#it gives me so much strength to know that you're here with me!!!!!

[moonstruckme]

Hi!! I had surgery a few weeks ago and I’m definitely hitting a wall mentally. I’ve been so sad with recovery and I’m so exhausted and cranky (unfortunately). I was wondering if you could write an emt!marauders or poly!marauders w reader going through that?? Thank you! Your writing has been a huge comfort for me during this time 🩷

Hi lovely! I realize it's been a while since you sent this so I hope you're feeling much much better now! Thanks for requesting <3

cw: post-op recovery, shoulder injury

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 727 words

James enters the bedroom to witness three stages of wakefulness. There’s Remus where he left him, fluffy haired and squinty eyed scrolling through his phone. One of Remus’ hands is toying idly with the ends of Sirius’ hair, who’s still dead asleep next to him, on his stomach with his face pushing into the pillow (James has never been able to figure out how he can breathe like that). Then there’s you, just sitting up with a groan and a sour look on your face. His angel. 

“Here, love.” James sets the coffee he’d brought for Remus on the nightstand, making sure the handle is facing him. Remus’ thanks is croaky with drowsiness, his smile gentle. James says to you, “Morning. How’d you sleep?” 

“Hard,” you mumble. You shrug your one shoulder experimentally, and grimace. “Too hard.” 

Remus makes a sympathetic sound, looking at you over the rim of his mug. “Did you sleep on it wrong?” 

“No.” You sound a tad defensive. “I was on my back all night.” 

Remus hums. “This is what happens when you don’t do your stretches at night, dovey.” 

You scowl. James ruffles Remus’ hair. “Be nice,” he chides. “You could do some stretching now, angel.” 

Sirius makes a disgruntled sleepy sound, rolling onto his side to wrap his arms around your waist. He settles his head contentedly on the plushness of your thigh. “Everyone shut up,” he grumbles. “And stop getting up.” 

“We’re not getting up,” James placates him. “She’s only doing her stretches.” 

“But it hurts,” you whine. 

“That’s why you do your stretches, sweetheart.” Remus gives you a look. 

James can feel you getting irritated. You’ve been recovering from your surgery for weeks now, and you’re growing exhausted not only with all the things you can’t do with your shoulder but also all the things you have to do to build back its strength and mobility. He goes to the dresser as you slump forward into your own lap, hapless. 

“Come on,” he laughs, tossing you your towel. “You can start with the towel one first. That one’s fit.” 

You look up at James. “It is not.” 

“Y’always look good, babe,” Sirius mumbles into your thigh. 

“See? And extra good when you stretch your arms like that.”

“He’s dead to the world.” You roll your eyes, though you’re petting Sirius’ hair fondly. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” 

Still, you sigh and pick up the towel when Remus nudges it towards you pointedly, rolling your neck in preparation. James feels a bit of warmth come to his face (he was only partly joking about how attractive you are when you stretch). 

It’s a bit difficult for you at first, clearly, the result of growing a bit lax about your stretches over the past few days. James can see Remus’ lips press together like he’s physically restraining himself from commenting on it. A low whine builds in your throat. 

“There you go,” says Sirius in a salacious tone. James is beginning to suspect he’s more awake than he’s letting on. “Tell us how you really feel, sweetheart.” 

“This is so pointless,” you grumble. “It’s too lame to do anything.” 

“Don’t say that,” James chides you. It’s not his intention to make you feel like you can’t vent to them, but James is firmly of the belief that ceasing negative talk will eventually lead to an abatement of negative thoughts. “It’s working, you just need to give it time. You’re tons better than you were a couple of weeks ago, right?” 

“If you mean I can pick up an empty soda can,” you say drily, “then yes.” 

“That is what I mean. Empty soda cans are a big step.” 

“It’s a process,” Remus tells you in a more placating tone. “You can’t expect to be all the way better overnight. Especially not if you’re not doing your stretches.” 

You don’t miss the judgment threaded through that last bit, your expression turning sour again. Sirius appears to sense this without opening his eyes. He hugs you around the middle, smearing a kiss over your thigh. 

“You’ll get there, lovie,” says James. “And hey, if it’ll help, I can sit with you while you do your stretches every day. I wouldn’t mind that at all.” 

Remus snorts, and Sirius mumbles something into your skin that sounds like “I’ll bet you wouldn’t.”

[aayakashii]

I remember you did something kind of similar already, but I was thinking what if Vagastorm had an S/O that can or likes to carry them around sometimes? :3c

Omg I am obsessed with your art btw 😭😭 I love it so so much, it always makes me laugh!!!!

And yesss I did it here!! Which is wow a LONG time ago so I'd love to give it a go again, with a fresher opinion on them all hehehe

Vagastrom with a S/O that loves to carry them around (with pictures ?!)

Alan

He's absolutely horrified with this situation

Please put him down

Doesn't matter if you're EXTREMELY strong, he still thinks and acts as if he could hurt you even if he's not doing anything

Literally the type of guy that needs to go through exposure therapy in order to get used to the most minuscule touches

So you'll have to work hard until he allows you to carry him around sometimes

You can begin slow, after he's used to you hugging him

You can go for a hug, squeeze him tight and then finally lift him for a few seconds

He'll still be alarmed, but slowly he'll get used to your random bursts of affection that lead to you carrying him around

Once he's used to it, however, he thinks it's actually kind of relaxing

Feeling weightless for a little while in your arms is an unexpected bonus of his relationship with you

And he won't lie that it brings him great comfort that you're strong

Don't get him wrong, he still acts as if you're easily breakable

But maybe not as much... Just a little bit 🤏

Alan before he got used to being carried vs Alan after he got used to being carried

Leo

Oh he LOOOOVES it

But only when he wants it, of course

As soon as he realizes you are strong enough to carry him around, he WILL be using this opportunity to be as lazy as possible

What do you expect from the guy who is plenty capable of doing anything with his ghoul strength but still asks Alan to open cans for him 😭

You will become his little lackey whenever he wants to be carried and you will 100% like it

Some of those weird cats are going around cleaning the dorm? Get up and carry him somewhere else xox

He found a new trend on tiktok abt partners carrying each other? Come here real quick and let him film a new video for his feed thx

Now YOU want to carry him out of nowhere when he didn't ask for it??

