and AJ. You stand up from the couch. 

“It sounds like your Uncle Sam is back, I’m gonna go open the door for them, okay?”

Your hand is on the door handle, about to open it, when you hear what the men are talking about. It makes your heart drop into your stomach. 

“Yeah, she’s really clingy lately,” Joaquin says, his voice unmistakable. “It’s kinda weird cause she never was before, but after everything happened and I was in hospital for a while, she has been.” 

Your hand falls away from the door handle and as you hear footsteps coming up the stairs, you step backwards away from the door, feet leading you away before you can think too much about it. You walk straight through the living room, ignoring AJ and Cass’ confused voices asking you why you were going in the opposite direction of the front door, and head upstairs, going straight for the bathroom – one place you can trust Joaquin isn’t going to barge in looking for you when he notices you’re not downstairs. 

With a deep breath, you lock the door behind you and put your hands down on the edge of the sink, trying to calm yourself down and slow your heartbeat. Joaquin’s words are on repeat in your mind. She’s really clingy lately. Had you been? You hadn’t really meant to be. It was true that you’ve never been a particularly clingy girlfriend before, but after almost losing him, maybe you had become one of them. 

And Joaquin doesn’t like it.

Joaquin, who is quite possibly the most clingy boyfriend on the planet, doesn’t like having a clingy girlfriend. It’s almost laughable. You stop yourself from actually laughing out loud, which ends up being a good thing when you hear a knock on the bathroom door.

“Angel, you in there?”

Your head snaps towards the door and you stifle a groan. While Joaquin wasn’t going to barge into the bathroom looking for you, it clearly wouldn’t stop him from knocking and sussing out where you were. There are only so many places to hide in this house.

“I’ll be out in a second!” You call, trying to keep your voice steady and not show how much you’re hurt. You don’t want Joaquin to know that you overheard him, but it’s clear to you now more than ever that you can’t be clingy to him anymore. He wants his space or he wouldn’t have been telling Sam and Bucky all about how clingy you are.

When you exit the bathroom, after splashing some water on your face to try and calm yourself down a little more, Joaquin is still out in the hallway, leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom and scrolling on his phone. He looks up as soon as he hears the door open, a smile on his face. 

“How did training go?” You ask, trying to be casual about it.

Joaquin puts his phone back in his pocket and walks towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist in greeting. It’s only been two hours since he last saw you but to him, two hours is basically the equivalent to two months. He can’t help but notice the way that you don’t drape your arms over his shoulders like you’d usually do.

“It was good,” he replies. “I kicked Sam’s ass, actually. Bucky was even impressed.”

You give Joaquin a tight lipped smile and extract yourself from his arms. “That’s awesome, baby. I’m proud of you.” You can hear voices downstairs – Sam, Bucky and Sarah, who has obviously returned back from town while you were in the bathroom. “Is that Sarah I hear downstairs? I promised her I’d help her with dinner tonight.”

Before Joaquin can so much as utter another word, you’re walking down the stairs. He watches you, confused, and shakes his head as he follows you downstairs to the kitchen where Sam and Bucky are helping Sarah put away the groceries. 

He really had had a good training session. It was nice to spend some one on one time with Sam and Bucky like that, to learn different things from each of them and watch them sparring together. If he was even a little bit of a better fighter after it, he’d consider that a win. 

The fact that he couldn’t stop talking about you on the way home had probably lost him a few points with Sam and Bucky, though. He couldn’t help it, though – you’re the love of his life and you’d offered to look after Sam’s nephews so they could go out and train. He’s always thinking about marrying you and starting a family with you, so to see you do something like that just made him love you even more. 

Even though he really would have loved to have you come and watch him train. 

When he’d mentioned that to Sam and Bucky though, they’d given him a strange look. 

“You two aren’t one of those couples that can’t ever be separated, are you?” Bucky had asked, looking a little disturbed at the idea. 

Joaquin snorted. “Did you not just notice that I spent two hours away from her so I could go and train with you guys?” 

“Yeah, and talked about her for at least an hour of that,” Sam added.

“It’s no secret that I’m clingy as hell when I’m around her,” Joaquin shrugged as they got out of the car and started walking towards the house. He had a skip in his step just at the thought of you being inside the house. “But to be fair, she’s been really clingy lately. It’s kinda weird cause she never was before, but after everything happened and I was in hospital for a while, she has been.” He paused to smile to himself. “I love it though. She should be clingy with me more often.” 

They’d walked inside then and the first thing Joaquin did was ask the boys where you were. They said you’d just run upstairs, so Joaquin assumed you were in the bathroom and headed straight upstairs to check on you.

Now, as he walks into the kitchen behind you, he doesn’t even think twice about placing his hands on your hips as he stops behind you. He’s glad when you don’t immediately shake him off. You’re standing next to the counter, right by the door, watching as Sam and Bucky argue over which cupboard salt goes in.

Sarah rolls her eyes and snatches the salt from Sam’s hands before putting it in the correct cupboard in an attempt to stop the men from arguing in her kitchen. You laugh a little as you meet Sarah’s eyes and she just sighs and shakes her head.

“You want me to help you and Sarah with dinner too? I don’t mind,” Joaquin says in your ear, his hands still on your hips. He’s completely unaware that you’re fighting your instinct to lean back into his chest and also trying not to pull yourself out of his grip.

“It’s fine, baby,” you say, voice only loud enough for him to hear. “Sarah and I will work better once all of the men are safely out of the kitchen.” It’s a little harsh but it’s true.

Joaquin laughs, the sound making you feel warm and comforted. “Yeah, I’m actually gonna agree with you on that one, angel.” He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek before stepping away from you. He doesn’t want to leave, but he can sense that you’re not yourself and until he can get some alone time with you, he doesn’t want to push you. “Guys, lets go show AJ and Cass that new move you taught me and leave the ladies alone for a bit, yeah?”

Somehow, his words actually work and Sam and Bucky leave the room after Joaquin. It’s remarkably more quiet inside now that they’re gone and Sarah lets out a breath of relief.

“I’m actually impressed Joaquin didn’t join in on that and managed to get them outside,” Sarah admits. “That kid can usually talk more than Sam and Bucky combined.”

You chuckle and walk further into the kitchen to help Sarah finish unpacking the groceries that Sam and Bucky hadn’t gotten around to. “Yeah, you’re right about that one.”

Outside, Joaquin is smiling as AJ and Cass freak out over how cool the new move is after Joaquin shows it to them. But in the back of his mind, he’s still worried about you. Something is off – with the way you’d pulled yourself out of his grip upstairs and the way you’d been less affectionate with him downstairs. Has he done something wrong? He can’t think of anything off the top of his head. Everything has been normal with you until now.

“Hey Cass,” Joaquin starts, pulling the older boy to the side as AJ asks Sam and Bucky to show them some more cool moves. “Did something happen with my girlfriend while we were out?”

Cass looks up at Joaquin, confused. “No, we just watched a show and talked. Then she said she was gonna go open the door for you guys and then she came back through and went upstairs really quickly.”

Joaquin thinks. What were they talking about as they were walking towards the house? It hits him, then. He was talking to Sam and Bucky about how you’d been clingy ever since he’d gotten out of the hospital. You had to have overheard him… had he said something that had hurt your feelings? Whatever it was, he needs to fix this right now. 

He doesn’t even bother to tell Sam and Bucky where he’s going, just thanks Cass and heads straight for the house, ignoring Sam as he calls out to ask him where he’s going. There’s only one thing he needs to do right now and it’s not out here.

You’re still in the kitchen, mid-way through washing some of the vegetables that Sarah had gotten to cook dinner with tonight. Sarah is cutting up the ones you’ve already washed. She looks up as Joaquin walks in the room, a little breathless from having basically ran back inside the house. 

“Everything all right, honey?” She asks him. 

“Yeah,” Joaquin nods. “Can I borrow your sous chef for a second though?”

From your spot at the sink, you put the vegetables down and grab the hand towel to dry your hands. You hadn’t expected Joaquin to come back in so soon, letalone to ask to talk to you. But maybe you hadn’t been as successful at hiding your hurt as you thought you were.

“Of course you can,” Sarah says, watching as you walk over to him.

Joaquin reaches down and grabs your hand before tugging you out of the room and up the stairs towards the bedroom that you’ve been sharing while you’re visiting Sarah and the kids. He’s a little surprised that you don’t resist him, but once the bedroom door closes, you drop his hand just like he’d expected you to do since he first took it.

“What’s this about, Joaquin?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

He looks at you for a moment, trying to read your expression but failing. “I owe you an apology, angel. I think I said something earlier that hurt your feelings. That’s why you brushed me off earlier and have been kinda short with me, right?”

Joaquin is more perceptive than you’d thought and there’s no point in trying to deny it when he already somehow knows that he said something that hurt you. 

“You did,” you admit. “I didn’t think you minded that I’ve been clingy with you since your accident, especially because you’re so touchy with me. But I’m sorry, Joaquin. I never meant to make you uncomfortable or make you feel like I don’t give you space.” 

You watch as Joaquin opens his mouth, then closes it again. He furrows his eyebrows and runs a hand through his hair. “Wait, what the heck are you talking about? When did I say that I didn’t like you being clingy or that it makes me uncomfortable?”

“Earlier,” you frown. “When you were coming back inside after you went out with Sam and Bucky. I was at the door and I heard you telling them that I was clingy. That I never used to be but ever since you were in hospital I became that way.” 

Joaquin laughs softly and runs a hand over his face. “Okay, angel. You didn’t hear everything I said, did you? When you ran off upstairs like the boys told me, you left before you finished hearing what I said.” He steps towards you and takes both of your hands in his. “You missed the part where I said I love you being clingy with me. That you should be clingy more often.” 

For a moment you just stare at him, a little confused. “Are you just saying that to try and make me feel better or something?” You ask, apprehensive.

He shakes his head. “You can even go and ask Sam and Bucky if you don’t believe me. They heard me say it,” he says. “I mean, come on, angel. I’m clingy with you, why would I not love it when you’re the same to me? I love it when you touch me, when you put your hands on me or when I hold you and you lean into me. I love that you’ve gotten in the habit of randomly kissing me whenever you see me and texting me in the middle of the day to check in whenever we’re not together. I mean that.”

Much to your dismay, tears start to form in your eyes. The second Joaquin sees them, he drops your hands and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. One of his hands rests on the side of your head, stroking your hair gently.

“Angel, why are you crying?” His voice breaks a little. He can’t help it. Joaquin always gets emotional whenever you do. It’s something deep within him that he can’t control.

“I feel like an idiot,” you mutter into his chest, your hands balling up in the back of his shirt. “I misunderstood what you were saying and I’ve been treating you badly for it ever since you got back without even hearing your side of it. I just assumed.”

Joaquin sniffs, rubbing your back. “You are not an idiot. If I’d heard you saying something like that, I probably would’ve jumped to conclusions as well. Don’t beat yourself up about it, okay?” 

You pull back from the hug a little, but keep your arms around him. You don’t want to let him go, especially when you see the tears sliding down his cheeks. “Joaquin, why are you crying?” Your eyes widen, one of your hands moving to his cheek to wipe away a tear.

He lets out a breathy laugh. “Cause you’re crying! And I’m the reason you are.”

“No!” You shake your head. “I’m the reason I’m crying, baby.”

“Yeah, but I’m part of the reason,” he mutters.

You wipe another tear as it falls down his cheek and he does the same for you, gently swiping underneath your eye too. You stare at each other for a moment before both of you begin to laugh. 

“I bet we look ridiculous right now,” you grin up at your boyfriend. “Both of us, standing here in the middle of the room crying our eyes out. It’s a good thing you picked this room for us to have this talk rather than the backyard, for example.”

Joaquin laughs. “Yeah, Sam and Bucky would think we’re going insane.”

You lean up and press a kiss to his cheek, still a little wet from the tears that had been falling down it only moments earlier. “You are not the reason I was crying, Joaquin. I shouldn’t have assumed that you hated it. I should’ve finished listening to what you were saying before I ran off and hurt my own feelings. You’ve never made me cry.”

“I hope I never do,” Joaquin mumbles, tightening his arms around you. “I’m still sorry that something I said hurt your feelings, even if I didn’t mean to, angel. Do you accept my apology for that? I’m not gonna be able to drop it unless you do.”

“Yes, Joaquin. I accept your apology.”

He lets out a breath of relief. “I suppose I should return you to Sarah,” he sighs.

“Not just yet,” you shake your head and move closer to hug him again, resting your face against his chest. His warmth spreads through you, giving you comfort after all the stress of the last hour or so. It’s a good thing Joaquin is a quick thinker because if you’d had to sit and stew on all of this for a bit longer, you would’ve been a bigger mess. “I just want a few more minutes with you now that you’ve told me you like me being clingy.”

Joaquin smiles. “You know I’m not gonna leave you alone for the rest of the night once you and Sarah are done cooking dinner, right? I’m gonna be glued to your side. Sam and Bucky might tease me about it forever but it’ll be worth it.”

“Good,” you hum. “I missed out on some of my favourite kinds of PDA when I was hurting earlier, so we have a little bit to make up for. I want a hand on me at all times. You got that, Torres?” 

He chuckles softly. “I think that can be arranged.” 

[rxmye]

" 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 "

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 — For so long, he found art in his surroundings, nature was his muse . . who would've thought that he'd be able to find another muse, within you.

gender neutral reader / yandere oc x reader / obsessive / unhealthy themes / I guess the reader is his 'hater' / perfectionist yandere / kind of egotistic yandere / he has a praise kink frfr / maybe a bit self centered . . / kind of unedited / also might appeal to ppl with a savior complex

masterlist | requesting rules | character info . . . a/n: I feel like Lore takes up a good chunk of this fic, but enjoy . . also might be one of my longest fics . .

He was a calming presence, and a thoughtful friend to all he called his own. Elegance took a human form, in Xavier Wilson—A beautiful work of art indeed . . Born presenting a talent that could rival many others in the industry.

From a young age, Xavier presented himself as a man of the arts, often drawing out vivid tapestries of his dreams or memories. He would often lose himself in the pages of his notebook, scribbling away with intricate drawings and stories, his mind was his own magnum opus.

However—people was never his strong suit. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, surely if he was as magnificent as those around him expressed, he'd most certainly be able to recreate the portraits of those around him?—But no, none of his portraits could compare to his various other works.

As he got a bit older, his mother decided to enroll him in classes that could help expand his talents, which ranged from various music lessons, theater (didn't end well), art history—etc . . .

Xavier let out a breathy sigh, staring at the keys of the grand piano absentmindedly—his gloved fingers gently glide over the keys, tired would be the best way to describe him as of right now—his professor had left an hour ago, yet Xavier couldn't find it in himself to move.

Truth be told, Xavier wasn't a fan of music, he preferred quiet solitude—and though he had long since gotten used to the sound of the piano, violin, and any of the other ridiculous instruments his mother was so keen on getting him to play—he still preferred the silence over all.

Over the course of time, Xavier disinterest towards music dimmed—Alongside his distaste towards instruments . . He figured the reason he disliked it so much was due to his inability to play as perfectly as his professor . . Xavier was a perfectionist, and anything he couldn't perfect was simply 'wrong' in his eyes, and as he reached his teen years, he accepted that fact wholeheartedly.

Xavier stood still, as his mother fixed his tie for him—he could do it himself but he let her enjoy this moment, she always disliked watching her son 'grow up so fast'—"are you nervous?", she asked softly, gently holding his hands, smiling so brightly.

'Am I nervous?—' he thought, clearly not. He felt calm, neutral even. It was his first big show, yet internally he knew that things would end well for him, he could feel it. He's always been lucky, in fact his father's nickname for him as a child was quite literally 'Puer aureus' which translated to 'the golden boy' from Latin.

He clicked his tongue, a common habit of his—especially when he wasn't being exactly truthful—he paused for a moment as if to think, then he smiled at his mother, "Just a bit, but I'll be fine" he spoke calmly, gently squeezing her hand to reassure her. "Don't worry, I've prepared well for this . . Haven't I?"

Praise, he adored praise, and that day he received quite a lot of it—not just from his parents, or acquaintances . . .—but crowds of people. Honestly, it stroked his ego, quite a bit . .

By seventeen years of age, Xavier's talent was known worldwide, his rise to fame quite massive and fast . . He had to attend class, while also hosting live performances and art galleries. (such a struggle, really . . .)

University admissions were coming around, and most of his friends had chosen what schools they plan on applying to—what path they plan on going into—what school they hope to go to the most, the conversation was an eye opener and yet it all felt so bitter.

Xavier tapped his pen on the table, zoning out from the conversation his friends were having . . only to zone back in when Neva spoke, "—so Xavier, have you decided where you'll be applying too . . ? I'm sure you'll get in."

He clicked his tongue in response, closing his eyes absentmindedly as he spoke, "To be honest, not really . . probably something arts related?", Xavier was about to speak up again but stopped himself, starring down at the table, a sigh escaping his lips.

"That seems like a waste of money", he looked up, starring at Oliver with questioning eyes, and Oliver quickly explained himself, "Art school is great and all—But it won't really make much of a difference for you, in fact the rules could restrict your talent . . It could be better for you to just try something new? You're good in school a degree outside of your comfort zone may be something good for you!"

He hated that his friend was right, he hated being wrong. He prided himself for always knowing what was best for himself and his abilities, and in a spur of pettiness he found himself taking art anyway, trying to prove his friend wrong . . even though he was well aware his intentions were pure in all ways.

Xavier had done well in his courses so far, and with his fame, he was breezing through classes—and yet, when the topics of portraits came up . . he found all that floating out the window.

None of the models they had for class, felt right—none of the art he did, felt authentic . . felt like himself, when it came to art, Xavier took everyone to paradise, his art felt like peace . . his art was calm . . his music was soft, lulling almost . .

Yet now, as he stared at his canvas, covered in mixed harsh colours, a vibrant mess of paint, his brushes wrecked, paint dripping from the easel . . It felt like anything but calm.

And that's when he dropped out, a question to his perfection would wreck the fragile image of himself he had created in his mind, a man so perfect and lucky in his own right a humbling experience like that was to never see the light of day.

Xavier found himself turning to something different, just like Oliver suggested, his alternatives were selective, yet he kept many paths open, Photography, fashion, and business were his top picks and things he found himself surprisingly enjoying . . Surely if he could paint and create melodies of such wonders, then he can stitch some fabric together, solve a few equations, and take a few photo's here and there just fine . . right?

A few years had past, and Xavier was now running his very own Luxury fashion line, he still hosted art galleries here and there, and composed music on the side, but his business took up most of his time.

But on his free days he'd turn to photography, taking pictures of things he sought comfort in . . and people, he'd often take pictures of unsuspecting people, pretty ones . . people not so pretty as well, just to try and recreate the life they had on a canvas . . yet somehow always failing to do so.

The moment Xavier found himself close, he'd reach a dead end . . and that destroyed him, internally.

Over the years, he accepted the small flaws in his behavior, and tried his best to reform them, presenting himself as the perfect public figure. He did go to therapy in the past, but when things started rising up, he quit entirely.

Xavier laid back on his office chair, and scrolled through his recent posts comment section, and as expected almost all of it was praise . . some of envy, but that only fueled his ego more . . Until he found a comment that set him off, "His art is so melancholy, it feels a bit sad . . His previous works were brighter, like more happy but now it kind of feels sad . . Like the life in his work isn't there anymore."

Xavier stared at the comment dumbfounded, never had he received that kind of feedback . . portraits he drew were indeed lifeless, but his other art was always regarded as lively, and that was what he always strived for . . Curious, and in a fit of rage . . he clicked on the commenters profile, and saw you.

You, you . . You were what he was looking for, his muse. So, full of life . . He scrolled through your page, and couldn't help but feel the urge to draw you, and paint you . . and paint you he did. . Because soon his entire studio was filled with pieces inspired by you . . so full of 'life' . . .

Yet at some point, he had reached the end of your posts, and it just wasn't enough . . he needed you . . He wanted your feedback, he craved your praise . . like no other, he wanted input . . he wanted to know if his work was truly still lifeless . . he wanted you.

After all, a artist isn't complete without his muse.

want more, buy my limited time only advent calendar?

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[deadchannelradio]

boyfriend and i have a fic concept known only as "the brucible" which is where alfred puts them all (or, as many as he can physically convince) on an enforced vacation for bruce's 50th birthday party somewhere up along the maine coast in the middle of febuary where and when nothing ever happens. to vacation and to birthday. jason brings rose wilson along unannounced in a fake dating scheme to make bruce regret living this half century. damian is facetiming jon the entire time because bruce very early on back in dicks years made a decree that no one was allowed to tell anyone what to do with their free time on vacation (he wanted to sleep and dick kept dragging him out of bed, because he was ten and hyperactive.) and has not been allowed to take it back.

jason and rose discover a string of murders and the whole family slowly finds out theyre working on it and abandons vacationing like they're playing a game of fucking sardines. Dick has an awful time because rose is there and he likes rose but there's no crossover between his family personality and who he is with rose wilson and she keeps calling him out on it. jason discovers he is actually capable of romantic feelings and has a meltdown. tim keeps being mad that jason brought rose because he would have brought His Friend Kon and every time he mentions kon's name dick is like. But not Bernard? and it gets awkward and quiet.

Cass and Steph are not yet together and it's causing some real conniptions because cass has fucked rose which makes steph hate rose and rose has tried to hook up with steph and failed due to having previously hooked up with cass and steph has hooked up with jason which is just another reason that cass fucking hates jason and she HATES rose that was HATE SEX and she's now forced to think about it a lot because rose is right there and rose keeps reminding her about it. Bruce learns TOO MUCH about the sex lives of his children/their coworkers. selina gives bruce a leather dog collar with GOOD BOY stamped on it and he accidentally opens it in front of his entire family. it's the worst birthday week ever. its the most fic-like fic ive ever considered writing and i want him to write it with me.

[star-girl-05]

Green or Red

James Wilson x Reader

~★~❤︎~✦~

“I’ve been Wilson's best friend for years, I’ve outlasted countless of Wilson's wives and girlfriends. Do you really think someone that's not even sleeping with him has more of a say then me” House wasn’t wrong he has known Wilson longer than you but Wilson was a known simp so you still had a chance.

“Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is then” 

“What do you have in mind?” 

“Hmmm.. Oh I know we’ll see who can get Wilson to wear a certain coloured tie.” 

“Really that’s what you want” You just nod your head, feeling more confident by the second. “Fine, twenty bucks I can get Wilson to wear a red tie”

“Make it thirty and you have deal” House laughed agreeing to your terms

“What colour are you going for?” He asked as you started to head for the door. 

“Green”

~~

“James just the guy I was looking for” You intercepted him on his way to the clinic.

“Really what can I help you with ?” 

“Well I just wanted to say you look quite dapper today, you look lovely in this blue tie but I think green would look even better” you weren't being subtle at all but you desperately wanted to win this bet. 

A blush coated his cheeks in an adorable boy scout way, “Thanks” he fiddles with the end of his tie, “You look lovely today as well.” You smile at the compliment, Wilson is always the sweetest. 

“I’ll see you later then” you give him a small wave before walking away. 

~~~ House ~~~ 

“New tie?” House calls out as he pushes his way into the lunch line, forcing Wilson to pay for his meal. 

“You're the second one to mention it,” Wilson mumbles as he walks over to a table. 

“Not surprised since it's such an eye-sore” House was taking a completely different route than you. Instead of complimenting Wilson he was going to shit on his tie and then suggest a red tie. 

“What are you talking about? Y/n just complimented me on it” Wilson is not sure if House is messing with him or if he’s being truthful. He’s more inclined to believe that House is full of shit due to the fact you had no reason to lie to him, but neither does House. 

“I’m sure she did” he took an obnoxious large bite of his food, punctuating his sentence. House should have known you would get to Wilson first but not to worry he can convince him otherwise.

“Care to elaborate or are you going to continue to beat around the bush?” 

“Y/n lied about your tie being nice because she wants you to look bad at work, because she has a huge crush on you and wants you to look bad so no one else flirts with you. I mean come on your like catnip for the nurses,” Houses says in between bites of food.  

Wilson had no idea what to say, did you really have a crush on him, and did this tie look good or bad on him. “I can’t follow you today, and I have no idea why everyone is so obsessed with my tie”

“I’m not obsessed, just thought as your friend you’d like to know you’d look better in a red tie.” He shrugged his shoulders grabbing some fries off Wilsons tray before walking away. 

~~

Wilson Knew something was going on between House and You there's just no way both of you coincidently mentioned his tie. Honestly he’s not sure he wants to know. Though when he bumps into you he can’t help but try to pry some hints out of you. 

“Hey y/n I was talking to house and he told me something interesting” 

“Really what did he say?” 

“He was talking about my tie” 

“Oh, well I wouldn’t take fashion advice from him, have you seen the way he dresses?” You add a little chuckle. 

“He was just saying the same thing about you”, of course he was. 

So this weird thing you have going on with House is about his tie. 

“That’s a fun coincidence, anywho I better get going but I’ll see you tonight” 

“Tonight?” He has absolutely no idea what you're talking about. 

“Yeah I’m going to let you take me out on a date”, This may be playing dirty but you were not going to let house win. The stakes are not high but if he wins he’ll constantly hold it over your head. Not that you were only going on a date with Wilson because of this bet. You did really like him but you were planning on making him work a little for it, but you're glad to go on a date with him a little earlier than you originally planned. 

~~~~

“Wilson was just telling me about your little date tonight” you knew when House heard about your date with Wilson he would come to tease you about it. “Honestly I’m surprised that you're willing to sleep with him for a messily thirty bucks.”

“I’m not going to sleep with him for a bet” 

“I’m not judging, I'm just impressed” 

“That’s worse” you call after him, he’s already walking away “I don’t want your approval” but he’s already gone. 

~~Later that night~~

After your date with Wilson you did end up going back to his house, and the two of you did end up sleeping together. What can you say? He's very charming. 

When you were getting dressed that morning you couldn’t help but smile when he pulled out a green tie. You’ll buy him lunch with your new thirty bucks.

[emeraldserenade]

Rebuilding ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: Sam get's a package that leads both him and Joaquín to a building with a lot of history.

tw: fem!reader, stark!reader, cabnw spoilers, limited use of y/n, cursing, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

➽──────────────❥

Sam was rebuilding the Avengers, the news spread quickly. It somehow made it to you last, you weren't even mad. You were happy that they were being rebuilt, you had to make a decision about what to do with the compound anyway.

Sam was at home, Joaquín staying with him for a bit after getting out of the hospital, when his doorbell rang.

"Sam Wilson?" The man in a suit asked Sam at the door, he was holding a beautifully wrapped package.

"That's me," Sam affirmed. Joaquín was behind him, curious about what was happening.

"This is a gift from y/n Stark," the man handed Sam the package before turning around and leaving.

"What is it?" Joaquín asked and Sam gave him a look.

"I don't know yet, man," Sam replied, heading to his table to open it. Sam opened it inside was two key rings, covered in keys and two keycards. In a smaller box, one just as prettily wrapped as the larger one, sat a Stark Industry audio recorder.

"Hey, Sam. I haven't seen you since my dad's funeral, I'm glad to hear that you've gotten your bearings on being Captain America. Steve would be proud of you. Anyway, I heard that you're rebuilding the Avengers and thought the first two members of the new Avengers should have the first set of keys to the compound. When you have time, come up to the compound. I think you'll like what I've done, and Joaquín Torres, I hope you didn't get too messed up at Celestial Island," your message ended and Sam smiled at your words.

"You feeling up for a roadtrip?" Sam looked over at Joaquín, handing the aforementioned man the extra set of keys and the keycard with his name on it.

"Let's go," Joaquín walked away to grab his things, Sam doing the same.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You were driving up in one of your dad's old Audis, Sam and Joaquín had shown up only a few moments ago. Still getting their things out of the car.

"Sam Wilson and Joaquín Torres," your voice floated through the air, causing them both to look over at you. "It's nice to formally meet you, Joaquín," you smiled at them as you shook their hands. "Come inside," you locked your car before heading inside.

Sam and Joaquín walked behind you, both shocked when the door swung open for you.

"Why is there keys if the door just opens?" Sam asked, genuine curiosity lacing his voice.

"Because the door won't just open for anyone that isn't wearing EDITH glasses," you spun on your heel to face the two, the EDITH glasses perched on your head now. "As I said in the recording, I think you'll like the renovations I've made," you explained, turning back around and walking again. "You two can look around, I have a meeting I have to call into. If either of you need me, I'll be in one of the old meeting rooms," you told them. Leaving them both to have wander around.

"Do you know if she's single?" Joaquín tried to seem casual but the laugh that erupted from Sam told Joaquín that he didn't sound as causal as he wanted.

"I don't know, I haven't had contact with her up until the package showed up at my door," Sam told Joaquín. "You could ask her, she won't be offended," Sam told Joaquín, knowing even if you weren't, you'd be flattered.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"Hey boys," you made them both jump as they were in the newly renovated gym. "Liking the new gym?" You pushed the tinted glasses to perch on your head.

"It's all glass, it makes for good lighting," Sam shrugged and you raised your eyebrow.

"EDITH, enter flight mode," you called out.

"Yes, Miss," EDITH affirmed and you pointed to the roof. The two boys looked up and gasped as the roof started to open.

"You think this would be a normal glass gym? I may not be Tony Stark but I do have all his old designs and the smarts to go with it," you told him, laughing as Joaquín looked back at you with pure amusement. "The walls slide open in specific spots too, it's so the outside property can be used too," you gave them both a smile.

"How long do you want us to stay?" Sam questioned and you scrunched your eyebrows at him.

"How long do you want to stay?" You questioned.

"I," Sam cut himself off and you just spun to walk away.

"You two can stay as long or as little as you'd like," you told them both. You were turning out of the room when Joaquín ended up next to you.

"I asked Sam but he told me to just ask, so," Joaquín cut himself off when you stopped walking to give him your full attention. "Are you single?"

"I am," you affirmed, a raised eyebrow and amused smirk on your face.

"Would you like to go out with me?"

"I would love to, but first, you need to heal a bit more," you gave him a smile, knowing that he's supposed to take frequent breaks.

"Sounds like a plan," his smile lit up his face and your heart fluttered.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"Angel, EDITH told me you were still in here," Joaquín walked into the workshop, you were tinkering with something for Sam.

"Hey, baby," you looked up at him with a smile, you two had been dating since your first date and now it's been months.

"Have you checked the time?"

"Uh, no?" You looked over at the clock and gasped. "Fuck," you sighed, rubbing your forehead. "I'm sorry, love. I lost track of time," you placed the things in your hands down.

"It's fine, I was warned about the Stark habit of getting too into building," Joaquín walked over to you and wrapped his arms around your waist. "Sam has the popcorn popping and the movie is already up and ready to play in the movie room," Joaquín moved to stand next to you, one of his arms still securely around your waist. He guided you out of the shop with the arm around you.

"Has Sam gotten calls back about who he wants to be on the team?" You questioned, knowing that Sam had been trying to get some calls back.

"Not yet," Joaquín told you and you nodded.

"He managed to get you out," Pepper's voice made you slightly jump as you two entered the movie room. Sam laughed at your scared face and the way you moved closer to Joaquín.

"Pepper? What are you doing here?"

"I got a call from Happy, he said you haven't been in the office for months now. I came to see why but I understand it now," Pepper looked between you and Joaquín with a smile. "Your dad did the same thing, just don't try and make Joaquín CEO like he tried to make me," Pepper smiled and you gave her a slightly guilty one. "I've got to go, but at least make a point to show at the office once a month," Pepper pointed at you and you nodded at her. She left the room, and presumably the building.

"I'll forget and she'll be back before she just resigns to just coming to get me once a month to go to the office," you stated like fact before you and Joaquín went to sit down, Sam following suit.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests

[gothamite-rambler]

Jason: Bruce, how would you react if I dated someone related to a villain?

Bruce (curious while tossing a ball into the air): Who is the woman in question?

Jason: Off the top of my head, um let's see... Rose… Rose… What was her last name?

Bruce: Wilson?

Jason: Yeah, Rose Wilson! I think she likes me, and I’m torn—

Bruce: Absolutely not.

Jason: What?

Bruce: I wouldn't allow it and I forbid you to be with Rose Wilson or anyone like her. I can't legally do that, but trust me on this.

Jason: Why the hell not?!

Damian (eating a slice of pizza): Jason, relax; it’s just a hypothetical. Remember?

Jason: I’m aware of that, Damian! I still want to know why I can’t date her in this hypothetical situation.

Bruce: Because I said so, as Batman.

Jason (shouting): What the hell? You can't just throw that in! I need a better reason!

Bruce: Her father is Slade Wilson.

Jason: Talia is the daughter of Ra's al Ghul.

Bruce: Rose has worked with him in the past and seems to wear an eye patch as him as well which leads me to guess that she did so to prove her loyalty to him.

Jason: That- Don't judge her for that, I've seen you do stupid crap for somebody. Hypothetically speaking.

Bruce: I'll accept that, but my first point still stands. She worked with Slade, and I don't care what Dick or Tim have told me, she's just one bad day away from joining him again.

Jason: That cow, Talia continues to work with her evil, crappy father! Sorry, Damian.

Damian: It’s okay, but don’t call my mother a bovine.

Bruce: I don't trust her and I mean this with my whole chest, I don't like her! You can't date her, case closed.

Jason's body twitched, holding his head down as he dropped to his knees. Damian patted his brother on the shoulder. Bruce stopped tossing the baseball in the air, tilting his head suspicious of Jason's reaction.

Damian: He’s upset because, in this hypothetical situation, you’re being a hypocrite cause my mother is currently a villain, or at least villain-adjacent.

Jason (staring at the floor): What he said.

Bruce (stoically): That’s not the same situation. You’ve already been through a lot, surrounded by awful people, and she’d be another bad influence. You’re a good boy now; she can unravel that. I don't want you to fall down a bad path again or get hurt.

Jason clutched his hair, conflicted. On one hand, he wanted to tell Bruce off just to spite him; on the other hand… he got called a good boy. Damian looked from his father to his brother with a neutral expression.

Damian (speaking for his brother): He appreciates the compliment, but that doesn’t change the fact that you forbade him from dating Rose Wilson, hypothetically or not.

Jason nodded, still reeling from the "good boy" comment.

Bruce: I should add that I don't like you teaming up with her either. She’s a venomous viper; she makes you think she’s changed and then digs her fangs deep into your neck. I have the misfortune of being linked with Talia, who is insane. Sorry, Damian.

Damian: You were stating a fact. Continue.

Bruce: Yes, as I was saying, Rose is a bad influence, and I… don’t want you around that. Tim and Dick being friends with her already bothers me. It’s your choice to continue working with her, but that’s as far as it will go.

Damian gripped Jason’s arm as his brother pulled back his fist, ready to punch Bruce while the hero was distracted tossing his ball in the air again. Jason growled in frustration, unable to find the words.