Now that's some audacity

Be ready to either be pushed away or to have some bubblegum stuck on your face for a long time 🫶

He's like a poisonous animal, except instead of shooting out venom when he's distressed, he shoots out hazardous, life-threatening bubblegum

But hey, you should know better...

Don't pet the cat if the cat doesn't wanna be pet, duh

Leo when he doesn't want to be carried vs when he wants to be carried

Sho

He finds it extremely embarrassing

No, you don't understand. He LIKES it. And THAT'S why it's embarrassing.

When you come running towards him while he's working, hug him tight and then lift and spin him around...

And he knows he's blushing like a fucking school girl in front of all of his customers..........

Please stop 🤚

Actually, no. Don't stop. But please do that in private so he won't lose face in front of his customers.

Especially in front of that kid from Frostheim who he almost beat up. How is he going to defend his pride when he's tucked all comfortable and cute in your arms, being held high???????

Toxic masculinity aside, he loves to be carried by you

Loves to feel like you like him so much that you can't help but hold him so tight like that

He does the same to you and soon it becomes a competition of who's gonna carry who first when you two meet afterhours at his room

His favorite thing, however, is when he manages to kiss you while he's being carried

If you're going to make him all flustered like a little lovesick dumbass, then you bet he's gonna do the same to you 🫵‼️

Sho when he's screaming inside and blushing bc you're carrying him in public vs Sho when you two are alone

[deesseshesca]

PAC : What opportunities are right in my face, but I’m totally sleeping on?

Give me more... Give me more ... Give me more !

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PILE 1 

What opportunities are right in my face, but I’m totally sleeping on?

Here’s the thing, bestie: the opportunity waiting for you is all about inner peace and finally finding clarity in your own company. Right now, I know you're feeling that urge to plot and plan, to get that revenge or set things right. But the path you're on? It’s actually nudging you towards something way more powerful—learning how to step back, get quiet, and let answers come to you.

This is your moment to dive into your own intuition, to start trusting what you already know deep down. The opportunity here isn’t about controlling the situation or making someone see things your way. It’s about seeing yourself more clearly and realizing that all the wisdom and strength you need are already within you. Letting life bring you the next step will be way more satisfying than revenge. The quiet confidence you'll gain by following your own instincts? That’ll be worth so much more in the long run.

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PILE 2

What opportunities are right in my face, but I’m totally sleeping on?

Alright, let’s get real. The opportunity in front of you is a chance to rebuild your foundation, not just in a "getting things together" way, but in a way that really lets you break out of some old, tough cycles. You’re dealing with a lot—and without a strong support system, that’s so heavy. But this opportunity? It’s about creating stability and peace within yourself. It’s like an open door to a life that’s more grounded, one where you don’t feel the need to numb out or escape.

This isn't going to come from forcing or grinding through. This is about tapping into that softer, nurturing energy within you—the part of you that craves peace and feels things deeply. This feminine energy wants you to honor your intuition and trust your own healing instincts. It’s about taking baby steps that feel right, not just seem logical. Slowly but surely, you’ll be building a life that feels like home, with you as your own biggest supporter. You're creating a path out of

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PILE 3 

What opportunities are right in my face, but I’m totally sleeping on?

Alright, here’s the vibe: the opportunity in front of you is about stepping fully into your independence and treating yourself like the true royalty you are. This isn’t about waiting for anyone else’s approval or permission—it’s all about you leveling up, creating your own version of success, and living a life that feels luxurious for you.

You’re in a prime spot to really focus on building something solid for yourself. This is the kind of opportunity that lets you pour into your own life, invest in your growth, and maybe even indulge a little in what makes you feel happy and whole. Think of it as creating a life where you’re not just surviving but genuinely thriving. You deserve to feel abundant, stable, and worthy of every good thing. Embrace that energy, treat yourself well, and watch how everything else starts to line up.

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[himasgod]

Kinich x r4ped!reader

Scaramouche x family issues!reader

(I finally finished this request! I've tried to make it as non-specific as possible, I know this is a sensitive subject. If any of you, dear readers, have gone through a similar experience, I want you to know that this is a serious subject, and that you are not alone. You have many things, many people, many laws and entities protecting you. Feel free to express yourself. You can count on me if you need anything.)

Kinich

Where you find comfort on him after being sexu4lly 4bused.

It was a thick night in Natlan, and the heat was barely able to alleviate the weight you felt in your chest. In the last few days, you had tried to return to your normal life, pretending that everything was fine; but the reality was that the shadows of your pain continued to haunt you. You didn't want to talk, not even to Kinich, afraid that your words would fail to convey the hell you had lived through. However, the concern in his eyes convinced you that tonight you could no longer bear your suffering alone.

Kinich was at your side, silent. Not asking for explanations, not pressuring. Despite his pragmatic personality, he was perceptive and knew when someone was carrying more than they could hold. He watched you for a moment, his eyes serious and attentive, without traces of judgment, only open for whatever you decided to trust him with.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to say," Kinich murmured softly, breaking the silence gently. His rough hands, accustomed to combat and hunting, sought yours with unusual care, as if he were afraid of breaking you at the slightest contact. “But I am here, for whatever you need. You know I love you, forever”

You felt the calm strength in his touch. A shiver ran through your skin, as if Natlan’s warmth was not enough to calm the coldness that had remained inside you since that fucking day. The words were stuck in your throat, and although you wanted to answer him, your voice seemed to have faded. But Kinich understood, as if your silence spoke for itself. He gently pulled you towards him, and without saying anything else, he let his arm surround your body with a protective warmth, gently, as if he were leaving you enough time to react, in case you did not want to have any contact.