Damian (speaking for his brother): Jason is saying he doesn’t agree with that, but he will maintain their co-worker relationship!

Jason relaxed, returning to staring at the floor and taking deep breaths. Damian covered his mouth while suppressing a laugh.

Jason: So that’s it? I hypothetically wouldn’t be allowed to be in a committed relationship with a woman who has changed and is working on the good side just because you don’t trust her?

Bruce: Yeah, pretty much. Glad you agree.

Jason: I don’t agree, and I’m an adult!

Bruce: Look, I haven’t disliked all your partners. The four I’m aware of, Artemis is a partner I can let slide. She’s an Amazon, responsible, and isn’t related to a villain. You’re not going to be with Rose Wilson. Case closed. And stop bringing up Talia in situations like this; it’s a different situation and a learning experience. And don’t bring up Selina either. Selina never murdered anyone.

Jason: She was a high-profile burglar!

Damian: Jason, you know where this is going. Just leave.

Jason stood up and exited the library, remaining silent until he made it out of the manor. He got into his car, parked in a nearby library lot, and rested his head on the steering wheel for a few seconds before screaming in frustration.

Jason: Why did he have to call me a "good boy"? Now I want him to like her!

As Jason lamented, his phone rang. He answered it with a heavy sigh.

Jason: Currently busy crashing, Damian. What do you want?

Damian: I’ll let you get back to that, but if I may suggest something: remember that mission to Thailand you have to complete? Let Father go with you. Show him the changes she’s made, praise her to a healthy degree, and then tell him before you leave.

Jason: That’s an insane scheme to trap him in a dangerous mission just to tell him I have a girlfriend. So, of course, I’m doing it.

Damian: I’m glad I could help. By the way, Father was worried he made you upset and sent you money as an apology.

Jason(chuckling, expecting this): He’d do that over saying sorry more than five times a year. Wish me good luck.

Damian: Good luck is somewhat insincere in a situation like this. May Allah grant you success on this difficult journey and tell me how he reacted so I can laugh accordingly.

Jason: Got it.

Bruce finds out later on

[mrsfancyferrari]

Hey author,

Loved your work! I have a request for a Max Verstappen fiction. Here's the idea:

Max Verstappen and the Reader have been friends since childhood and started dating when they were 15. The Reader is currently the number one ranked tennis player, with 2 Wimbledon titles, 3 French Open titles, and 2 Australian Open titles to her name. She is the best in women's singles and doubles tennis at the moment.

The Reader is a badass, known for her fiery press conferences and domination on the court, much like how Max is in racing. Despite being a power couple in front of the world, they are very vulnerable and weak for each other. They know the struggles both have been through—she understands the impact Max's childhood and his father, Jos, have had on him, and he knows the challenges she faces, including attacks and pressures from the media.

They are incredibly supportive of each other. Max attends all her Grand Slam matches, and she visits his races. They are deeply in love and very open with each other, understanding each other's feelings and experiences.

That's the type of story I have in mind. I hope you like it!

Best regards,

Anon.

Power Couple

Summary: Max Verstappen and the Reader have been friends since childhood and started dating when they were 15. The Reader is currently the number one ranked tennis player, with 2 Wimbledon titles, 3 French Open titles, and 2 Australian Open titles to her name. She is the best in women's singles and doubles tennis at the moment.

Song: Slow Down · Chase Atlantic

Author’s note: I hardly had any ideas for this one but I tried my best! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 6.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

It's messy, chaotic, and punctuated by the sharp thwack of a tennis ball and the roar of a finely tuned engine. It’s the story of you and Max, a whirlwind that started when you were both just fifteen, a story that’s still unfolding in the dazzling glare of the spotlight.

You were fifteen and a force of nature on the tennis court, even back then. Your name was already whispered with respect in junior circuits. You carried a racquet like an extension of your arm, and your focus was so intense it was almost palpable.

That summer, your training brought you to a small, dusty tennis club nestled in the Dutch countryside, a far cry from the manicured lawns of Wimbledon, but the perfect place to hone your craft.

He was there too. Not on the court, but lurking near the chain-link fence, a lanky boy with eyes the colour of storm clouds and a mop of unruly brown hair perpetually falling into his face. You'd noticed him, of course.

How could you not? He was the only teenager there whose attention wasn't glued to the endless practice sessions. Instead, he seemed more interested in the growl of the beat-up scooter he’d arrived on.

One day, during a water break, you were staring down at the worn-out grip on your Wilson when he spoke.

"That's a good shot," he said, his voice still cracking with that awkward teen timbre.

You looked up, surprised, and saw him leaning against the fence, an almost shy smile playing on his lips. "You mean the forehand?" you asked, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, a nervous habit you hadn't quite shaken off.

He shrugged, his eyes dancing with something you couldn't quite place. "I don't know. All of them, I guess? You look like you're trying to kill the ball."

A chuckle escaped you. "It's called intensity."

"Yeah, well, I like it." He pushed off the fence and walked a little closer. "I'm Max."

"You know, I've noticed," you teased, a smirk spreading across your face. "Always lurking by the gate."

His grin widened, making him look younger and somehow much more approachable. "Lurking? I prefer… observing." He paused, then gestured towards your racket. “Do you think you could teach me to hit like that?”

And just like that, a friendship was born, as naturally as the changing of seasons. You didn't actually teach him to play tennis, you decided, though, that he was far more enthralled with the intricate mechanics of his racing kart, and you found yourself drawn to the way his eyes lit up whenever he spoke about the feeling of speed and control.

You spent the rest of your summer evenings not on the court, but tinkering with his kart in his garage, or racing against each other on the empty country roads, the roar of engines a stark contrast to the quiet thud of tennis balls you were used to.

You taught him a little about the precision and discipline you carried from your sport while he showed you how to embrace a more reckless, unbridled kind of passion.

As the weeks passed, those shared moments morphed into something deeper. One warm evening, after a long day at the track, you found yourselves lying on the grass, looking up at the stars.

The silence stretched between you, comfortable and charged, until he turned his head, and his hand brushed against yours.

"You know," he said, his voice low, "I can't imagine not having you here. You're… unlike anyone I've ever met."

Your heart hammered against your ribs. You had thought the same thing, again and again. "You're kinda different yourself, Verstappen," you whispered, your gaze fixed on his face.

He picked up your hand, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “Are you going to let me kiss you?” he asked, his stormy blue eyes searching yours.

You didn’t hesitate. You tilted your head slightly, and that soft, hesitant kiss was the start of something bigger than either of you could have imagined.

The next few years were a blur of teenage milestones, shared victories, and the quiet comfort of understanding each other. You traveled the world, following your dreams. You were winning Grand Slams.

You mastered the art of the backhand and the perfect serve, while he climbed the ranks in the world of Formula 1, learning the intricacies of high-speed racing and the relentless demands of the professional circuit.

You learned to navigate the complexities of a long-distance relationship, the bittersweet ache of goodbyes followed by the heady joy of reunions.

You’d meet in far-flung corners of the world, a stolen weekend in Monaco, a quick coffee in London, sharing late-night calls across different time zones, finding solace in each other’s voices.

You learned to listen, not just with your ears, but with your heart, understanding the unspoken language of ambition and dedication, of relentless pursuit, from someone who truly understood what was involved.

He was there in the stands when you clinched your first Wimbledon title, his applause echoing louder than the roar of the crowd, his pride radiating across the stadium.

You, in turn, were glued to the screen, every race day a nail-biting affair as you chanted his name like a magic spell. You celebrated his wins with unabashed joy, commiserated over his losses with a fierce loyalty that only a childhood best friend, a lover, could offer.

Your life now is a whirlwind of press conferences, sponsor obligations, and the unwavering pressure to stay at the top.

You glide across the court, a graceful yet powerful force, your focus sharp and unflinching, yet when you catch a glimpse of Max in the crowd, you allow yourself a secret smile, a silent reminder of your shared history, of the kid he was all those years ago. He is a reminder of that simpler time.

There are moments, like now, after another grueling day on the court, when you close your eyes and let the roar of the crowd fade away, replaced by the rumble of his scooter and the memory of his first shy smile.

You might be number one in the world of tennis, a name whispered in awe, but you know, the best title you've ever earned is his girlfriend. And that, you think, is the greatest prize of all.

And, as you’re getting ready for the next press conference, you're thinking of the next time you see him. The thought has you smiling again. . . .

The roar of the crowd is a familiar symphony, a constant hum beneath your focused breath. You adjust the headband, the familiar terry cloth a comfort against the glare of the stadium lights. Wimbledon’s Centre Court is your kingdom, the lush green grass your canvas.

You’re leading 5-3 in the third set against Elena Rybakina, a formidable opponent, your every move calculated, precise. A serve, a blur of motion – ace. The roar erupts, a wave of sound that threatens to lift you off your feet.

You know you've got this, the title within your grasp. You’ve worked for this, bled for this, every single grueling practice session, every sacrifice, all culminate in this moment.

You win the game, the match, and the crowd goes wild. The air crackles with energy, the taste of victory sweet on your tongue. You shake hands with Rybakina, a brief, respectful acknowledgment of the battle fought, then raise your arms in a triumphant arc.

Another Wimbledon title under your belt. You can feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins, the familiar mix of elation and exhaustion. It’s a high like no other, but underneath that surge of victory there's another feeling, a quiet hum of anticipation.

You know who’s waiting for you.

The post-match media scrum is a blur - flashes, questions, microphone in your face. You handle it all with your usual icy grace, your well-honed responses a shield against the endless prodding.

You’re used to it; it comes with the territory of being the best. But you’re itching to escape its glare. You see your agent, Sarah, giving you a quick nod, and you know it's your cue. A few more polite words, another practiced smile, and then you're slipping away, finally free of the spotlight.

You find him in the players' lounge, perched on a sofa, his eyes tracking yours as you walk in. Max. He stands as you approach, a smile playing on his lips that makes your heart do that familiar little flip.

The harsh lines that often harden his face are softened when he looks at you. He gathers you into his arms, his embrace both fierce and gentle.

"You were incredible," he whispers against your hair, his voice roughened with emotion. "An absolute beast out there."

"Thanks, you," you murmur, breathing in his scent, the familiar comfort of it grounding you after the storm of the match. You pull back slightly, your gaze catching his. “Did you watch the whole thing? Even with your schedule?”

He chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. You were destroying her. Honestly, you're the most dangerous person I know." You laugh at that, a genuine laugh that’s rare these days, a laugh that only he can draw out of you.

Later, back at the house in Monaco, you sit side-by-side on the balcony, the Mediterranean Sea shimmering under the moonlight. He holds your hand, his thumb tracing patterns on your knuckles.

In this serene space, the world outside fades away. The tension that always seems to cling to you both loosens, the relentless pressure of your careers receding into the background.

"You know," Max begins, his voice quiet, "sometimes I still can't believe it. You, the best there is. Not just in the world, but the best there could ever be.”

You turn to him, your eyes searching his. "And you?" you ask him, “World Champion twice? Sometimes I can't believe you’re not some superhuman entity.”

He squeezes your hand, his gaze unwavering. "We both push ourselves to the edge, and beyond," he says. "It's what makes us who we are, isn’t it?"

"Yeah," you agree, leaning your head against his shoulder. "But it's also why we need each other." The silence that follows is comfortable, a space filled with shared understanding, a knowing that transcends words.

The days that follow are a brief reprieve, stolen moments away from the relentless cycle of competition. You spend them walking along the coast, laughing, rediscovering the simplicity of just being together.

But the respite is always fleeting, the demands of your respective careers always looming on the horizon. You’re due to fly out for a tournament in Washington D.C. in a week, and Max is scheduled for a race in Hungary two weeks after that.

The night before you leave, the atmosphere is thick with a quiet anticipation. You’re curled up on the sofa, your favourite movie playing softly on the TV, but neither of you is paying much attention.

Max pulls you closer, his hand slipping beneath your t-shirt, tracing the curve of your back. His skin is always warm against yours, a familiar comfort.

"I wish you didn't have to go," he murmurs, his voice husky. "I hate being away from you."

You turn to face him, your fingers cupping his cheek. "I wish I didn't either, but we know how this goes. We’re just two very busy, very overachieving maniacs.”

He smiles, a flash of his boyish charm. "Yeah, but that's why I love you. You’re as insane as I am." He leans in, his lips finding yours, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist.

The morning you leave, the goodbyes are short, a quick kiss on the lips and a promise to call every day. You watch his car disappear down the driveway, a small ache settling in your chest.

It's the same ache you feel every time you part ways, a reminder of your connection, a reminder of what you have to come back to.

The tournament in D.C. is a brutal battle. You're seeded first, as always, and the pressure is immense. You win the first few rounds with your usual dominance, but then come up against a rising star, a young American player who pushes you to your absolute limit.

The match goes to five sets, each point a war of attrition. You’re exhausted by the end, but you win, the taste of victory bittersweet.

That night, you’re in the hotel room, the city lights twinkling outside your window. You’re on a call with Max, his voice a soothing balm to your frazzled nerves.

He’s telling you about his practice sessions, the improvements he’s made to his car, and you’re listening intently, your mind drifting away from the exhaustion and the pressure.

“You were so close out there,” he says suddenly, “your match was insane, I was so nervous.”

“You always are,” you giggle, picturing his intense face watching your match on the TV. “Just like how I feel every race you’re in.”

You’re both quiet for a moment, the hum of the call a gentle lull. “I’m proud of you,” he says, his voice soft, “you always make me so proud.”

“And I you,” you murmur, a lump forming in your throat.

“I love you,” he whispers, and you feel like you're home again, all the way across the world.

“Love you too, always.”

You fall asleep with his voice still ringing in your ears. The next morning, you wake up to a phone call you weren't expecting. It’s Sarah, your agent, and her voice is strained.

"There's been an accident," she says, her voice barely a whisper, "Max... he was in a crash during practice."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. The room spins, the world blurring at the edges. Your breath catches in your chest, a cold dread gripping your heart.

"How bad?" you manage to ask, your voice shaking.

"We don't know yet," she says, the uncertainty in her voice doing little to assuage the terror that’s now flooding you. "You need to come home, now."

The next few hours are a chaotic blur. You’re on autopilot, racing through airports and boarding planes, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You barely register the faces around you, the sounds of the world muted, as if you're underwater.

All you can think of is Max, his face, his smile, his voice. The thought of losing him is unbearable.

You arrive in Monaco in the dead of night. The house feels cold and empty, the silence deafening. You make your way to the hospital, your every step heavy, the weight of your fear pressing down on you.

You find him in a small, sterile room, his body connected to monitors. He’s pale and still, his face almost hidden by the shadows. You feel like you’ve been ripped open, the pain so sharp it steals your breath.

You rush to his side, your fingers reaching for his hand. His skin is cold, but his grip tightens around yours, a small, reassuring squeeze.

His eyes flutter open, and he looks at you, a flicker of recognition in his gaze. "You’re here," he whispers, his voice hoarse.

“Max,” you breathe, a sob catching in your throat. Tears are streaming down your face as you gently cup his face. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

He smiles weakly, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. “I knew you would be,” he murmurs, his eyes closing again, “always, even when I’m an idiot driving a race car.”

You don’t say anything, you just sit beside him, holding his hand, and watching him breathe, a silent promise passing between you, a bond forged in childhood, strengthened by shared triumphs and endured through deep pain - a love that would always, always persevere. . . .

The scent of burnt rubber and high-octane fuel clings to him even before the door shuts. You hear the familiar click of the lock, and then the heavier thud of his boots hitting the tiles of the hallway.

You’re sprawled on the couch, a worn-out copy of “Open” by Andre Agassi resting on your chest. Jimmy, the ginger behemoth, is purring like a motorboat on your left thigh, while Sassy, the sleek black panther, is curled into a perfect ebony question mark at your feet.

They’ve been your constant companions during the lull before your next tournament.

“Hey,” Max’s voice is low, tired, but a ripple of warmth underlies it. You open your eyes, the intense afternoon sun filtering in through the tall living room windows making the world outside a blur of gold and green.

You push Agassi off your chest, feeling the book’s weight leave a slight indent.

“Hey yourself,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips. You watch as he shrugs off his jacket, the Red Bull logo on his polo a vibrant dash of color against the muted tones of the room.

He looks drained, the lines around his eyes slightly more pronounced than you remember from the last time he was home. You know those lines; they’re etched by the relentless pressure of Formula 1, the constant travel, the unending pursuit of milliseconds.

He kneels beside the couch, reaching out a hand to scratch behind Jimmy's ears. The cat pushes his head into Max’s palm, a rumbling purr vibrating through his frame.

“They’ve missed you,” you murmur, running a hand down Sassy’s velvety back.

Max glances up at you, his blue eyes, usually so sharp and focused, are a little softer now, a touch vulnerable and definitely possessive. “Not as much as I missed you,” he says quietly, his gaze lingering on your face.

You feel the familiar warmth spread through your chest. It's crazy how after all these years, the simple act of him looking at you like that can still make your heart do somersaults.

He settles onto the couch, his long legs stretching out and nearly touching your feet. He pulls you into his side, and you nestle in, the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting lullaby.

The tension in his body is palpable. “Bad race?” you ask softly, tracing small circles on his arm with your fingertip.

He sighs, a gust of air escaping his lips. “Third,” he replies, the single word carrying a weight that you understand completely. “Just… not good enough, you know?”

You nod, because you do know. You've had your share of crushing defeats, the sting of a missed shot, the frustration of an opponent playing out of their skin. You’ve both built entire empires on a foundation of ambition, a constant striving for perfection, despite the inherent impossibility of it.