“I know that what they did to you…” he began to say, his voice low and full of a weight that he rarely showed, “is something that no human being should endure. I can't undo what they did to you, or erase that pain… but I'll be here, even if you just want company without words."

You squeezed your eyes shut, and at last, the knot in your chest began to give way. Tears ran free, and Kinich didn't look away for a moment. He stayed by your side, like an immovable pillar in the middle of the storm that was hitting you. There was no rush, no attempt to change or minimize what you felt. He was simply there, sharing the weight in silence.

When you finally found your voice, you could barely whisper through your tears:

"I'm scared… scared that I'll never feel whole again, that this has taken a part of me away forever. I feel dirty, I've been taken away…"

Kinich looked at you, his gaze filled with an empathy rare in him. With a deliberate slowness, on purpose in case you didn't feel comfortable, he placed his hand on your face, gently wiping away the tears with his thumb.

"You're so much more... you are stronger than you think,” he replied, with a conviction so deep that he almost managed to make you believe him. “They haven’t taken anything from you. You will overcome it, and you will be the same as always. It is just a process that you will face… and I will be there throughout the process, helping you. You will overcome it. I promise you that.”

His words were like a balm, sincere and firm. Although the doubt and the pain were still present, Kinich’s presence enveloped you in a feeling of security. He did not promise that everything would be fine, but he did promise that he would be there, ready to accompany you in every step you took to heal.

You both stayed like that, sharing the silence under Natlan’s starry sky, and you understood that in Kinich you had found a refuge.

Scaramouche

Where he comforts you after you've told him your family's expectations of you.

The mood in Sumeru was gloomy, reflecting the weight of your thoughts. You had had a heated argument with your family earlier that morning, a conflict that seemed to repeat itself in an endless cycle. It was differences of expectations, impossible demands, and a constant comparison that drained every particle of peace you tried to build. You didn't know how to explain to them your desire to live on your own terms, without the weight of their expectations on your shoulders.

You found yourself walking aimlessly through the city, trying to clear your mind. However, a familiar shadow appeared in your path, and looking up, you saw Scaramouche, arms crossed and a disdainful expression you knew all too well.

"Are you done ghosting around town?" he asked in his usual scathing tone, but something in his eyes revealed more concern than contempt.

You sighed, trying to keep your composure, but the tension in your chest was too strong.

“If you’ve only come to make fun of it, then you might as well leave it,” you replied in a dry tone, hoping your words would drive him away.

To your surprise, Scaramouche didn’t move. Instead, he stared at you intently, as if he were trying to decipher the shadows behind your words.

“I’m not here to make fun of you, fool,” he murmured, his tone softening only slightly. “Though sometimes it seems like you don’t even understand what you need.”

His words made your barriers crumble, and without knowing how, you found yourself telling him everything. The overwhelming expectations, the rejection of your decisions, the constant criticism that felt like daggers in your heart. As you spoke, Scaramouche’s expression changed, a mix of contained rage and dark compassion that only he seemed to possess.

“So… you can’t live up to them and they know it,” he finally said, after listening to you in silence. “Why do you have to mold yourself in their image?”

You looked at him in shock, tears threatening to spill out. It was the first time someone had said it out loud, like a truth you hadn’t allowed yourself to believe.

“Because… they’re my family. I’m supposed to make them happy.”

Scaramouche snorted, his gaze turning icy.

“That’s absurd,” he muttered, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “Family shouldn’t be a burden that crushes you. They don’t have the right to decide how you live. If they truly loved you, why would they hurt you this way?”

His words were harsh, but they carried a sincerity that cut through every one of your doubts. You moved a little closer, seeking refuge in his presence. Though Scaramouche rarely showed affection to you, eben if he was your boyfriend, this time he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let you lean on him, his hand resting gently on your back as the weight of your tears fell silently.

“You don’t need to live up to their expectations to be worth something. If they don’t see it, it’s their problem, not yours,” he murmured, almost in a whisper. “And I… well, I’m the last one who should say this, but… you’re not alone in this fight.”

For the first time in a long time, you felt like someone understood you without judging you. Scaramouche, with his reticent nature and his own history of pain, knew more than he let on.

And in that instant, you realized that even if your family would never understand your choices, maybe you had someone at your side who could support you without asking for anything in return.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[rubra-fuscissima]

and since we're all already here, i hope you're ready to look at some more rugby players because i have an even more important message to share, so put your swimming goggles on and grab a snack cause this is gonna be a rant.

strongman-physique andrew might be underrepresented in this fandom, but i've seen little to no drawings of the aftg women being as big as i know many contact sport athletes to be. and that shit bothers me because i know precisely what absolute beasts these bigger girls are on the pitch.

so, have a look at marlie packer, hannah botterman, and portia woodman-wickliffe.

note that all of these women play(ed) for top-ranking national teams. they're world-class athletes in a sport where players need to be strong, fast, agile, and explosive - much like exy! you wanna know why they look like they could pick you up and carry you for the length of a marathon or throw you across half a football pitch? because they could. end of story.

you'd like to imagine the aftg girls as highly feminine? you better not think femininity and muscularity or big size are contradictory. women like michaela blyde or ilona maher are living proof!

and i'm not even done.