You know how those ‘not good enough’ days can feel.

“You’ll get ‘em next time,” you say, your head resting against his shoulder. There’s no need for platitudes or empty reassurances. He knows that you know.

A wry smile touches his lips. “Easy for you to say. You’re basically untouchable on the court right now.”

You chuckle, a low, confident sound that ripples through his frame. “Untouchable? Please. I just know how to make my opponents sweat a little.”

You raise your eyebrows, a mischievous glint in your eyes. He is so well aware of the press conferences where you don't mince your words.

He lets out a genuine laugh then, the sound is music to your ears. It’s raw and real. “That's the understatement of the century,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “The way you went off on that reporter after your French Open semi-final was legendary."

You roll your eyes dramatically, though you can't suppress the grin that spreads across your face. “He asked if I was scared of my opponent. Scared. As if. I’d rather face a thousand of those volleys than go through another interview like that.”

He pulls you closer, his arm tightening around you. "You're fierce," he murmurs, burying his face in your hair. "On and off the court. It's... it's one of the things I love about you.”

“And you’re terrifying behind the wheel,” you tease, knowing that a lot of his race opponents are afraid of him on the track.

He chuckles again, a low rumble against your ear. “And you love that too,” he says, the teasing note in his voice back.

You don’t bother denying it. He knows you too well. You know him too well. You’ve built something that is so incredibly strong because it was always built together. You’ve seen each other through the highs and lows, the wins and losses, the triumphs and the heartbreaks.

You’ve navigated the pressures of fame, the relentless scrutiny, the isolating nature of being at the top – together. You were just kids when it started, two teenagers with big dreams and even bigger personalities.

You fell in love navigating the ups and downs of life, and you grew up together, which made things that much stronger.

The silence that follows is comfortable, filled with the unspoken language that only two people who have known each other for so long can share. You can feel the tension slowly leaving him, as if your presence is a balm to his weary soul.

“Tournament soon?” he asks, his voice muffled against your hair.

“Yeah,” you reply, “Dubai. In a week.” You know the time change between Dubai and Europe will be brutal, but you’ve become accustomed to that aspect of your career.

He lifts his head and looks at you, his gaze intense. “You’ll crush them,” he says with absolute certainty.

You smile, the confidence in his voice a tangible thing. “Just like you’re going to leave them all in the dust next race, huh?”

He grins, that familiar flash of competitive fire returning to his eyes. “You know it.”

You trace the line of his jaw, your fingers lingering on the slight stubble. You could spend hours like this, just the two of you, wrapped up in each other’s presence, the noise of the world fading away.

There’s a vulnerability in him that only you get to see, a softness that he hides from the cameras, the reporters, the rivals. And in return, he gets to see a side of you that very few have been privy to, the quiet tenderness that lies beneath the fiery exterior.

“Want to order some takeaway?” you ask, the thought of cooking suddenly feeling like a monumental task.

“Pizza?” he suggests, his eyes already sparkling with the thought.

“Only if it has pineapple,” you tease, knowing that it is the most controversial thing you could possibly say.

Max groans, throwing his head back against the couch. “You are absolutely going to be the death of me,” he says, but the smile on his face belies his words.

You laugh, the sound light and free. You lean in, your lips meeting his in a soft, lingering kiss. It’s the taste of home, a place where you are both just Max and you, where the pressures of the world are just whispers in the distance.

You know that outside this space, you are both world-class athletes with unwavering determination, but in each other’s arms, you are just two people who grew up together. Who fell in love.

Who, despite the relentless demands of your careers, will always find their way back to each other. You are, after all, each other’s constant. You are, and will always be, each other’s home.

The roar of the engine was a familiar lullaby, a sound that had been a constant soundtrack to your life since you were kids, perched on the sidelines of karting tracks, watching Max whiz by in a blur of red and orange.

Now, instead of a flimsy kart, you were strapped into a beast of a car, the smell of hot rubber and high-octane fuel filling your nostrils. You glanced at the familiar, focused profile of Max beside you, the set of his jaw a testament to his concentration.

This was supposed to be a fun exercise, a publicity stunt dreamed up by Red Bull’s marketing department – the world’s number one tennis player, and the reigning Formula One Champion, taking a joyride. Except, this wasn’t a joyride.

This was a terror ride, and you were pretty sure your heart was currently trying to stage a coup and escape from your chest.

“Max,” you started, your voice a little too high pitched, a far cry from the confident, booming voice that usually echoed through stadium press boxes. “You know I’m used to your speed, right? On the track, where it's meant to be, not on some random circuit at 300 km/h.”

He didn’t answer, just a subtle twitch of his lips hinting at a suppressed grin. You gripped the grab handle on your side of the car so hard your knuckles turned white.

It was no secret that Max, much like you on the tennis court, thrived on pushing boundaries. He was a master of controlled chaos on the track, and right now, you weren’t so sure about the "controlled" part.

The car accelerated, forcing you back into your seat. You let out a yell, a mix of fear and adrenaline coursing through you.

You were used to controlling your own trajectory, predicting your opponent’s next move, the satisfying thump of a perfectly placed serve. This, this was utterly out of your hands, at the mercy of Max’s foot on the accelerator pedal.

“Max! Verdomme! Slow down!” You bellowed, resorting to Dutch as your carefully constructed composure shattered into a million pieces. You could feel the g-force pressing against you, throwing your head against the headrest as he took a corner at an impossible speed.

You braced yourself, bracing your hands against the dashboard, trying to find something solid to cling to.

You could hear him chuckling, the sound muffled but distinct. You could practically see the mischievous glint in his eyes, even though you were looking straight at the dashboard.

“What, is the little tennis star scared?” He teased, his voice laced with amusement.

He downshifted, the revs of the engine screaming higher, and you swore you felt your stomach try to migrate up into your throat.

“Scared?! I’m not scared!” You shouted back, partially for his benefit, mostly for yours. “I’m just… concerned about the structural integrity of this car. And my very delicate internal organs!” You knew you sounded pathetic, not the self-assured athlete the world knew and feared, but you couldn’t help it.

This was Max Verstappen, after all. He had a unique way of bringing out your most ridiculous, human side.

He laughed again, a full, genuine laugh this time, the kind that made your heart flutter even while your stomach was performing gymnastics.

He glanced over at you, a grin playing on his face. “Relax, schatje. I have it under control.”

And maybe, just maybe, you did believe him, for a split second anyway. Then he slammed on the gas and you screamed again, a string of Dutch curses pouring out of your lips as you gripped the headrest with an iron fist.

Each turn was a rollercoaster, each acceleration a punch to your gut. You found yourself cursing in Dutch, English, and even a little bit of French, a linguistic mashup fuelled by sheer terror.

You caught glimpses of the blur outside, the landscape a streaks of green and brown. You tried to focus on breathing, trying to regain a semblance of control over your runaway emotions, but every time he hit the accelerator, you lost it again.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, or perhaps just a few minutes of extreme adrenaline, the car slowed, and pulled into a stop. You were slumped back in your seat, a sweaty, disheveled mess.

“That was… an experience,” you managed, your voice still a bit shaky.

He turned to you, his eyes sparkling as he gave you a wide, triumphant grin. “Fun, right?”

You almost laughed, a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. “Fun? Max, I think I aged at least five years in that car.” You reached up and felt your pulse, which was still trying to break free.

He tilted his head, the playful gleam still dancing in his eyes. “But you said you're used to my speed."

You threw your hands up. “Yes, but I didn’t know you’d be trying to scare me, you… absolute menace.”

He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated in your chest, and then reached over and undid your seatbelt. As he did, he leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Maybe just a little.”

You felt yourself blush, despite the fact that you were also on the verge of throttling him. As he stepped out of the car, you took a moment to collect yourself, smoothing your clothes and trying to appear somewhat pulled together.

As you reached up, your fingers brushed something small and hard attached to the car’s dashboard. It was a camera, aimed directly at you.

Your eyes widened, and then everything clicked into place. The teasing laughter, the exaggerated acceleration, the playful comments – it had all been an elaborate, incredibly mischievous ploy.

You burst out laughing, a genuine, unrestrained laugh that echoed around the open space. You couldn't help it. It was absurd, ridiculous, and completely, utterly Max.

You covered your face with your hands, still laughing. He watched you, his eyes sparkling, a smile playing on his lips.

“Did you get all of that?” you exclaimed, still chuckling. “The screaming in multiple languages? The death grips on the dashboard?"

He shrugged, pretending to look innocent, but the smirk on his face told another story. “Maybe.”

You shook your head, still laughing. “You’re unbelievable,” you said, your voice laced with amusement rather than anger.

“Only for you,” he replied, that familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes.

You lowered your hands, a smile now playing on your lips. “I should have known, shouldn’t I? That you would never just do a normal lap with me.”

He took a step closer, his eyes meeting yours. “Where’s the fun in normal, liefje?”

You knew he was right. Normal was boring. And as much as the terror of the hot lap had made you want to wring his neck, you also wouldn't trade it for anything.

It was another reminder of the chaotic dance you and Max had always been in, a dance of adrenaline, teasing, and a love that ran as deep as the engine roar that had been the background to your lives.

This was your Max, and despite your near-death experience, you wouldn't have him any other way. You stepped out of the car, ready to face the world, and whatever else he decided to throw your way. The camera might have captured your terrified screams, but it had missed the grin that was now plastered across your face.

You were ready for your next match but you were also ready for whatever chaos Max decided to unleash next.

Life with him was never boring, and you wouldn't have it any other way. . . .

The crisp December air nips at your cheeks as you step out of the car, the familiar rumble of Max's engine fading behind you. You pull your coat tighter, adjusting your beanie, a small smile playing on your lips.

The holidays. A welcome respite from the relentless pressure of the tennis circuit. A chance to breathe, to ground yourself before the Australian Open looms. And, most importantly, time with Max.

He's already by the padel court, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he bounces a ball. Lando and Charles are there too, bickering about something trivial, their usual competitive energy already buzzing.

“Took you long enough, slowpoke,” Max teases, tossing the ball to you.

“Traffic,” you retort, catching it easily. “Besides, someone had to pack the snacks, didn’t they?”

Lando groans dramatically. “Snacks? You brought snacks? This is serious competition, woman!”

You raise an eyebrow, a hint of your on-court persona flickering through. “Oh, I thought this was just a friendly get-together. Unless you’re scared, Lando?”

He splutters, Charles chuckling beside him. “Scared? Of you? Please. Just wait until I unleash my padel prowess.”

Max wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Don’t listen to him, liefje. We’ll crush them.”

That Dutch endearment always makes you melt, and a genuine smile spreads across your face. He knows exactly how to disarm you.

The game starts, and the air is filled with the thwack of the ball, playful taunts, and the occasional groan of exertion. You and Max move with a practiced synchronicity, years of playing (and bickering) together evident in your easy communication.

Max is surprisingly good at padel, his reflexes honed by years of racing, and you find yourself relying on his power, setting him up for winning shots.

“That’s cheating! You have your wife on your team,” Lando grumbles, wiping sweat from his brow after another point you and Max win.

“Jealous, are we?” you retort, grinning. “Maybe you should find yourself a tennis champion girlfriend.”

Charles snorts. “Good luck with that. Finding someone who can keep up with you is a challenge.”

You playfully shove Charles’ shoulder. “I’m not that intimidating.”

Max squeezes your hand. “Oh, you are. Especially when you give those death stares on court.”

He's right, of course. You can be ruthless. You have to be. The pressure to stay on top is immense, the media constantly scrutinizing every move, every word. The expectation is suffocating sometimes.

Later, as the sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the court, you’re sitting on the bench, catching your breath.

The score is ridiculously lopsided in yours and Max’s favor. Lando and Charles have conceded defeat, blaming everything from the altitude to the snack selection.

Max sits beside you, his arm draped around your shoulders. “You were amazing out there,” he says, his voice soft. “Like always.”

“So were you,” you reply, leaning into him. “You know, for a race car driver.”

He laughs, a warm, comforting sound. “It's all about reflexes, liefje. And a killer instinct.”

He understands that killer instinct in you, the drive to win, the unwavering focus. He sees it because he possesses it too.

It binds you together, this shared understanding of the relentless pursuit of excellence, the sacrifices required, the price you both pay.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, his eyes searching yours. “With everything… the media, the pressure. Are you okay?”

It's a question he asks often, a constant check-in, a reminder that he’s there, always. It's a tenderness he rarely shows the world, a vulnerability reserved only for you.

You sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder. “It’s tough. The whispers, the judgment… sometimes it feels like I'm living under a microscope.”

“I know,” he says, his voice laced with empathy. “They’re brutal. They try to tear you down because they’re jealous of what you’ve achieved.”

He knows what it’s like to be under that kind of scrutiny, to have every mistake magnified, every victory questioned. He lived it his entire life, his father's relentless expectations and the constant pressure to perform.

You trace a pattern on his jeans with your finger. “It’s different for you, though. You have the car, the team… you’re surrounded by people who support you, who believe in you.”

He takes your hand, his grip firm. “And you don’t?”

You look up at him, your eyes meeting his. “Of course, I do. But it’s… lonely at the top. Everyone wants something from you. It’s hard to know who to trust.”

He understands that too. The isolation that comes with success, the constant questioning of motives.

“You have me,” he says, his voice unwavering. “You always have me. And I know it’s not the same, but Lando and Charles… they care about you too. We all see how hard you work, how much you dedicate yourself to your sport.”

He pulls you closer, his warmth enveloping you. “Don’t let them break you, liefje. You’re stronger than they think. Stronger than you even give yourself credit for.”

His words are like a balm to your soul, a reminder of your strength, your resilience. He sees you, truly sees you, the fierce competitor and the vulnerable woman beneath.

“I know,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “It’s just… sometimes it gets overwhelming.”

He kisses your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “Then let me carry some of the weight. That’s what I’m here for.”

The sun has almost completely disappeared, and the air is getting colder. Lando and Charles are packing up their things, their boisterous energy subdued.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Lando calls out. “We’re heading back. You coming?”

You look at Max, a silent question in your eyes.

He squeezes your hand again. “Go. I’ll stay a little longer. I want to watch the stars.”

You nod, knowing he needs the quiet, the solitude. He finds peace in the vastness of the night sky, a reminder that his problems, his pressures, are small in the grand scheme of things.

You stand up, giving Max one last kiss. “I’ll see you back at the house.”

As you walk away, you glance back at him. He’s sitting on the bench, his head tilted back, gazing at the stars. In that moment, he looks so young, so vulnerable.

The weight of the world, the expectations of millions, seem to melt away, leaving only a man searching for solace in the vastness of the universe.

You know you would do anything for him, fight anyone who dared to hurt him. You are his anchor, just as he is yours.

Later that night, you find him on the balcony, wrapped in a blanket, still staring at the stars. You join him, slipping under the blanket, pressing close to his side.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask, your voice soft.

He lets out a long sigh. “Just… everything. The season, the pressure, the expectations.”

You reach out and take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “You’re going to be okay, Max. You’re the best. You always have been.”

He turns to you, his eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and tenderness. “And you? Are you going to be okay?”

You smile, a genuine, heartfelt smile. “With you by my side? Always.”

You lean in and kiss him, a long, slow kiss that speaks of years of shared history, of unspoken understanding, of unwavering love.

In that moment, under the vast expanse of the starry sky, you are just two people, connected by a bond that transcends the pressures of fame and the demands of the world.

You are simply Max and you, a team, a partnership, a love that has endured the test of time and the scrutiny of the world. And that, you realize, is all that truly matters. . .

[dashamanych]

What if it's all was just a game...

Hi there! I finally can create art again :3 im finally free and i WANT TO TELL YALL A LITTLE ABOUT MY SILLY DONT STARVE AU....

I just had a funny thought... what if there was no magic, no another dimensions, no real survival - what if its all was just imagination of a lonely boy Max (i thought it would be funnier if he'd name his edgy selfsona after himself, so he is not William there)...

He is a fifth grader with a very rich imagination and a rather unpleasant temper. I think one day he found a big notebook in a stationery store that had the first letter of his name on it (maybe it meant "Math," or maybe it was just one of those lame designs for cheap stationery), and just started to pretend that this is some sort of his magic book, lol! After a while, he came up with his own imaginary world where he was the edgy ahh king of nightmares MAXWELL!!!!! He drew all the monsters and stuff as well

But of course that wasnt enough....... He didn't have a very good relationship with his peers, I think. That's why he's exploiting someone younger! One day Max found Wilson, a random third grader, compliant enough to play his games. He came up with a lore for him, annnddd the just played their "don't starve" game, some kind of improvisation roleplay xd ????? Idk how i could call that in english

Sorry for bad translations english is not my mother language x')

Anddd of course there was a girl sitting at the same desk with him, and she really liked him!!! But he didn't seem to notice, because he was too caught up in his imaginary world 😥

Then, however, he will agree to write her as a character in his story!! He didnt know..... That someday shes going to appropriate his setting

"To spite Mom, I'll freeze off my ears."

That's all i have for a while! I'm pretty bad at describing things in words, and I prefer to show rather than tell! ^^" So forgive me being a bit awkward

[dewdropdinosaur]

Kinktober Day 20: Threesome

Summary: You're good with kids, there is no doubt. Heck, you're a kindergarten teacher, you love little ones. Your boyfriends on the other hand, just love how great you are with kids. Maybe it's time to give you one of your own. Warnings: P in V sex, threesome, breeding kink, cum, reader had a vagina, etc. MDNI, 18+. You're responsible for your own media consumption. Kinktober Mention of the Day: @cassandrascottt

You stood at the front of the classroom, laughter mingling with the excited chatter of the students. The vibrant walls were filled with painted art projects, and the scent of crayons and fresh paper lingered in the air. Today’s lesson was all about storytelling, and you had encouraged the kids to use their imaginations, their faces lighting up with every new idea. From being a superhero, a princess, or a dragon, your student’s ideas never failed to excite you. 

As the bell rang, the students began to gather their things, and you smiled, waving them off. “Remember, tomorrow is our storytelling contest! Bring your best tales but make sure they are written in your scrapbook!” The children cheered and scrambled out, their giggles echoing in the hall. The day had ended and while a satisfying one, you couldn’t wait to get back home and snuggle up to some warm food with your boyfriends. Yes, Wade Wilson and Logan were an odd pair by themselves but adding you into the mix seemed to make it all the sweeter (or hornier if you asked Wade). 

Outside, you spotted Wade and Logan leaning against the school’s brick wall. Wade, in a red graphic tee and a pair of black jeans, was animatedly gesturing as he spoke, while Logan, in his classic flannel and jblue eans, looked not as amused, arms crossed over his chest. Your heart swelled, it was moments like this—seeing the two of them together—that reminded you of how unique their relationship was.

“Hey, beautiful!” Wade called out, his voice playful. “How many lives did you ruin today with your educational superpowers?”

Laughing with an eye roll, you replied while approaching the duo. “Just a few. No one will need intensive therapy after my storytelling lesson!”

Logan pushed off the wall, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re doing just fine. Kids need someone who gets them.” He stepped closer, his presence grounding and warm.

As you walked to the car, Wade pretended to swoon dramatically. “Oh, I’m hot for teacher! So captivating! Did you see how the kids hung on your every word? I was this close to signing up for kindergarten myself!” He pinched his fingers dramatically, as if to show just how close he was to sitting in on your class. It would certaintly be interesting.

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “You’d probably scare them off with your face, bub”

A slow blush creeped up your cheeks as Logan opened the car door for you. “You both are ridiculous,” you tried to sound agitated, putting on your best teacher voice, but a shy smile betrayed your amuesment. “But it’s sweet. I’m glad you think I’m good with the kids.”

That caught their attention. They had certaintly talked about it before but now hearing the idea aloud, how good you were with kids thta weren’t even your own, now that sparked an idea. With a quick glance to each other, no words were needed to form the plan that was about to commence. Allowing the thoughts to stew on the ride home, you had no idea of their plan when you entered your shared apartment. Of course, it was messy but the boys had allowed you to decorate it; making it seem less like a college frat dorm room and more like a home. And if their plan came to fruition, it certainy would be a home indeed. 

Suddenly, Logan grabbed yours wrists and pinned you down against the nearest wall. His smoldering gaze glowered down at you as his face leaned down to whisper in huskily in your ear. 

“What do you think about having some kits of your own?” 

“What?” 

Coming to your side, Wade joined his partner in looking down at you. Using his hand to reach around and cup your chin, he brought your shocked gaze to look up at him.

“Dollface, I think peanut here is asking to breed you. And I am certainly not opposed to the idea. I mean I am sure a hundred Tumblr fics have been written about it already—” 

A dark chuckle erupted from Logans throat at Wade’s words, for once he wasn’t annoyed at the merc’s mouth.  As he stood up and let his grip go, both men now stared down at you. After some stumbling and a few apologies to about tripping over variois objects, all three parties ended up in the master bedroom with clothes on the floor. You, laid on the bed and the boy’s eyes darkened with hunger at the sight of your bare form, a silent understanding among them of what was about to happen. 

Wade leaned down and took one of your hardened nipples in his mouth, the warmth of his tongue teasing the aroused bud. Dragging his hands across your torso, he slowly marked your skin with his hands. Logan, instead dipped down and spread your thighs, enjoying the way they felt in his calloused hands. With a whimper, you couldn’t help but arch your back into his touch as he dragged his nose across your slit. The heat from his breath left you soaked with desire, cunt clenching around nothing as you imagined all the things that were about to happen. 

Hoisting your legs up on his shoulders, Logan massaged the tip of his cock against you hole. Not allowed a moment of reprieve, sheathing his heady member into your cunt with one stroke, Wade then bit the corner of your collarbone to distract you from Logan’s actions. He stretched your needy hole,  both of your moaning both at the sight and feeling, the delicious yet somewhat burning friction that both of you so desperately craved.  You gasped at the stretch, gripping the sheets with each strong stroke. The velvet of your walls squeezing Logan so tight that with every exit and entry of his member into your cunt, the ribs of his cock rubbed against you in a painfully delicious way. Wade took initative and slowly started to leave hot wet kisses and nips across the valley of your neck, only pausing to whisper filthy things in your ear as Logan carried out a relentless pace. 

“He’s gonna fuck you so good baby. Think about how good you’ll look, so big and glowing with our baby inside you. You’re gonna be such a good momma. Want us to make you a momma dollface?"

Gosh, he was so hot like this. You hung onto everyword, every image you presented you with. It was addicting, the feeling of Logan inside you, the softness of Wade’s lips worshiping your body as he debauched words continued to send wave after wave of arousal shooting straight down to your already weeping pussy. And you knew it may never happen, you were still on the pill and by all means Wade was infertile with Logan’s ability to breed in question since he was older. 

But by any means, you could certaintly get used to this. 

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

imagine bucky being drunk

warning: kinda spicy at the end

"He's doing it again."

Sam nudged you in the ribs, tearing your eyes away from Carol; who had been giving you the latest details on her life. The two of you frowned but then Carol smirked, nodding to your boyfriend across the small dive bar she had taken everyone to. Bucky was standing next to Steve and he was pretend punching him in the face. Steve was laughing whilst blocking his friend's air punches.

"I love drunk Barnes," Carol sighed contently and you agreed.

"He's so cute when he's drunk."

"Sure, real cute when the tab is over a grand because it takes a whole brewery to get him tipsy."

Ignoring Sam, you promised Carol you'd return to hear the rest of her story and she smirked, holding up her beer. "We have all night."

Stepping away from the table, you smiled at the bickering going on behind you as to who was going to pay for the tab. Leaving Wilson and Danvers to settle that argument, you walked over to the oldest men in the bar. Bucky's eyes moved to you and he grinned like a little puppy, pushing Steve aside to stumble over to you.

"God, you're so cute," he hollered, pretending to grab a piece of you to eat. He consumed air you and you laughed, grabbing his hand before he could take another bite.

Bucky quickly engulfed you into a hug, squeezing so tight you had to holler for him to release you. "I love a good strangling, but let's keep that for the bedroom, babe."

Steve groaned. "Come on, man."

You smirked, allowing Bucky to pull your back against his chest. He wrapped both arms around your waist and rested his head on your shoulders. "Sounds like Stevie boy needs a little fun."

"That's what it sounds like," you echoed Bucky's sentiments and Steve rolled his eyes when you suggested Carol up as a potential booty call. "What? She's fucking hot. Smart. Funny."

"Captain America, Captain Marvel..." Bucky slurred out a burp and the two of you busted into laughter - giggling like children. Steve instantly turned red and that just made the laughter louder until Carol called out to see what was so funny.

"Don't say a word," Steve grumbled under his breath, pulling at his shirt. "...stay here."

Bucky and you watched as Steve made his way to the booth, sliding next to Carol, who smiled at him. Sam looked over to you and Bucky held a hazy finger to his lips - the veteran understood and quickly excused himself from the booth. He didn't bother walking over to Bucky and you, because everyone knew the two of you were ridiculous together, sober or drunk. Most people couldn't stand being in a room with the two of you for more than a few minutes; hands all over each other or worse, jokes and laughter that seemed endless.

Turning to face your boyfriend, you squished his cheeks and he practically beamed. He was totally drunk and you were totally in love. He kissed you on the lips, at first gently but then his grip tightened at your waist and you buckled against his body.

"....so cute I could eat."

"What's stopping you? The bathroom is unisex..."

Bucky practically welp, gathering you up in his arms in a haste. Having a former super solider as a boyfriend had its perks - his stamina was endless, his physique would make a grown man cry, but his strength? That man could lift hundreds of pounds, so no matter your weight - this motherfucker made you feel light as a feather. And boy, you could get him stiff as a board.

"I just know you're thinking nasty shit," he groaned, moving you towards the bathroom.

"I am but pure of heart, James."

Bucky smiled contently, kicking the bathroom open. It was as good as a bar restroom could get. He placed you gently on the sink and made sure the door was locked. Two strides, that's all it took for him to get on his knees and pulling your panties down from under your skirt. His eyes rolled back for a moment as he took in the sight, but then he glanced up at you with a devilish smile as he firmly spread your legs.

"I love you," he whispered right before diving in-between your thighs.

Rendered speechless, all you could do was grip his hair and lean back into the sink mirror; the lowlights flickering as Bucky reminded you how much you loved drunk him. When all his inhibitions disappeared and he got to enjoy the little things in life - which included going to bars with your closest friends, running the highest of tabs, trying to hook up friends, and most importantly, going down on your girlfriend in a dingy bathroom.

[sergeant-angels-trashcan]

CoD girlies (gender neutral), this one is for you. (but also Sam Wilson coded. anyway)

So. My mom was flying home and she had a stopover in The Big Fucking Airport in Chicago, I don't remember the name right now. The point is, she gets Chicago Pizza for me. And cheesecake.

And on the flight home, she is sat next to a military boy (boy is her designation, not mine. She's three weeks away from seventy, this is not a helpful description)

And she starts talking to him, because that is who my mother is, she finds out that he's coming home for the holidays and then he's getting stationed and such-and-such base.

At some point, because of who she is as a person, and because she had spent nearly two months Momming and Grandmothering as hard as she could and had not yet turned it down, she asks this young man if he is hungry. Is he hungry? Does he need food? She has pizza. Would he like the pizza? Oh, no, no it's okay! Take the pizza! it's fine!

He then reveals that this is the first food he's had all day (it's like 4pm) and my mom :0 and finds more food to give him. As they deplane she gives him $20 which is the last of her American cash. This is the end of the story

My mom. is so, so close to being the meddling matchmaker the sitcoms of my youth promised me she would be, and she drops the ball EVERY. TIME.

However, the point is now I can't stop thinking about this with the CoD boys. Maybe it's not even a few weeks before Christmas, maybe it's the day of due to bad luck or whatever idk idk doesn't matter

Honestly Ghost is objectively the funniest just because he'd be about two feet taller than her and she would absolutely not be intimidated by him. At some point she would share stories from before she retired and would say something about how she "had to take down a big boy like you once" and that "I told him it was a good thing my daughters weren't in town". I'm sorry he would be so fucking endeared by this. And he'd track her down somehow to say thanks or to pay her back and then obviously he gets invited in for baked goods and falls in love with you (me)

Gaz is so effortlessly charming. He asks if he can Venmo her money, and she has no idea what that is. Paypal? She doesn't have one. Her daughter does that, she's not very tech savvy, you know? She goes off on a tangent about having to use a typewriter to write papers in college. Gaz is undeterred--could he send it to this daughter and she could pass it on? Then again, maybe this is a teenager, and him having the number of a random teenager feels weird. He's out of time, they're deplaning. She's hard to keep track of, a short woman, but he's, well, Gaz. He spots her making for a car at the curb, the driver's door opening, and presumably the daughter getting out. Gaz makes a beeline for them. After a moment of confusion, you get introduced to Gaz, who tries to explain the situation while you're being yelled at by airport security and honked at by other drivers. It's not ideal--but he gets your number. He waits maybe an hour before texting you.

Soap is the hardest. My mom struggles so much with British accents so I think she'd get about half of what he says to start with. He'd call her bonnie (cos he's a charmer like that) and she wouldn't know what it means. I think she shows him a LOT of grandkid pictures and he's fully endeared by how she knows her oldest grandchild likes linkin park and slipknot while having no clue who they are. Soap is the one who tracks her to the pickup area and books it to your car so neither of you have to lift her luggage ("your mam said you have shoulder troubles, cannae let you make it worse, aye?"). Something something your hands brush as you reach for the same piece of luggage

Price would be a little awkward until she weasels his age out of him and then she realizes: ah! baby age! boy! (man's 40 max). I think he'd be better at getting her to talk, she's absolutely whipping out her phone (complaining about how it's old and doesn't have enough memory) and showing him pictures of the grandkids and a rundown of their hobbies and trash talking my sister's in-laws just a little. I can imagine her realizing he doesn't have a ride and volunteering you to drop him off at a hotel. You pull up to the curb and are like. Who the fuck is this man towering over my mother. He winds up in the front seat because his legs are longer and he turns so he can keep talking to your mom which is pretty sweet to be honest. You drop him off and it's not til you finally get home and start hauling luggage out that you realize he's left something in your car, maybe his phone or a watch, something important. And you heave a big sigh, haul all the luggage in, hug you mom, and trudge back to the car to drive back to the hotel. Or maybe your mom tells you to return it tomorrow, it's too late and it's raining. And the next afternoon she sends you to the hotel with fresh baked goods for him. He asks you out to lunch and suddenly it's 5 hours later and your mom thinks you're dead in a ditch somewhere because you haven't answered her texts. It's because you're too busy flirting.

[melancholymetropolis]

Sex With Me

plot: In which Wade and Logan have fun with with a Southern Belle, who just might have a secret or two

pairings: Deadpool (Wade Wilson) x Succubus!Reader x Logan Howlet

genre(s): Porn with Feelings; Monster Fucking

warnings: unedited (mostly). mentions of domestic violence + medical procedures. Reader has scars. Grumpy Logan. Golden Retriever Wade. Reader has a southern accent. unprotected sex. oral sex (f + male receiving). multiple positions. creampie. creaming (?). femdom. pegging (sub Wade) PIV SEX. pet names (m'lady, good boy, blue belle, etc.) multiple orgasms. PINING. not a threesome. not a foursome *wink wink* but some secret third thing. (it's full of surprises)

song association: Sex With Me - Rihanna

a/n: This has been in my drafts since August. There is a Part I, but it's not necessarily needed.

w.c: 7.5k (all smut)

 The smile on Wade’s scorned face was something of fiction. There was an unbridled joy behind his eyes that was hard to interpret. It almost felt like he was honored to be included. He seemed shocked that his peeping Tom tendencies actually landed him a shot at me. His brown eyes always held a light interest in me; it flickered behind his pupils every time I traded him the lasagna dish. There was a longing behind his humor. Looking back at it, I am shocked he didn’t act on that attraction sooner. Maybe he feared to be rejected or simply he didn’t want to ruin a good thing. But, it was hard to tell, being that one meager suggestion from Logan has the man scrambling over to me like an amateur roller skater.

Maybe seeing his roommate with his head between my legs sparked something in him.

“As much as I want to seek heaven between those soft thighs, I want to be absolutely sure this is what you want, Blue Belle,” Wade said, throwing me a serious expression. “‘Fine’ is not going to cut it. I need your verbal consent that you would like to engage in a menage a trois with me and beast boy over there.”

“Keep making cracks and I will rescind my invitation,” Logan huffed.

“It’s not up to you, caveman,” Wade snapped back. “Beautiful Gorgeous is calling the shots now. Meaning, if she wants me to stay, you’ll have to put up with  these cracks for the rest of our lives.”

“A little ambitious, don’t you think?” I smirked. “Who’s to say this isn’t a one-time thing?”

“Now who’s the one cracking jokes?” His arm circled around my waist. With a gentle tug, our chests were pressed together and our eyes drilling into each other's with an interest that can only be described as unholy. “It's bold of you to assume that I had any interest in letting you go now that I got you.”

“That's hilarious considering I still have the chance to reject your offer,” I chided back.

“I'm not above getting on my knees and begging a pretty little thing for permission to access her body,” he whispered as desire flashed in his eyes. “I actually prefer to be on my knees more than standing up right.”

“I bet you'd prefer it if I'd call you “good boy” from this point on,” I purred, trailing a finger down his spine.

Wade shivered. “You can only call me that from now on. Strike “good” and “boy” from your vocabulary right now.”

“I'll see what I can do, darling,” I cooed, dragging a manicured nail along the side of his neck.

“Every time you speak with that thick syrupy accent, my dick grows harder by the word,” Wade groaned, leaning into my hand. “I'm seconds from making a mess in my jorts.”

“You're wearing a tracksuit,” I chuckled.

“Am I?” he briefly looked down at himself. “I am. Shit, I forgot where I was for a second, Blue Belle. You sure aren't hypnotizing me with your doe eyes, are you?”

“A lady never reveals her secrets,” I smiled.

“I'm going to kiss you now,” he said, pulling me even closer. “Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

His lips pressed against mine in a tender peck. It was to test the waters and provide me a chance to back out. I leaned into him. I kissed him with a ferocity that he welcomed like a lightning strike. Wade shivered beneath my touch and moaned against my lips. His strong hands gripped my rear and massaged its soft tissue gingerly. His fingers tangled in the ruffles of my hand opened sundress as he lifted its skirt from the ground. Another pair of hands slid up my legs as a broad chest pressed against my back. 

A nose ran along the side of my craned neck, swiftly followed by a tongue. The third member of our devil's threesome. His calloused hands nipped and poked at my thighs. Almost like he was fascinated by their softness, as if he wasn't between them moments before. Logan's fingers found the zipper on my left side and dragged the metal piece down. The garment sagged around my body and I reluctantly broke the kiss with Wade. Goosebumps decorated my skin as Logan’s hands assisted in the removal of the dress. He tried to push the sleeves from my shoulders.