let's get one thing out of the way first. you do not NEED to be muscular or heavy to be strong. in a sport like exy (or rugby), sometimes being quick and agile will give you a bigger advantage than mass ever could - take neil as a canon example and, if you're interested, someone like anne-cécile ciofani as a real-world one.

the question is: does that really make sense for the positions the fox girls play?

renee is a goalkeeper; a position in which she'll have to do little to no running but a LOT of strength-based swinging of a massive raquet. so, and this is a very important point to me as a sapphic girl, renee's shoulders and back are probably MASSIVE (see ilona maher).

dan and allison play dealer. from what i can gather from the game scenes in the books and my general understanding of team contact sports, dealers are confronted with a lot of collisions since usually, none of the players in the middle of the field want to actually make it to the goal. instead, players will likely focus on quickly relaying the ball to each other or the attacking line to overwhelm the other team's defense and - if they themselves are playing defense - perform a lot of body-checks to win the ball and/or prevent quick passes. in these cases, weight and the strength that comes with it ARE an advantage.

and i know people have a hard enough time already accepting that women can build muscle, but that isn't even my point here. because get this: in the context of strength and speed, muscle works best with a certain amount of body fat. everyone has to find their own balance here, but generally, having too low a body fat percentage decreases speed, power, and muscle growth. that's a high price to pay for athletes like these three girls just for being skinny or ripped.

in conclusion, i think it's more than realistic for the fox girls to be heavier athletes. draw them however you like to draw them (trust me, i'll eat any art of them right up), but i know many people aren't really into sports or have never even thought about drawing the fox girls a little broader. so, if that's you, let this be your sign to give it a try!!!

andrew has the build of a rugby prop, change my mind

okay so i've been seeing a lot of great andrew art recently and i loooove that people are finally drawing him with a more chubby/broad body.

buttttt hear me out here. as a rugby player. i'm used to seeing heavy athletes. and let me tell you, don't be afraid to take it even further!!!! and i'm definitely not judging anyone here, i can't draw for shit and i love the art in this fandom.

just take a look at this:

you see those shoulders? those forearms? that NECK? this is what pure strength looks like, people.

imagine the POWER of an andrew with this build running to smash riko's arm. JUST IMAGINE

so what i'm saying is. don't be afraid to draw heavy athletes, and DEFINITELY don't be afraid to draw heavy andrew. you know this fandom needs it. (and by this fandom i mean me, i definitely need that)

(btw the athletes i've included here are nepo laulala, joe marler, and adam jones)

[teddybeartoji]

hi your writing is so cool and your aesthetic is so pretty i am nervous ksnsmzls you're one of my favorite writers!!

if its not a bother, may i ask how you got the confidence to write? any hints or something? thank you so much for the hard work you put into the blog, remember to stay hydrated and rest

have a nice day or night

AAAAAHHHH🥺🥺🥺 THANK YOU SOSO MUCH FOR THE LOVE MY ANGEL!!!!!!!!!!!! YOUR KIND WORDS ARE SOSO IMPORTANT TO ME SO TRULY THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU<333333

MMMMMMMM it's not so much about confidence for me as it is about Need honestly. i've always been a creative person i just never had the right outlet for it but now that i've discovered writing it just changed my world lmao i know that sounds very dramatic but it really is very important to me to express myself through art and writing is just the perfect way for me to do it. i want to write.

plus i have so many ideas in my head and tbh sometimes it's just about getting them out of there lmao but mm ofc there are times where i feel like my ideas are shit or that the writings are shit but then i think abt how mean that is. i liked writing it didn't i? so why am i putting myself down for it????? i try to be very patient with myself (it's a new thing i'm still getting the hang of it) and i try to just do whatever feels right.

and i know how discouraging tumblr might be sometimes,, like when the things you put hours into, blood sweat and tears and whatsoever, don't get the attention is very upsetting but i just... genuinely try to ignore it. i'm not saying it's easy it really fucking isn't but i just want to be selfish. and i want to write. so i will write more no matter whether it gets the love it deserves or not. i don't wanna stop and i don't wanna quit. think of it as spite if you will lmao like oh you didn't like that? well guess what. here's more>:333333 qhdhshdhsjjsjsj this is how my brain works okay i'm not saying that will work for everybody...

but yeah in the end just do it for yourself. you want to write, so write for yourself. the others are secondary – you have to love it first and then the others get to do the same.

[bi-writes]

simon being protective of his mail order bride scratches all the right spots in my brain.

mail-order bride

you're almost relieved when you hear the knock at the door. you've been a holding a tree pose for a few minutes too long, and the girl hosting the online yoga class is starting to fry your eardrums with her too-perky voice.

you're sweating bullets, and her hair hasn't moved a fucking inch out of her ponytail.

you mute the television, wiping your forehead before making your way to the front door. you open it with a sigh, not really knowing what you expected to see, but it certainly wasn't the average-dressed man standing on the steps there.

you blink, raising a brow when his eyes roam over you, and you realize suddenly that you're wearing workout clothes, which is showing off a little more than you'd like to some rando standing on your doorstep.

"uh..." you look around a little. "i'm sorry, can i help you?"

he smiles. it's a little unnerving.

"right, yeah, i'm starting a business around here, and i wanted to ask if you've been needing any help with any fixtures around the house. i'm giving a 50% discount if you give me a rating on google."

you open your mouth for a moment, frowning.

"uhm..." you shake your head, "sorry. we don't need any help right now."

"you live here alone? sometimes it's hard to spot when the electric's on the piss, y'know? need a keen eye," he laughs, coming up one of the steps. you shake your head again.

"no, thanks."

he's a wiry man, but he's tall (not taller than your husband, but taller than you). you step back a little and start to close the door. he comes up the steps. out of the corner of your eye, you see the cat slip out between your legs, hissing a little as the distance closes between you and the man.