“Hold on, baby,” I said, pulling away from the man behind me. “This is an overhead garment. Gotta lift it from the bottom.”

Without saying a word, the men lifted to the oversized skirt from the ground pulled the dress over my head. The cool air in the apartment nipped at my bare skin. I felt my nipples perk beneath the thin material of my bra. My panties sat awkwardly on my hips and thighs due to Logan’s earlier activities. I was pretty sure my wig resembled a bird's nest on my head— yet those men stared at me as if I was the first and only woman they'd ever seen. Wade had a look on his eye as if he were too afraid to touch me. As if I were a fragile being worth shielding and protecting.

Once I turned to fully face hugger, I noticed his eyes were zeroed in on one particular spot. My spine.

“Spinal realignment surgery at 16,” I said with a sad smile. “Hurt like a bitch, wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.”

A calloused finger dragged against my spine slowly. I shivered underneath the featherlike touch and took my bottom lip between my teeth. A different finger, from another palm, traced another familiar spot along my body. 

“Ex husband,” I sighed, a hint of sadness in my tone. “Terrible drunk with great aim.”

“Did he throw a fucking machete at you?” Logan grunted. “That scar is fucking huge.”

A humorless chuckle fell from my lips. “It was a wine bottle. The force of the bottle to my chest knocked me on my back, right onto a beer bottle. It broke and pieces of it lodged into my shoulder.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Blue Belle,” Wade hissed. “I am sorry you went through that. Good thing he’s an ex, because I would have no problem making you a widow within the hour. Scum like that shouldn’t be breathing the same air as you.”

“Agreed,” Logan replied, resting a hand on my hip.

I turned around and took a step back. I took in the expressions of both men before. Their faces were a mixture of anger, dread and anticipation. The desire to murder my ex was evident on their face, however it wasn’t the only form of desire I could see. The men stared at my body in disbelief. In complete shock. They could not fathom someone wanting to inflict harm on me. Even with my twisted underwear and cotton bra, their eyes swallowed me like I was the only water for miles. I watched their hands twitch the longer I stood away from them. Almost like they were itching to feel my skin once more. Their desire to not only defend me from an ex and to remain in constant skin contact made my heart sing.

With a small smile, I lifted my arms behind my back and proceeded to unclasp my bra. The fullness of my breast blossomed against my front and I watched the men’s eyes widened at the sight. Logan was the first to reach me. Hot kisses graced my lips and neck, while his massive hand massaged my bosom. Wade took the area behind me and kissed along my shoulders. When Logan pulled his head away from my neck, he lifted my heavy breast into his hand. Craning his head downward, his mouth latched onto the nipple. The wet heat of his tongue caused me to stumble backward a little bit; Wade’s body caught me from falling backward any more. My hand found the shaggy hair atop the older man’s head and gripped the strands at the roots. He growled at the action and gently nipped the soft tissue of my breast.

A squeal-type moan erupted from my mouth at the action. 

“Ooh, you and wolfy have a mutual kink!” Wade chirped, gripping my hips tightly. “How exciting.”

“W-we do?” I panted, leaning into him.

 Logan moved to the neglected bud; sucking it into his naughty mouth. 

Wade’s hot breath fanned my earlobe as he crouched down to my ear. My senses were going haywire from the stimulation those men were giving me. My thoughts were squiggly lines floating in my skull; forming words was starting to get harder by the second.

“Logan loves to bite during sex,” Wade whispers, slipping his band into my waistband. His calloused fingers slid against my damp curls and straight to my oozing lower lips. “Maybe it is his wolfy nature, or whatever. Leaves me covered in marks every time we fuck. I am particularly indifferent  from the notion. But you.” His calloused fingertips found my aching bud almost instantly. “Seem to enjoy being nipped by the beast.”

As if on queue, Logan bit my other breast; earning a moan from me. 

“Keep your eyes on me,” the older gentleman growled, eyes drilling into me. “Don't let him distract you.”

“Someone's jealous,” Wade said in a singsong voice.

“Wade, please, shut the fu—”

“Afraid I might steal her from you?”

“Wade, I swear to—”

“I need to tell you something,” I interjected, pulling away from both gentlemen. Their eyes snapped to me. “Before we go any further.”

“Do you have a third nipple?” Wade asked, looking at my breasts intensely. 

Logan just rolled his eyes and crossed his arms against his chest. He gave me a serious look. I watched him inhale deeply and his whole body shiver in the process. His pupils gradually dilated and I could see the goosebumps start to prick his skin. My eyes turned to Wade and his reaction was similar. But, instead of goosebumps, his face flushed a deep crimson. I could feel my true essence start to fill the room and its scent was stronger then. The familiar coolness of fog gathering at my feet sent chills to my body and I felt my eyes roll back. The fog rose from its place at my ankles and wrapped around me like a hug. My skin vibrated beneath the cold cloak and my feet slowly started to lift from the ground. The fog spun around me faster and I felt my skin suddenly grow hotter. There was a distinctive ache on the very top of my head and between my shoulder blades. The tissue stretched and then pulled right back to me. Almost like it never left.

My eyes snapped open, but my eyes rolled to the back of my head. My neck craned backward and my wig slipped from my head. My neatly braided hair was exposed underneath. Each row started to slowly unravel, unleashing my coils. My humidity from the fog made my hair puff up and the mysticism in the air sculpted it to a perfect afro. Fingers laced with mine within the fog and their coldness warmed my heart. 

My feet gradually lowered onto the ground and the fog started to retract back into the earth. 

When I opened my eyes, I saw both men before: slack-jawed.

“There’s. . . two of you. . . “ Logan tried to say. “What . . . ?”

“I gotta admit, Blue Bell, when you said you had something to show us, I'd thought it was an extra body part or something,” Wade said in disbelief. “Not a whole person. I mean this is more than unexpected, but I cannot say I'm mad about it.”

The cold fingers slipped from mine and I turned to Violet. Her smile was wide, exposing all of her pointy teeth. Her glowing eyes were the shade of burning coal. A chorus of deep orange and yellow. Her imposing horns, somewhat hidden underneath her massive (matching) afro. They arched backward slightly and then tilted up slightly; almost like the letter “S”. Her skin was a deep, rich purple. almost resembling the color of cartoon grapes (🍇). Her fingers and feet were pitch black, which gradually faded to the juicy purple color. Like they dipped in black ink. Each finger was topped with two inch, black stiletto nails. Two, imposing violet and black wings sat neatly behind her. Along with a slim, long tale.

Violet raised her arms over her head and released an exaggerated sigh. “It's good to be free. Jesus, how long have we been merged? A month? Two? I lost count.”

“It's been a week, Violet,” I replied with a chuckle. “Remember, you helped bake the cookies for the funeral?”

“Right! The one for Mary Joe,” the purple woman shook her head. “May she rest in peace. Always liked her. She had a mean tongue. I don't think I've ever come so hard just from oral.” The purple woman fanned herself. “Ooh, I'm getting hot just thinking about it. Gone too soon, I say.”

Someone cleared their throat and brought our attention over to them. It was Logan. A furrow sat between his brow and his eyes were narrowed. The arms across his front made his chest look even bigger. His eyes shot between us, the question lingering in his eyes.

“What exactly.  .  . are you?” His question was careful, but still had some edge to it. 

“Testy testy, that one,” Violet said, shaking her head. “I don't get what you see in him.”

“Be nice,” I whispered, before turning to Logan. “Before I answer that question, I would like to point out that I know you both aren't human. I know that you are not in the plumbing business and I know exactly what you do for money. So, let's not point the finger just yet, Mr. Howlet.”

“You sneaky minx!” Wade finally spoke up. “You've been spying on little ‘Ole me?”

“Not me,” I replied with a smirk. “Her.” I nodded to Violet.

“Guilty as charged,” she chirped, raising her hand. “I mean, how could I not? You guys are a smoke show! Plus, I wanted to split Logan in two for being a bastard, but Y/N wouldn't let me.”

“Because I knew he'd just regenerate shortly after,” I sighed.

“Still would've been satisfying,” she shrugged. “Besides, he deserved it. Who rejects lasagna? Especially with homemade pasta sheets?! An absolute jerk-off that's who!”

“I knew you made the pasta from scratch!” Wade exclaimed. “Nothing that good could come from a box. I was just telling wolfy—”.

“We're getting off topic,” Logan interjected. “You never answered the question.”

“Stop being such a grumpy old man and let the pretty girls talk. You're such a wet blanket.” Wade narrowed his eyes at him before turning back to us. “Don't let his faux disinterest fool you. This fucker eats more than half of the treats you make for me. Practically leaving me crumbs in the pyrex dish. Selfish bastard he is.” 

“Don't worry, baby, mama's gonna make something special just for you,” Violet cooed, dragging her nails across his earlobe, making the man shiver. She brought her hot mouth close to his ear and whispered. “Don't you like cinnamon rolls, darling?”

“More than anything, actually,” Wade groaned, leaning into her touch. “Anything sticky, sweet and spicy will always have my cock. I mean my heart. Shit both of them.”

My eyes flickered over to Logan. “The answer is I am both human and succubus. Violet is the physical manifestation of my demon side and I, currently, am the physical manifestation of my human side. We are not twins, nor are we related. We are two conscious beings that often share a body. Two sides of the same coin.”

“Think of us as the literal representation of the angel and devil on your shoulder,” Violet said, trailing her claws down Wade's abs. “She's the angel, despite her poor taste in men.” 

“Ouch,” I feigned offense.

“And I am the devil,” she continued on, ignoring me.

Logan looked between us two. “So, you are not a mutant?”

I shook my head. “Just the product of an unholy union between a god fearing Christian woman and an incubus.”

He hummed slowly and, with one swift movement, our chests were pressed against each other. “I apologize for being an asshole and hurting your feelings. You didn’t deserve that and I am sorry.” His words were gentle, just like his embrace. They made my heart flutter and my body warm.

“You should apologize to Wade for eating his lasagna,” I purred, drawing circles on his collarbone. “That wasn't very nice.”

“I'm not going to apologize for something I don't regret,” he huffed, pulling me tighter. “I enjoyed every single bite of it and I will do it again with the next dish you've brought.”

“You're so greedy,” I chuckled. “You don't deserve any lasagna after the things you've done. Don't think a few licks and kisses will make me change my mind. You were so cold, I could've shown you hated me.”

“Quite the opposite actually,” Wade groaned, while Violet slid her hand in his pants. “He practically parks his ass by the window every time tend to your lawn. And watches you like a creep. He even scares off some rowdy teenagers trying to pluck your roses. Real protective that one.”

“Oh really?” I said with a smile. “Since when did you become so infatuated with me, Sir Lancelot?”

“From the beginning,” he mumbled, looking away from me. “I've never hated you. I just thought. . . that your generosity was conditional at first. That you'd ask us for something after a little while. You never did. Even when you should've. No lady should have to clean her own gutters or change a tire.”

“I’ll be sure to call you the next time I need a big, strong man to save me from chores,” I replied, pulling his face closer to mine. 

“You better,” Logan  grumbled before pressing his mouth to mine. 

The kiss was slow and seductive. I felt my body slowly melt against his the longer we embraced. My hands slowly found themselves in his hair as he gripped my waist tightly.  With just a few inches difference in our heights, I could feel his bulge run against my pelvis. His was so hard it warped the fabric. His  hands moved lower down my legs and he crouched his body lower to reach them. The grumpy man lifted me off the ground and hooked my legs around his waist.

 I broke the kiss with a gasp and wrapped my hands around his neck. “Whisking me away, are you?”

“My lady has been on her feet for far too long,” he replied, a devilish grin on his face. 

He'd never admit it, but I could tell the bastard loved to roleplay. 

A moment later, my back collided with the soft surface of a mattress. My body bounces a little from the impact and it earns a giggle from me. Logan crawls atop the bed, hovering over my smaller form. A goofy smile on his lips.

“You're so beautiful when you laugh,” he declares, capturing my lips once more.

I moaned, already getting addicted to the taste of him. My hands slide under his shirt and I start to push the garment up his abdomen. He breaks the kiss briefly before tugging it over his head. Logan moans against my mouth as my hands undo his belt buckle and jean closures. My fingers slide down the open space and cup his hard length. The man sucks in a breath and tears away from the kiss. He rested his forehead against mine and stared directly into my eyes. 

“Is my lady getting restless?” He asked, the heat of his gaze making me sweat.

“You have no idea,” I replied, squirming underneath him. “If I get any wetter, I could ring out my panties. All this foreplay has got me oozing. I'm seconds away from ripping your pants off and riding you like a stallion.”

“I wouldn't be opposed to such an act,” he replied with a laugh.

“Good to know,” I said. “Now lie on your back.”

“Yes, ma'am”.

With my panties off, I climbed back on the bed, right atop of Logan. I swung my leg over his face and placed my oozing cunt just inches from that hot crevice of a mouth. The older man groaned loudly and brought both of his hands to my ass. He massaged the soft tissue slowly, nipping the dimpled cheeks lightly. Arching my back, I gave him better access to the glistening folds. I placed both hands on his abdomen and brace myself. 

Logan, the sweet man he is, didn't say a word. He simply opened his mouth and dragged his tongue along the oozing slit. A shiver danced through me as he repeated the action several times before placing his mouth on my folds and sucking. His naughty tongue lapper against my pearl with a hunger I've briefly seen before. The man beneath me was starving and aching for me. His tongue attacked the underside of my clit with a pressure and a pace that left me breathless. My original plan was to take him in my mouth while he feasted upon me. But, by how he worked that mouth, Logan wanted me to focus on one thing. And that was coming on his face. 

My hips rolled against his face as my nails dug into his thighs. My lower half was completely smothering his face, but the mutant wouldn't have it any other way. 

Although my legs were quaking, I still managed to undo the buttons of his jeans and freed the tent at the crotch. The girth of his member had me whimpering. Due to my height, I was just able to wrap my fist around the shaft, even then, only my fingertips touched. I brought the tip near my lips and circled my tongue around it. The man below sucked in a breath and smacked my rear lightly. I yelped at the sudden action and rolled my hips against his face once more. Logan groaned and continued to attack my folds. He licked and sucked the area right below my clit, never really touching the bundle of nerves. Inch my inch, I took the shaft in my mouth. Since the angle was awkward, I could only get the member about halfway inside. I used my hand to make up the difference. I bobbed my head slowly at first, experimenting with my movements and highlighting my limits.  Gradually, I moved quickly against him; hollowing my cheeks in the process. I felt the man groan underneath me, his breathing picking up as I worked my mouth on his cock. I felt the member twitch within my mouth before Logan finally stopped teasing me. 

With a subtle tilt of my hips, Logan’s plush lips found my pearl and began to suck. Hard. My mouth fell open and the member fell from my lips. The moans coming from my throat were unrecognizable as I started to fiercely grind on his face.

“Just like that,” I panted, digging my nails in his thighs. “Keep doing that and I am gonna cum.”

As my eyes flickered closed, an image came into focus. It was Wade. His arms were raised above his head, bound by something— maybe handcuffs or rope. His eyes were heavily lidded and his lips slightly ajar. The rise and fall of his chest was quick. Almost as though he were panting. Thick ropes of milky cum painted his rippling abs and it just kept spilling from his cock. A black hand moved along the length in short, quick bursts; squeezing tightly as it went. It was then that I noticed that Wade was holding his muscular thighs in the air. Exposing the bright purple toy slipping in and out of his slick center. The silicone dildo rested in the center of Violet’s apex, held up by a leather harness and silver D rings. It was our prized position for many reasons, but the main one being that it was double ended. I could feel Violet’s pleasure pool in her belly the longer she pounded into Wade. Her thighs were trembling and her breathing was just as hoarse as Wade’s. 

She was seconds from cumming.

As was I. 

I could feel my walls begin the quiver against his face, desperately aching to be filled by something. It hadn’t come. Yet. The moans spilling from my lips started to grow louder in pitch as a pool started to fill in my stomach. Tingles started to erupt underneath my skin. It started at my fingers and toes, making its way up my limbs and settled in my mid section. My entire being was ablaze and the pleasure was intensifying by the second. I could feel Violet’s orgasm building, just as I was sure she felt mine. It was deeper and more intense. 

Another image came to mind. Her palm stopped stroking Wade’s cock mid-stroke. She snatched her fingers from the member and started to move her hips faster. Hammering into the man at an inhuman pace. His eyes widened from the change and his grip tightened on his thighs. Breath caught in his throat, he simply nodded fiercely at the demon. Silently begging she wouldn’t stop. The toy dug deeper in both parties, ferociously attacking their pleasure points. I could hear Violet begin to yell in the next room, her passionate shouts shaking the walls.

My eyes started to roll to the back of my head as a silent scream fell from my lips. All feeling left my body as the orgasm washed over me. My hips rolled against Logan’s face, humping his mouth with little mercy. I desperately sucked in a gust of air, before releasing a loud moan. 

“Lord, help me!” I cried, gripping his thighs for dear life. “I’m cumming! Holy fuck!”

Even with my eyes tightly closed, I knew the mist was rising from the ground and swiftly engulfing my body. Tingles reverberated underneath my skin and made the hair on the back stand up. A golden light pierced the back of my eyelids as the last glorious seconds of the climax took over Me. I rolled my hips against his face, chanting his name in the process. I never wanted his lips to leave my quivering cunt, but I knew that was unrealistic. Especially with what awaited me when I opened my eyes.

As the fog dissipated, I found myself in a new location. I blinked several times and took in the scene before me. My body was not hovering over Logan, but pressed against another. My breasts nestled against a hard chest and my thighs were on either side of a narrow waist. My soft tummy pressed against a set of sticky abs. Resting just below my apex, poking my inner thigh, was someone's else's cock. Wade's, to be specific.

His eyes were wide with disbelief at the sight, rapidly scanning my face to see if this was really happening. 

“Did you guys just.  .  . switch places?” He asked, gripping his wrist restraints tightly. 

“More or less”, I said with a shrug.

“Well smack my ass and call me Sally!” He replied with a chuckle. “You two are just full of surprises, huh?”

“You could say that,” I chuckled, tracing a nail along his ear.

“What else you got up your sleeve, Blue bell?” Wade groaned at the sensation. “Anything else you'd like to share with the class?”

I could feel his member perk up against my thigh with every other pass of my finger. He was growing hard and  faster than I had originally anticipated. Wade had wanted me. His attraction was not a surprise as the massive man wore his brain on his sleeve. His thoughts were free to anyone that would listen and his actions. . . as transparent as glass. Wade wanted me from the first moment I knocked on his door with the lasagna dish. I saw his lingering glances on my body and I hadn’t minded. He was a hunk of a man and I felt myself in need of a ride.

I lifted myself from my position on his chest and placed both hands on his pecs. My knees rested on either side of his slim waist as my hot cunt rested on his lap. His member twitched beneath me. His eyes became hooded and the scorned man tugged at the cuffs at his wrists.

“Are you sure you're not an angel?” Wade said with jagged breaths. “Because you look downright heavenly in this position. Hands on my chest. Wet pussy smothering my cock. That seductive look in your eye that tells me you're about to do something that's gonna make me cum like a fountain. God, you're so beautiful. I'm probably gonna spill just looking at ya. Say something, gorgeous. Because if you don’t, I’m gonna keep—”

My hips rolled against his throbbing length, earning a groan from the male. “You’re so hard for me, despite just spilling all over yourself moments ago.”

“Keep moving like that and I’m gonna spill again,” he growled, moving his hips in rhythm with mine. 

“If you’re a good boy, I’ll let you spill inside me,” I cooed, digging my nail in his chest.

His groans turned to whimpers. “Please, Blue Belle,” Wade begged, pulling at his restraints. “Please let me fill that hot, dripping pussy with my cock. I’ve been waiting for that since the moment I met you. If I have to wait any longer, I’m gonna make a fool of myself. Please, darling. I need you.”

A smirk found my lips. “I didn’t even have to ask you to beg,” I said, lifting my hips from his member. I lifted a hand from his chest and brought it between our joint bodies. I gripped the thick shaft and aligned it with my entrance. “Just for that, you get your wish.” 

Slowly, I sunk onto his awaiting cock. A gasp ripped from my lips as a groan came from Wade. Followed by a curse. Inch by Inch, I took him. Pumping my hips slowly to make the process faster. I placed both hands on his chest once more and started to grind against Wade. The head of his member pushed against a spot I almost forgot I had. My legs quivered at the friction. Wade had a smug look on his face and, in that moment, I knew we were both thinking the same thing: I wasn’t going to last long. With that thought resting at the front of my mind, I decided to make the best of our predicament. I tilted my body a bit forward, and pressed my palms harder against his chest. I widened the position of my thighs, arched my back and pressed my knees firmly on the mattress. Once my body was stable, I started to move. I didn’t give the bastard the satisfaction of easily getting into it; I threw my ass back with the vindication of a seasoned professional.

“Oh! Oh God!” Wade exclaimed, gripping the headboard. “Jesus. . . Fuck!”

The length of his member was not surprising, since everything about Wade oozed big dick energy. He was cocky, arrogant and well endowed. It was the girth that surprised me. It was thicker than I was used to. It stretched my slick canal with passion. My walls were pulsing intensely from the intrusion. God, how I wanted to be filled like that in such a long while. Wade had stretched me in ways I didn’t think was possible, at least not anymore. Logan had done his partner a disservice by giving me such an intense orgasm from oral. The desire to be filled was prevalent. Sure, cumming on the tongue of a beautiful man was great, but the thought of being absolutely hammered by his member was another. 

My eyes flickered closed as pleasure zapped through me like a lightning strike. Through the foggy haze of my incoming climax, I could see a pillow, through Violet’s eyes. The position of the pillow was moving, almost like it was being moved back and forth at a quick pace. Or, Violet was being moved in that sequence. The succubus briefly lifted her head from the plush surface and craned her neck backward. Logan came into view. He was shirtless and sweat coated his body. His teeth were clenched and face was contorted. His hips moved at a pace that could only be described as brutal. Just how Violent liked it. The demon preferred to be in change. She took her position of dominatrix very seriously. But, there were times when she liked to switch, when the partner was powerful enough to dominate her. It seemed like Violet had met that partner. Logan was pounding into her like he hated her. Fast and hard. He was also muttering words I couldn’t necessarily make out, but knowing Violet, it was probably something scandalous.

The sight of Logan losing control had earned a moan out of me. He looked so hot when behaving so erratically. I was so distracted by the sight that I almost missed the set of hands gripping my wrists. Almost. My eyes snapped open and looked down at Wade. The cuffs that bound his wrists dangled from the headboard, still in tack. 

“How did you—”

“A magician never shares his secrets,” he snickered. “Now, press your chest against mine. I would like to try something.”

“Taking charge, pet?” I jested, leaning forward.

“Only trying to keep your attention,” he replied, wrapping his arms around me. “At least while I got you.”

Before I could respond, Wade moved his hips upward, effectively thrusting into me from below. A startled moan spilled from my lips as I hooked my arms underneath his shoulders. Once grasping his body tightly, the man beneath me began to thrust. Hard and fast. He matched the pace I had originally set for our union. He didn’t have the patience to wait for the future, to see if I were to switch places once more. Instead, he was going to milk every moment that we had together. 

“That’s it, Blue Belle,” Wade growled, digging his fingers in my sides. “Scream for me.”

I hadn’t known I was screaming until he pointed it out. My mind was simply in a state of shock. I knew that Wade was not an innocent man, by a landslide, and that he was not purely submissive. But, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that he was so good at playing both positions. The bumbling, needy sub and the insatiable dominant. A true switch. 

The way his cock dug inside me was evidence that he excelled at being in charge. My legs shook at the intensity of the position and  the depth of him. My walls pulsed around him, squeezing tightly, as a familiar feeling in my belly grew. I was close.

“Wade. . .” I trailed off.

“I know, gorgeous,” he grunted, eyes flickering over my face. “I know.”

“I-I’m. . . mmm— oh lord!” 

The remaining strength within my being had quickly dissipated and I felt my body completely mesh with Logan’s. My breasts were pressed against his chest and my head fell in the crook of his neck. I held him tighter, as his cock managed to hit that pleasure point directly with each thrust. Second by second, my body grew taut. My muscles started to lock as my mouth slowly opened. My eyes slowly rolled back as I started to pant heavily. The pressure in my belly had spilled over and an indescribable sensation had overcame me. 

I was cumming, hard.

“That’s it, baby,” Wade encouraged. “There you go. Cum for me.”

A jagged breath fell from my lips as I whined atop the man. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“Never,” he replied, a smile in his voice.

A string of curses left my lips as the wave of pleasure kept rolling over me. I never wanted it to end. I never wanted to part from that room. Part from Wade. But, I knew it was coming. The coolness of the mist had inched up my feet and started to swirl at my legs. It was only then that I felt the faint burst of Violet’s pleasure. She had reached her peak, the same time I had reached mine. Again. Meaning, it was time to switch. 

I looked down at Wade, who’s hips were starting to stagger. His face was pulled in a pinched expression and I felt his body suddenly shudder. He was close. The mist had started to collect around my form, but I kept it at bay. Mentally stalling the switch, just for a few seconds. Wade kept hammering into me until his hips halted, in mid thrust. His member pulsed aggressively before shooting hot spurts of cum inside me. I moaned at the sensation and rolled my hips against him.

“Give it to me, pet,” I said, pressing kisses to his face. “Fill me with your seed.”

Wade let out a strangled cry before collapsing on the bed. His member still pulsed, but oozed instead of squirting.

“God, you really are a dream,” he said, satiated. 

“Only to you.”

Upon opening my eyes, I was greeted with another panting man. Instead of being situated beneath me, Logan was directly above me. His dark brown eyes poured into me, a mixture of various emotions behind them. Relief. Astonishment. Desire. Longing. He was waiting for my return in his arms. And by the look on my face, I knew we shared the same desire. Logan’s lips were on mine before I could utter a single syllable. The weight of his body damn near suffocated me as he pulled me closer. Held me tighter. My legs hooked around his waist. Our nude pelvises grinding against one another. His cock gradually hardened from the action and I became even wetter than I already had.

“I’ve been waiting for you, M’lady,” Logan said, breaking the kiss. “I hope you’ll  have me.”

My chest glowed at his use of roleplay. “I will,” I said, running a hand in his hair. “But, you must promise to be gentle. Wade did a number on me.”

Logan growled at the last bit, but didn’t mention it. Instead, he gently lifted his lower half from mine and took his member in hand. Slowly, he sunk into my awaiting center— earning a moan from the both of us. There was more of him than Wade. He had been bigger in length, but also in girth. The more he inched in me, the more grateful I was for the switch. It would’ve taken a bit longer to adjust  to Logan’s size. Wade had not only stretched me something devious, but made me wet enough to take him easily. 

When successfully connected, Logan started to roll his hips against me. It wasn’t a thrust, but also wasn’t a grind. A happy medium between both. The position was simply tantalizing. With every motion, his pelvis ground against my clit, sending sparks up my spin. Within seconds, I was squirming beneath the hulking man. My nails digging his shoulders and my mouth moaning up a storm. His member was deep and practically digging within me. It was hitting all the right places— he was hitting all the right places. The sickening pace he had set had my legs shaking shortly after our union. My walls pulsed around him, possibly squeezing his haft mercilessly. I was getting wetter by the thrust, practically dripping for him. 

“I’m not going to last long, knight,” I panted, my head falling back on a pillow. 

“Keep squeezing me like this and neither will I,” he replied through gritted teeth. 

Our lips found each other once more. The kiss was sensual and seductive. My body started to lax the more we stayed tangled together. The need for me to grip Logan for stability was no longer. I was perfectly situated on the mattress and the hulky man didn’t complain. He continued to fuck me like the world was ending it that was our last night together. Logan wanted to relish in whatever moment we had together, knowing it could be fleeting. Knowing I could go back with Wade.

A subtle gnawing within my belly started to grow. The pleasure that was steadily growing had reached the rim. A throaty sigh spilled from my lips as I gripped the sheets. I turned my head to the side, unable to sustain the heat of his gaze. Unlike the last two approaches to climax, I couldn’t see through Violet’s eyes, nor feel her pleasure. The simple observation could mean a lot of things. The first being that she no longer wanted to share her sight with me; which was doubtful. Violet was an exhibitionist. She loved to be watched. The second being that she was not engaging in sexual activities. That was severely unlikely. Or the third, she was waiting for something to happen. Waiting for the big reveal. Something that rarely happened.

Like a cup under a faucet, pleasure pushed me over the edge. My body tensed slightly as I felt all the sound drift away from my ears. My eyes squeezed shut and my mouth hung open for a silent scream. My hips met Logan’s thrusts, further grinding my clit into his pelvis. My walls pulsed slowly; clenching his member in long intervals before releasing. My toes curled as my heels dug into the mattress. The breath I was holding came out in a rush as a wheezing sound came from my throat. My womanhood was oozing around Logan’s member, wetting us both, and making a mess beneath my ass. The words “keep going” fell from my lips at some point, but it didn’t register to my ears. 

To his credit, Logan didn’t stop. 

He kept his sensual pace, making the climax feel everlasting. 

It wasn’t until significantly later that I felt his thick cock violently twitch within me. His hips stopped their delectable grinding— moments before thick ropes of cum filled my walls once more. Opening my eyes, I caught the older man engulfed in bliss. Body trembling above mine as his fingers dug deep in the mattress. There was a sorta glow that took over his face, almost making him look ethereal. As his body slowly lost tension, his pinched expression began to relax and his eyes lazily opened. Before slapping open completely. Logan stared at me for a moment, before rearing back, slipping out of me and stumbling off the bed.

Horrified, I gathered the sheets around me and quickly covered my body. I sat up and peered over the bed. Logan’s mouth fell open as we locked eyes once more. He remained motionless on the ground, staring at me wildly. Eyes looking above my head, behind my and then back to my face. 

“What is the matter with you?” I hissed, becoming increasingly annoyed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Your wings are showing, Honey,” Violet’s voice sounded from the doorway. “Along with your halo”.

I reached a hand behind my back and immediately felt soft feathers brush against my palm. “Fuck,” I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“Fuck is right!” Wade exclaimed, pushing past Violet to enter the room. “You’re a fucking angel! Holy shit! Maybe, I shouldn’t have said that. My apologies.” Wade processed to cross himself before pressing his palms in a prayer position. 

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Logan asked, scrambling to his feet. 

“Because everyone I sleep with has the same reaction,” I said, wrapping my sheet tighter against my body. “Unbridled shock and then a devotion to their ‘Lord and Savior’. And besides, I’m still getting used to this development.”

“Used to it?” Violet interjected, once again. “It’s been fifty years! You had more than enough time to get used to it!”

“Fifty years!?” Wade screamed. “How old are you?”

I groaned and shot Violet a nasty look. “125.”

The man looked between both Violet and I, before shooting a look at Logan. “Even with a literal angel in the room, you are still the oldest bastard here. Wow.”

I opened my mouth to ask the most obvious question ever, but Logan’s answer stopped me.

“I’m 167,” he replied in a bored expression.

“Wade is right. You really are an old bastard,” Violet said. As if a lightbulb erupted in her head, her eyes widened and then narrowed menacingly. “What wars did you fight in?”

“Violet!” I exclaimed. 

“You were too young for the Civil War,” she continued. “But, you must’ve fought in the World Wars. So, which side were you on? Matter of fact, where were you during the Civil Rights movement?”

I opened my mouth to object, but decided against it. 

I, too, wanted to know the answer. 

Even Wade was quiet for once. 

“What kind of question is that!” Logan shot to his feet. “Of course, I wouldn’t side with the oppressive regime of 1940s Germany or the segregation of non-white people. I cannot believe you would suggest I would do otherwise!”

“I don’t know,” Violet shrugged. “A lot of immortal men have questionable pasts.”

“She’s right, wolfy,” Wade piped up. “You’d be surprised how many people sided with the south back in the day.”

“And, how old are you, Wade?” I asked, changing the subject.

“45, as of today!” He chirped. “And honestly, this is the best birthday present I could’ve ever gotten! Fucking an angel and a succubus in one day? There is no better way to celebrate.”

“Wait,” Logan turned to me. “You weren’t born an angel. You became one, right? Half a century ago. How did that happen?”

“Well. . .” I looked over at Violet, who made a playful gesture of zipping her lip shut. “When our husband almost killed us, my mother made a bargain with her god to bring me back. In order to do that, he had to split my soul in half: the human side and the demon side. He couldn’t necessarily destroy the demon side, so he allowed it to remain. But, he granted me the status of angel to my human side to save my life.”

“Must be nice to be God’s favorite,” Wade grumbled. 

“You have no idea,” Violet and I said in unison. 

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Taglist

@amagaygirl @ficslutt @thabiddie23 @m1sk1n3 @dreaded---existence @collardbysimonriley @lovelymaniat @seasonofthenerd @eat-a-friggin-snickers @blue-rae18 @twinky-wink @bunnybabe-babydoll @l-o-v-e-g-a-l-o-r-e @cillasversion @aripariii @jessjessmarvelandhp

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a/n: before you fight me, just know that life has been lifng. I didn’t intend on being gone this long. I'll try to post more often. With that being said, Claggor fic coming soon.

[avocado-writing]

8 anon here! Could I request a short fic where poly Logan and Wade angered gn s/o because they had to fight a supervillain alone as both of them argued with each other so their punishment for both men is to spank them please? They made sure to asked for consent & took good care of them later though!

18+. minors dni.

Wade is naked and laid out across your lap, and Logan’s cock is twitching in interest.

A couple of months ago he’d have written anything like this off as the fantasy of a dirty old man. Never thought he’d be in a relationship again, let alone one with two other partners, especially with one of those partners being Wade fucking Wilson.

Fate is strange. 

“Will you hurry up?” Wade sighs as your hand traces the peach of his ass. You cock an eyebrow.

“You’re meant to be getting punished.”

“It’s not a punishment when it feels so good, baby, you know that. I can get off from anything.”

“Hmm. Maybe I should take off my underwear, shove ‘em in your mouth. Make you shut up for a little bit.”

As demonstration you dip your fingers between his lips, pressing his tongue down flat. Wade moans around them and starts to suck.  

You smile at Logan from across his body. Logan huffs as if he’s irritated, and not incredibly turned on.

Another fight, another instance of getting down and dirty with some fucker who wanted to hurt people. Luckily the three of you are far better at that particular task… usually. Wade had said something stupid which had set off his short fuse and rather than working together to stop the real threat, they’d got distracted with trying to fucking kill each other. 

Leaving you to have to work it alone.

You’d done it, because you’re fantastic, but your face was full of thunder when the three of you had got back to the apartment. Logan pulled a katana out of his kidney. Wade was regrowing the fingers that claws had sliced off. You’d pulled a packet of peas out of the freezer and held them to a bruised eye.

“I’m not fucking happy, boys.”

“Pookie, we’re—” Wade begins, but a raised hand silences him.

“I think you’d better go to the bedroom.”