"wait! can i give you my contact info? i don't have a card, but i can leave you my--"

the sound of simon's truck pulling into the garage gets both of you to look behind. simon doesn't even park all the way inside. he throws the truck door open, stepping out of it, and the man on your steps moves back away from you immediately, making his way off the little porch.

simon looks huge, more so than ever. his steps are heavy, boots hitting the ground like a warning bell, and he's wearing just a short-sleeved shirt that's showing off those glorious fucking arms. you have never doubted simon's strength, but he looks like he could flip a car with the anger that's leaving him in heavy waves. you're surprised that you are not afraid; you just know somehow that simon won't touch you.

"oi!" simon yells, and the man definitely understands he picked the wrong fucking house to be a creepy salesman at when his knees nearly buckle as he tries to walk away. "where the fuck do y'think y'r goin', you twat?"

you sigh deeply, not realizing how much you were shaking until you notice your hands trembling around the doorknob. you watch as simon catches the guy by his dirty jean jacket, nearly lifting him completely off his feet as he drags him towards the fence gate.

"hey! hey! i didn't do anything!"

"i saw ya, ya fuckin' arse, know exactly wot the fuck y'were doin'," simon growls, tossing him onto the sidewalk. he hits the pavement with a cry, holding onto his arm, and simon slams the fence gate closed before pointing at him accusingly. "'f i ever see ya anywhere near m'fuckin' house or even askin' m'wife for so much as fuckin' directions, i'll cut y'r bloody prick off, y'hear?"

you blink as simon comes closer, the cat retreating back into the house once they see him. he keeps walking, crowding you back into the house before he shuts and locks the front door. his chest is heaving, black t-shirt doing nothing to hide the puff of his chest and how large he makes himself when he stands up to other men. he doesn't even need to make himself larger; simon takes up enough space for two men combined.

"he touch you?" simon asks, his voice low. you see his fists clench, and you have no doubt that if you said yes, simon would go outside and paint the pavement a new color with the man's face.

you shake your head frantically, and he lets out a deep breath, reaching up and wrapping a hand around the back of your head and pulling you close.

he bends, pressing his masked forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he breathes in slowly. he rubs at the nape of your neck, soothing you, and you smile when he pulls away, giving him those big eyes that say thank you, thank you, thank you.

simon cocks his head, staring behind you, and you turn with him to see the cat blinking slowly at the two of you from it's place on the windowsill.

"should get you a fucking guard dog instead," simon mutters, pulling his mask off and kicking his boots into the corner. you smile as he walks away, trying to cool your warm cheeks with the backs of your hands.

doesn't he know you already have one?

[pedroscurls]

in every lifetime

summary: you lost logan in this universe. logan lost you in his. what happens when you both see each other again, but realize that you're both from different worlds? pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader warnings: post deadpool & wolverine ("worst" logan!variant), angst (mentions of death, loss from both reader and logan), no use of y/n. word count: 2.1k a/n: this is my first logan fic, so if anything is ooc, i'm sorry in advanced! just like everyone else, i've been obsessed with hugh jackman / logan after watching deadpool & wolverine (if it isn't obvious lol)... i had the song 'unchained melody' in mind when writing this story because whenever i hear it, i think of logan for some reason lol (tried to embed it but it didn't work, but i'd highly recommend listening to the song while reading this!) anyway, hope you enjoy! next part.

“I’ll be back.”

“But what if–”

“I always come back, bub.” Logan’s looking down at you, hand cupping your cheek. In moments like this, you can see the age in his features. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes. The gray in his hair and beard. 

“Logan…” Tears sting your eyes. You know he has to leave, has to go help Charles, but there’s a feeling deep in your gut that knows that if he goes, he isn't coming back. 

“Wait for me, then.” He says, dipping down to gently peck your lips. “Okay? Wait for me.” 

“Logan,” you repeat. “What do I do if I– if I lose you?” 

There’s a feeling in the pit of Logan’s stomach, a sense of dread and fear that he’s only ever felt when you were concerned. This feels a lot like a goodbye… That maybe if he does go, he won’t come back. And the thought alone scares him. He never used to have to think about the possibility of dying, his regenerative powers always healing him in record time, but he knows that he doesn’t heal as quickly as before. He feels more pain now than he ever had. And he knows he’s sick, knows that the adamantium that once gave him strength is now slowly making him weaker.

But now, the thought of dying… It fucking scared him. It scared him to think that he’d leave you here, all alone, grieving him. He had never thought he’d be deserving of someone like you, to be loved and taken care of so gently, so sweetly, so patiently. Even with all of the baggage he carried, you never pushed. He knew, right off the bat, that you deserved someone so much better than him, but you stayed. 

Through it all, you stayed. 

And Logan would forever be grateful. After everything he’s been through, the things he’s seen, the things he had to do, the people he’s lost, you gave him a life that was finally worth living. 

“Then, you move on, darlin’.” Logan finally answers. 

“And if I can’t?” 

“You’ll have to.” 

“I don’t… I don’t want you to go, but I know that you have to. Charles needs you and–”

“I love you with every fiber of my being, baby,” Logan interjects. “And I will love you in every lifetime.” 

And that was almost a year ago. The moment he stopped calling, you knew that was it. That he either got into some real trouble or… Or that he was no longer here. It wasn’t until a young girl named Laura showed up on your doorstep, holding his dog tags that your assumptions were correct. 

You had fallen to your knees, a sob escaping your lips, as you felt your world come crashing down. Logan’s death had left a gaping hole in your heart, in your life, and everywhere you looked and everywhere you went, all you could see was him. 