There was a steeliness in your voice Logan hadn’t heard before, but from the way Wade whipped off his mask, he definitely had.

“Oh shit? Now?”

You’d cocked your head towards the bedroom and he’d been off like a shot, leaving his suit strewn across the apartment floor. You’d turned to Logan.

“C’mon. You’re in trouble, too.”

He’d been interested enough to follow.

Your hand traces over the Wade’s ass as Logan watches from the chair in the corner of the bedroom - “sit in the cuck chair, old man, and enjoy the show!” “Wade, don’t call it the ‘cuck chair’, my grandpa bought us that.” “Your grandpa is a freak babe, dunno what to tell you.” - before striking down so hard that the slap echoes. Wade moans around the fingers still stuffed in his mouth. You do it again with more power, and Logan watches the way he humps into your leg in response. You smile. You’re striking with such force that it would probably be way too much for a normal man… but Wade isn’t normal. He likes the pain and he can take it.

And take it he does. 

Your hand comes down over and over again, making the man in your lap devolve into more and more of a mess. Garbled groans turn into little mewls of pleasure that you tear from his throat, his cock making a mess onto the bedding beneath you, and Logan stares transfixed. He’s hard in his jeans. He can’t tear his eyes away. He feels like he’s watching something he shouldn’t be even when it’s blatantly on display, and it’s never made him feel so hungry in his life. When you watch him reach to adjust his aching cock, you point an accusatory finger his way.

“Hands where I can see ‘em, Howlett. This is a punishment.”

He obeys. He doesn’t have to, but there’s something in your voice which doesn’t bear arguing with. Arousal runs through his blood hot and heavy. You turn your attention back to Wade who is desperate for it, and after a couple more strikes he cums all over your leg. You’ve not even touched his cock.

“Good boy,” you whisper, moving him so you’re able to kiss him soft and slow, hand which was so vicious now gently stroking the area you’ve left bright red.

“Holy… holy shit…” Wade breathes, blissed out and miles away.

“I’ll grab you some water, honey. You did so well, huh? You can be so well-behaved when you want to be, hmm?” 

You fix Logan with a smile.

“Then afterwards, it’s your turn.”

Logan’s cock throbs at the promise.

taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw1 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk

[chxrryhansen]

౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Cherry’s Cevans One Shot Rec List

here you will find all of my favourite chris evans + characters fanfiction recommendations, i have many more to add and will continue to update this list. Please don’t forget to reblog these amazing writers fics as they deserve so much love!💘💘

Walk On The Wild Side - @hansensgirl

you just wanted to go for a stroll down the road—but he wants you to take a walk on the wild side. (Dark!Chris Evans)

You Better Not Pout, Better Not Cry - @hansensgirl

they know if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake. (Dark!Multi character) - i would add every single one of her fics to this list if i could💘

Sinful Devotion - @evansbby

Lloyd promises to let you go, but he demands a depraved repayment. (In other words, Lloyd pops your cherry)- my favourite writer in the whole universe💘

Smothered With Bliss - @whereireid

Is it hard being married to the most influential man in America? You most certainly think it is. — Steve Rogers: Captain America, the heart of his nation, the soul of his country. After returning home from a particularly bad day at work, Steve finally snaps, deciding you need re-educating on how to be the perfect housewife.

The Night - @misshoneybee

Working as the Barber family's nanny is a piece of cake, but what happens when the dad you've been tip-toeing around all year comes home late one night to find you asleep in his bed, wearing his favorite sweater?

Little Miss Red - @anika-ann

Ransom’s looking for a good time tonight, when you walk through the door, he knows he’ll get it. And you? Oh you’ll get it too. He's going to make sure of it.

Unholy Errand - @buckets-and-trees

You're caught in the crosshairs when a hit goes out for your boss. (Dark!Lloyd Hansen + Dark! God The Bounty Hunter + Ransom Drysdale)

What A Shirt Can Tell - @justalonelyslytherin

5+2 times Colin asked 'Is that my shirt?' plus the one time he got asked it. Aka a look through the journey of Colin and his girl, each in which his shirts play an important role.

Start Again - @wkemeup

A chemical spill, uncontrollable desires rushed to the surface, an unbridled need, and the consequences in the aftermath (Steve Rogers)

Daddy’s Little Pet - @sinner-as-saint

You and Steve are the epitome of ‘opposites attract’. He is the American hero, a super soldier who is known for his bravery, and righteousness and for being the one leading the Avengers. You, on the other hand, are a well-known fashion designer in the city. Creator and owner of your own brand, and elite boutique. At first glance, it doesn’t seem like you and Steve would be compatible. But you surprisingly are. And behind closed doors, in secrecy – you two are each other’s solace, each other’s definition of home. He’s your strong, loving and caring man. And you, his lovely, little pet whom he adores more than life itself.

Good Girls And Skype Calls - @youre-deadangel

chris gives you a treat for behaving.

Afternoon Delight - @christowhore

you're steve's live-in housekeeper and find your boss and his friends having a bbq on a heatwave stricken afternoon. they invite you to join them and show you all the pleasurable ways to cool down from the sun. (SoftDark!Steve Rogers + Sam Wilson + Bucky Barnes)

Got You - @hispeculiartreasure

The two of you had grown close over the last year; first as teammates, then as friends. You had been distant at the start, just as he had. Slowly, agonizingly - blood, sweat, and tears were definitely involved - walls were dismantled. A current of trust ran between you, one which caught Steve by surprise. As dense as he could be about matters of the heart, suspicions of his blossoming romantic feelings being mutual had proven true with a simple kiss. (Sex Pollen, Steve Rogers)

Golden Boy - @bucksfucks

you’ve always called steve the golden boy, but he snaps one night and decides to show you he’s anything but. (Roommate!Steve Rogers)

It Must Be That Old Evil Spirit - @vonalyn

There’s something unsettling about his demeanor but you can’t quite put your finger on it. As if there’s something hiding beneath the surface just waiting to pry its way out of the tight shirt across his broad frame and tear your throat out. Maybe it’s your general unease around others when you’re traveling alone, or maybe it’s just him.  (Jack-O-Lantern!Ari Levinson)

Stupid Kitty - @onsunnyside

Your father wrongfully entrusted Lloyd to care for you—it’s too bad he’ll never get you back. (Lloyd Hansen x Cat-Hybrid!Reader)

Manners- Or Lack Of Them - @rogerswifesblog

Ransom wants you, the sweet girl at the bar…but you’re not what he expected you to be. (Sub!Ransom Drysdale + Mommy!Reader)

Shadow Boxer - @mypoisonedvine

you’re stuck in the same destructive cycle with ransom, but maybe you don’t want to get out of it. (Angst + Smut, Ransom Drysdale)

It’s Not A Challenge - @gagmebucky

His jaw ticks. “It’s not a challenge, doll,” he bites out. “It’s a warning. If I tried to get inside you, I’d split you in half in the process.” His eyes flicker down, and your nipples are pebbles against the thin, easily-rippable fabric—you’re testing him, and he’s failing. “Goddamn it,” he hisses underneath his breath. “That - that shouldn’t turn you on.” Bristling, he drops his hand and pedals backward—he’s on his last thread, and it’s his sole chance to make a clear-headed decision. (Boxer!Steve Rogers)

Pretty Princess - @frostironfudge

Andy Barber gets jealous when he presumes you shared a room with one of his associates.

Over And Over - @frostironfudge

Ari Levinson is a possessive man, he'll punish you till you apologise.

Such A Good Boy - @lilacevans

You and Ari attend a business meeting, and at the beginning the other boss you're meeting with just assumes that Ari is the one in charge; however, that's not the case. While you look dainty, angelic, like you couldn't even hurt a fly, you're the one who runs the family and will not hesitate to fuck up anyone who stands in your way. (Puppy!Ari Levinson) - one of my favourite fics EVER.💘

Breathe - @buckyownsmylife

The one where the new co-star is obsessed with the idea of making Chris hers, but he makes sure to show her you’re the only one for him.

Justified - @dbnightingale24

Ransom has always been the center of your world you’ve always been the center of his. However, when he can’t change his ways and you’re tired of the heartbreak, is it really so bad if you think it’s best to walk away? Ransom thinks so. - one of the sweetest most talented writers i have ever met💘

My, My, My - @1800jjbarnes

Stevie couldn't help it. Every time he saw you, he felt himself grow heavy in his slacks. You were everything he needed. And he needed you now.

All The Time - @geminixevans-stan

He is one of the most powerful men on earth but there’s more worse than him (Dark!Lloyd Hansen + Dark!Nick Fowler)

Snack - @katherineswritingsblog

he just wants his snack- which is you.

Watchful Eyes - @espinosaurusrexex

When your best friend gets you a new job, cleaning the apartment of the most successful man in New York City, you don't hesitate to accept. The pay is more than good, and the man himself is better than any eye candy you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to you, you've caught his attention just as much. Steve can't keep his mind off you, so much so, that he drives everyone around him insane with his grumpiness when you aren't around. It seems like he has to take matters into his own hands when he realizes, you're too shy to take things further yourself. (CEO!Steve Rogers)

Cherry On Top - @dcllbows

you’ve found your favorite way to help your daddy with his grownup work. (Ddlg, Daddy!Andy Barber)

Voracious - @arilevinsons

The first time he set eyes on you; you were his sudden infatuation. (DarkProfessor!Ari Levinson)

Best Friend’s Dad - @imyourbratzdoll

you've been pining over your best friend's dad and decide to take your chance, knowing he's out and your best friend is asleep, you be a little bit naughty and touch yourself on his bed, not knowing he's coming home early.

The Breeding Ground - @fl0werfae

To others, Ari’s house was a breeding ground for him and his omega, but to him it was just fulfilling her purpose of carrying his pups. (Alpha!Ari Levinson)

My Sweet Pea - @mavsstar

Mr. Levinson lives right next door to you, the sweet, innocent college girl. Little do you know that you're Mr. Levinson's favorite neighbor. He's there every chance you need the slightest of help, maybe a little too much. (Trailer Park Au)

Like A Movie Scene In The Sweetest Dream - @worksby-d

Johnny’s always been on your “no” list, but you've finally agreed to work with him. (Pornstar!Johnny Storm)

Easy As Pie - @navybrat817

You bake pies for Andy, but you're still his favorite treat.

[tea-writes19]

snapshots | s.w.

pairing: sam wilson x f!torres!reader

summary: being the new falcon’s sister comes with some perks

warnings: latina reader, friends to lovers, reader is sam’s social media manager, swearing, fluff, comedy, suggestive content, minor ca:bnw spoilers, slow burn

a/n: based on this request!! i hope this lives up to your expectations nonnie! also i’m not latino so i apologise if the spanish and mannerisms are off! ps i’m sorry this is so late, i fell into a bit of a writers block

liked by joaquintorres, samwilson, and others

yourusername: new job alert🗣️📢

tagged: @/samwilson

view comments below

user1: ooohhh can’t wait!!

user2: congrats!

samwilson: you couldn’t have picked a better photo?

yourusername: it’s called authenticity samuel

yourusername: now let me do my job

samwilson: 🤲🏾🤲🏾

user3: can’t wait for more pics of sam like this😭

user4: frfr

user5: same😭😭

joaquintorres: you think this is how nepo babies feel?

user6: 😭😭

yourusername: guess you could call me a nepo sister

user7: omg omg omg

user8: best social media manager goes to y/n🏆

yourusername: i’d like to thank the academy…

user9: pls you’re so funny✋😭

yourusername: i try🤷🏻‍♀️

liked by sarahwilson, joaquin torres, samwilson, and others

yourusername: i call this one the ‘they suck at pool’

tagged: @/joaquintorres @/samwilson

view comments below

user14: tagging them is hilarious work

user15: ^^^

user16: tbf i would so do that too😭😭

sarahwilson: invite me next time so it can actually be a competition

yourusername: why do our brothers fucking suck??

sarahwilson: bc we got all the cool genes😎

samwilson: what one of us is captain america again?

user17: 😭😭

joaquintorres: that is so not true!! @/mamatorres mami y/n is being mean

mamatorres: y/n be nice to quino

yourusername: @/joaquintorres snitch

user18: can’t believe joaquin snitched😔

yourusername: he’s a little bitch i know😐

joaquintorres: I GOT YOU A JOB!!

yourusername: okay? you’re still a little bitch…

samwilson: i’d like everyone to know i came in 2nd

yourusername: 2nd place is just the first loser

samwilson: 1st is the worst, 2nd is the best, 3rd is the one in the polka dot dress

user19: not the school-yard rhyme😭😭

joaquintorres: i would rock a polka dot dress and you know it

samwilson: brb petitioning to change your uniform

user20: love how y/n is feeding us with candid sam pics

yourusername: have to pay the bills somehow

yourusername added to their story —>

[caption: mami asked him to take the trash out and this was his reaction; hispanic men ain’t shit]

story replies

joaquintorres: PLEASE I DID IT RIGHT AFTER THIS

yourusername: yeah bc mami threatened you w/ the chancla

user21: you’re so right girly

user22: when you’re the first-born daughter in a hispanic household😔✊

yourusername: PREACH🗣️

user23: dated a mexican boy in high school…it didn’t end well

user24: why are they always mama boys too😩😩

liked by samwilson, mamatorres, joaquintorres, and others

yourusername: dream team: they fight bad guys and i post about it⭐️📷

tagged: @/joaquintorres @/samwilson

view comments below

user24: the best team!!

samwilson: if anything y’all are the sidekicks

yourusername: i’m going to tell sergeant barnes you said that

samwilson: don’t you dare…

user25: i’m crying😭😭

joaquintorres: surprised how nice you’re being

joaquintorres: you’re up to something aren’t you

yourusername: wouldn’t you like to know weather boy

user26: and we love you for it!!

user27: i bet sam is so happy y/n finally posted a good pic of him on her page

yourusername: he’s jumping up and down as we speak

user27: love that😭

user28: omg🤣🤣

user29: video of y’all swapping roles for a day when

samwilson: never bc y/n would die and mama torres would kill me

joaquintorres: but at least i’d get the full inheritance

yourusername: you guys have no faith in me and it shows😒

user30: damn is joaquin single🥵

yourusername: the fuck?! don’t thirst for my brother on my account

joaquintorres: yes i am!

liked by yourusername, sarahwilson, buckybarnes, and others

samwilson: downtime in delacroix☀️🌊

tagged: @/yourusername @/sarahwilson @/casswilson

view comments below

user31: y/n and no joaquin??

user31: suspicious

yourusername: had so much fun!

sarahwilson: you’re welcome anytime!! loved having another woman in the house

yourusername: oh you bet your ass i’m going to abuse that welcome now🤭

samwilson: i never should’ve introduced you two

user32: omg please tell me you and y/n are dating!?

user33: fr…bit strange how only she was there and not joaquin🤨

user34: YES!! i so hope they are

buckybarnes: tell sarah i say hi

samwilson: no

sarahwilson: hi bucky😁

joaquintorres: can’t believe i had to spend the week in meetings in dc while y’all swam in the ocean

yourusername: suck it bitch😎🖕

user35: justice for joaquin✊😔

user36: ^^^

samwilson: oh god they’re thirsting on my page too😖

yourusername: disgusting🤢🤢

joaquintorres: @/samwilson @/yourusername 🖕

user37: brb planning a trip to delacroix now

user38: oh my god stalker alert

user39: leave sam’s family alone!!

yourusername: i want everyone to know i’m a boss at water-gun fights

casswilson: best team😎

yourusername: you know it🥳

samwilson: whatever😒😒

liked by sarahwilson, joaquintorres, samwilson, and others

yourusername: southern sunsets >>>

tagged: @/samwilson @/sarahwilson

view comments below

sarahwilson: miss you already!!!

yourusername: wish we could have stayed longer😩😩

user40: slide 3 looking a bit sus y/n

user41: ^^^

user42: fr…

user43: i need to know where those swimsuits are from🙏🙏

joaquintorres: latinas latinos*

yourusername: 🙅🏻‍♀️🙅🏻‍♀️

user44: 😭😭

samwilson: told you the south is good for some things…

yourusername: beignets😩

user45: mardi gras😩

user46: sam wilson😩

yourusername: ^^^

user46: wait a sec—

user47: i need to know what’s going on between y/n & sam

user48: oh to be a fly on the wall

user49: yessss

yourusername added to their story—>

[caption: back to your regularly scheduled programming]

story replies

user50: the leg placement👀👀

user51: wanna tell us smth y/n??

user52: more joaquin incoming🥳🥳

yourusername: NO—

joaquintorres: oh thank god…please save me from ross

liked by samwilson, mamatorres, sarahwilson, and others

yourusername: life recently :)

view comments below

samwilson: surprised you didn’t put an ugly pic of me

yourusername: don’t worry i debated it

user53: IS THAT SAM?!?

user54: i feel like a spy searching for clues

user55: omg so real😭

user56: i wanna be y/n when i grow up

user57: y/n doesn’t post for 2 months and comes back to soft launch

user58: she’s so me coded

user59: i wonder what joaquin thinks of their relationship😭😭

user60: omg he’s so the third wheel i bet

joaquintorres: love how i’ve just been cut out from your posts…

yourusername: the fans were getting too thirsty

samwilson: it was stressin’ us out

sarahwilson: i’ll kill sam if he hurts you

buckybarnes: i’ll kill him for a slice of pizza and a cold drink

joaquintorres: i’ll kill him to be added back in your posts

samwilson: you all suck🖕

user61: 😭😭

yourusername added to their story —>

[caption: that is america’s ass😏🤭]

© tea-writes19 do not repost, translate, or copy