You learned from Laura that during his last moments, he had told her to come and find you, that you would take care of her and give her a good life. Whenever you were around her, you tried to be strong, tried to put on a brave front, but behind closed doors, you were a complete mess. There were days where you didn’t want to get out of bed, didn’t want to eat; you just wanted the pain to stop. Every night, whenever you closed your eyes, you forced yourself to sleep because that was the only place where you could be with him. 

In your dreams, he was alive. 

In your dreams, he had made it back home.

In your dreams, he was here with you, helping raise Laura. 

And every time you woke up, you were welcomed with the sudden reality that he wasn’t alive. He wasn’t coming back home. He wasn’t ever going to be here with you to help raise Laura. 

Logan was dead and now, you had to try and learn how to move on. 

For yourself.

For Laura.

For Logan. 

—

He didn’t know what he was doing here, why he agreed to stay with Wade because it was driving him crazy. This wasn’t even his timeline; he wasn’t even meant to be here. Despite saving Wade’s timeline, Logan still found it hard to fit in. He tried to keep Wade and every single one of his friends at an arm's distance because he knows what happens to people he cares about. 

But the more time he spent around them, the more he felt at ease. Logan would be lying if he said he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but when Laura mentioned your name at one of Wade’s family dinners, his heart skipped a beat. When he realized he would be able to stay in this timeline, you were all he could think about. 

Logan wondered if you existed in this world and what he would do if you did. So, when Laura casually said your name, his head turned around so quickly that he felt dizzy. There were so many things he regretted in his own timeline, but you were his biggest regret. 

Just like he failed the other X-men, Logan had failed you too. You had been there with the other X-men, trying to warn them of a planned attack and ended up getting caught in the crossfire. You had called out for him, just like Scott, like Charles, like Storm. 

He managed to get to you before you had taken your last breath, holding you in his arms. Logan begged and begged for you to fight, that he’d do things right from now on as long as you just held on, but you were losing so much blood and Logan couldn’t stop it. 

Even then, when you had every right to be angry with him, you gazed up at him with an understanding look on your face. You had always been so patient and kind, so sweet and considerate. You had made him so happy and it scared him, which ultimately ended in pushing you away because he didn’t think he was deserving of it. Of you. 

“I love you, Logan,” you had said, wincing at the pain. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m–” Logan felt a sob catch in his throat, tears stinging his eyes as he looked down at you. “Please, baby, please please please, don’t–”

“I–” you coughed, eyes fluttering as you felt the pain overcome your entire body. “I will love you in every lifetime, Logan.” And then, you took your last breath, eyes falling shut and body falling limp in his arms. 

Since then, Logan drank himself day after day, from dawn to dusk. The alcohol never truly helped, his regenerative powers sobering him so fast, but with every swig of liquor, it burned. And he spent years bringing pain unto others, including himself. 

That was, until he met Wade who had given him a chance, a reason to fight for something… To not turn his back on someone who relied on him. A chance for redemption, to finally make things right. 

“So, will you meet her?” Laura asks, holding Dogpool in her arms as she gazes up at Logan. “She– She used to be with this universe’s Logan and…”

“No chance, kid.” Logan interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not him.” 

“Did you have someone like her in yours?” she asks. “She’s always put me first, always made sure I was taken care of even when she didn’t have to, when she was grieving. And I think–” Laura sighs. “I think if she knows that some version of you is alive, it would make her real happy.”

“I’m not him,” Logan growls, feeling his irritation spike. “‘Sides, she’s better off without me.” He stands from the table and walks out into Wade’s balcony to get some fresh air, shutting the door behind him as he leans against the railing.

“But she’s coming tonight,” Laura finally says, long after Logan’s walked away.

Throughout the rest of the dinner, Logan remains outside. He can hear the muffled laughter coming from inside and it only angered him because it was just another confirmation that he didn’t belong here. He’s already on his fourth bottle of beer when he hears a familiar voice, smells a recognizable scent. He turns slightly and catches you stepping into Wade’s apartment, an arm slinging over Laura’s shoulders so casually, so maternally. 

He feels his heart rate pick up. Your smile still lights up a room and he can’t help but his lips turning upwards at the sight. With his enhanced hearing, Logan can hear your voice and he shuts his eyes for a moment, tuning all of his attention on you until you’re the only one he hears. 

Then, he hears your laugh and he lets out a sigh. He never thought he’d be able to hear that again, but his eyes shoot open when he hears you say his name. There’s a shocked tone in your voice, laced with sadness and hope. It all but crushes him because he knows that you’re probably expecting someone else, expecting this world’s Logan and he doesn’t want to disappoint you. Not again. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it if he were to hurt you again. 

But when he looks at you, his breath catches in his throat when your eyes meet his. Logan notices the surprise look on your face, but before he could try and escape, you’re already walking towards him. When you open the door and step out with him, your scent fills his senses and it makes him dizzy, like he can’t fully concentrate. 

“You…” he hears you say, voice unsteady. “You’re not… I’m–” you sigh and shake your head. 

“I know who you are,” Logan finally says, his own voice shaky. 

Your hands reach out for him, but stopping halfway when you realize this isn’t your Logan. This is not the same man who died all those years ago. This is some version of him – much younger, less wrinkles and gray hairs in his hair and beard, but he still has that same look on his face. The scowl. 

“From Laura?” you ask hesitantly. 

“From my universe,” Logan answers. 

“There– There’s a version of me in your universe?” 

“There was.”

“And what happened to me?” 

Logan’s jaw tightens. “The same thing that happened to your Logan in this universe.”

“Oh.” Your face drops, eyes softening. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

Logan wants to run far from here, far from you because he feels himself yearning for more. He almost forgot how it felt like to be near you, to be inches away that he can just reach out and pull you into his arms. Your eyes captivate him, the kindness it expresses makes him feel like he matters. You had always made him feel that way that even through all of his anger, through all of the walls he put up, you showed him that he was deserving of something good. Even if he didn’t believe it himself. 

And you… You were the best thing to ever happen to him.

“Don’t know why you’re apologizin’,” Logan mutters. 

There’s an uncomfortable silence that engulfs the both of you. He can see the tears threatening to spill over, can see the way your lower lip is beginning to tremble and he has this sudden urge to console you, to wipe away the tears that have now fallen down your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, bringing your hands up to wipe away the tears that seem to be trickling down your face nonstop. “I just– Losing my Logan just crushed me and I don’t think I’ve ever recovered.” 

My Logan. 

Logan can practically feel his heart beating in his chest. This isn’t a conversation that he thought he would be having and certainly not with someone he loved and died because of him. 

“That’s okay,” Logan responds quietly, his tone softening. “I don’t think it’s easy to recover from losing someone you love.”

“Did you– Did you love me in your universe?” 

Logan nods slowly, tightening his jaw as he gazes down at you. “With every fiber of my being.” 

Your eyes widen and stare up at him. This might be a different Logan, but hearing those words again just brings you back to the moment you last saw your Logan before he left to go take care of Charles. 

“Did you love me in yours?” Logan asks hesitantly.

You nod instantly, tears trickling down your cheek as you stare up at him. “I’d love you in every lifetime.” 

Logan feels his own set of tears pool at the corners of his eyes and he moves a hand to rest on the railing, fingers lightly brushing against yours as he stares into your eyes. 

“I’m not him,” he whispers. 

“I know,” you say quietly. “And I’m not her.” 

[luveline]

hellooo!! im not sure if your requests are open so feel free to ignore this but i was wondering if you could write for tasm!peter where the reader just got her wisdom teeth removed and she’s all loopy on anesthetics and forgets peter is her boyfriend? i saw this video where this girl got her wisdom teeth pulled and forgot she was dating her boyfriend and fell in love with him all over again😭😭

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPR7sGQo5/

thank you for your request! ♡ fem, 1k

"Here she is," the nurse says gently, walking you out with his arm behind your back. "Alright, say hi to Peter." 

"Hi, Peter," you mumble, eyes on the floor. 

Peter grins at you, worry warm at the back of his throat. "Hey. Is that everything?" he asks, nodding at the nurses paper bag of aftercare. 

"Everything you'll need." The nurse helps Peter take over, hoisting your arm over his shoulders before stepping away. "Alright, feel better, okay? And don't hesitate to call if something comes up. We're here to look after you." 

You seem appreciative in your fog, but it's hard to tell. Peter curls his arm around your hip and gives it a soft rub as he leads you to the stairs. Whoever devised the floor plan here had murder on their mind —the second floor is completely inaccessible. Luckily, Peter has a lot of strength at his disposal. 

You can feel it. "Woh, you're strong," you murmur. 

"You know that already." His grip on you tightens, pretty much carrying you down the tight staircase. 

"Do I?" you ask. You make a sound like you're hurting, a squeak. 

"I'd hope so." At the end of the staircase, he sits you down, worried you're not feeling well. "You okay? I can princess carry you if you need me to." 

You look at him with wide eyes. He turns to check there's no one standing behind him, but you're really looking at him. "What?" he asks, touching your knee, imploring. "You look like you've seen a ghost." 

"You're Peter?" you ask. 

Ah, the amnesiac effect of anaesthetic. His touch turns comforting, stroking your thigh with as much care as he can drive into his palm alone. "That's me. Hey, if you're forgetting me, does that mean you're not mad at me for last Friday anymore? 'Cos I know you said you forgive me but I can tell it still pisses you off–" 

Your eyes fall to his hand. "Why would I be mad at you?" you ask. 

"I finished the milk and put the carton back in the fridge, even though I promised I'd stop doing it. You see the jug and think there's milk left. We were gonna have macaroni and cheese..." He nudges your fingers with his. "Are you okay? You don't look like yourself."

"What do I usually look like?" 

"Not so, you know. Daunted." 

"You're really handsome," you whisper, refusing to meet his eye. 

"Oh, you think so?" 

You nod like your head is too heavy. You're embarrassed, you sweetheart, oh my god Peter could cry into your lap. 

"Let's get you to the car, baby." 

"Where are we going?" The gauze gives you the world's most adorable lisp, and it turns your gasp into a hum as Peter stands you up. 

"Home." 

"Together?" 

"Yeah, we live together. It's a nice place, and you're a great decorator, you know? It's cozy." 

"Thank you," you say shyly. 

You're not not shy with him, but it's been a long time since you got so quiet over a practically innocuous comment. He wants to see how you'll react to real compliments, over the top stuff that he one hundred percent means. It's a little mean, but when will you ever be like this again? 

He helps you out past the desk and onto the street to your car where it's parked a half a block down. "Don't worry about all this, okay? I'm gonna take such good care of you, sweetheart. There's an ice pack and a brand new comforter with your name on it waiting at home." Peter smiles at your starry eyes as they flash to his, amazed at his simple plans. "How does that sound, beautiful? Is there anything you want before we head home? Anything that would make you feel better?" 

"You're gonna take care of me?" you ask breathlessly. 

"That's my job. That's my number one boyfriend duty." 

"You're my boyfriend?" 

"I am!" he says happily, laughing as he speaks. "For a while. I've been trying to take things further but you're always really shy about getting married–" 

"You want to get married? To me?" 

Peter presses a soft kiss to your cheek. "You're the only person I'd ever want to get married to. We already picked the flowers–" 

"We did?" 

He laughs again, all your questions. He loves regular you but loopy you is especially endearing. "Last time I got super drunk, yeah. You never let me forget it." 

"So you love me?" you ask, stopping short.

"I love you so much," he says immediately, hugging you into his side. He dots another kiss against the top of your head. "You should remember that even if you don't remember me." 

"I love you," you say quietly. 

Peter doesn't know if that's your memory returning, or if you've fallen in love with him in the last fifteen minutes. He could easily fall in love with you that quickly, and yet he's still amazed at your confession. 

"That's good. That's great. Thank you, sweetheart," he says, desperate to hold your face in his hands but weary of causing you future pain. "There's your car," —he points, lowering his head to yours to make sure you can see it, hand now protectively held between your shoulder blades— "let's go home now. Yeah?" 

You start walking again at his requests. He can pretty much see the steam rising off of your face, giddy with happiness at these revelations. You're together, you're in love, and you think he's handsome. He wonders what you'll have to say about his biceps in this state of delirium; you go crazy for his arms sober. 

Which reminds him. 

"I totally have another secret to tell you," he says, unlocking the car as you approach and helping you into the passenger seat. 

"What is it?" you ask. 

Peter closes you in and skirts around the door, climbing into the driver's seat. He's glad that New York is as ridiculously loud as ever, because not even the closed doors or your sodden gauze can smother the way you shriek.

"My boyfriend is Spider-Man?!" 

[runa-falls]

FREE USE WITH MIGUEL? LIKE ANYWHERE ANYTIME?

a/n: YES NONNIE, ANY--FUCKING--TIME. AND HERES ONE OF THOSE TIMES :^) idk if this is free-use or feral!reader or both. anyway, just enjoy it lol. like every time, this got away from me

special thanks to mona (@whatthefishh) for letting me scream this shit to her over discord + for helping me figure out exactly what 'free use' is lol

cw: smut (18+), free use kink, small very small bit of somnophilia (CAN'T ESCAPE IT), non-explicit oral (m-receiving), afab!reader, mentions of ovulation (+ period) horniness, fingering, cockwarming, fucking w/ multiple orgasms, the same Spanish pet name used over and over, reader is basically a bothersome cat, writer is so all over the place it's confusing.

wc: 2.4k (this was supposed to be a quick thot but wtvr)

---

miguel is a gracious boyfriend, he practically lives to please you. so when you approach him in the middle of the day with nothing but his shirt draped over your figure, he has a hard time rejecting your advances.

sure, he tries, but every time he gives you what he wants.

you're spoiled, really.

miguel works at home as much as possible. he hates having to leave you before the sun rises, walking away from a perfectly cozy bed and wet cunt (😳).

miguel convinces himself that Spider HQ can survive a day or two without him on site. he has several capable Spiders that do most of the heavy lifting for him and LYLA isn't afraid to take charge, sitting her holographic ass in the boss' chair.

he can set up mission plans and keep track of everything from his laptop, and he's always on call if he is needed for anything. the only issue is that working remotely doesn't work when he can't get anything done.

he's trying to go over notes from a meeting that was held earlier this morning.

he was supposed to be there, but you physically wouldn't let him out of bed. he swears you're a Spider yourself with the strength you have when you're especially needy and sleepy.

he smelled it when he woke up in the middle of the night to you mouthing over his boxers, that decadent sweetness that indicates you're ovulating.

you were desperate to get a taste of him, to fill that unbearable emptiness inside of you, whimpering with relief when you finally feel his fingers bury themselves in your hair to push your further against his bulge.

he learned early in your relationship that your insatiable appetite for him increases tenfold during your window of fertility (don't even mention your period). and so does your need for sleep. so he caters to your needs accordingly.

you passed out after convincing him to fuck the heat out of you, to snuff out the fire until your neediness recedes. apparently, the only time you aren't horny is when you're sleeping (though that isn't true... you wake up horny all the time??).

you've been sleeping soundly ever since, utterly exhausted by his thorough support, but he knows that once you wake up, you'll be crying for him again.

he crawled back into bed with you after telling LYLA to take over for the day, but after a few hours of almost suffocating because of the way you curl up on his chest like a cat, he got up to get some coffee and finish some computer work.

as soon as his warmth left you, you fussed. eyes still closed as you whined and moaned for his body. he shushed you, gently smoothing down your bedhead until you settled.

it didn't last for long.

you padded out of bed with bleary eyes, clearly looking for him when you walked into the living room. he offered you a quick "morning, cariño." before focusing back on his computer. he had to limit as much contact with you as possible if he wanted to finish his work.

just a few more pages and a couple of emails, and then he can give you all the attention you need.

his shirt brushes against your thigh like a summer dress as you make your way through the room.

he looked adorable with his loose white long sleeve on and black dad-glasses. his hair is still curly and fluffed, telling you he wasn't planning on leaving you anytime soon.

you shuffle over to the couch, sitting next to him with a sigh.

he doesn't react.

somehow, the minimal recognition that you're there, his adamant refusal to look at you, turns you on as much as it irritates you.

he's really trying his best to be a good boss, hm? trying to resist a temptation that's barely a foot away from him.

it makes you feel dirty and deprived. you blatantly rub your legs together, urging him to look. your gaze washes over his sharp jawline watching as it clenches at your soft coos.

"...baby."

"'m working, amor." his voice is still soft, despite the efforts he's taking to ignore you.

you huff.

"but--"

"not right now."

you scoot closer to him, strategically allowing the hem of his shirt to ride up on your thighs. so he's really going to make you do it...

you tug at his sleeve, taking his arm away from his work (though it doesn't look like he was working on much at all, he's been sitting on that exact page for 5 minutes now).

"not right now, mi vida..." he protests lightly, but he doesn't move away. he's not even trying, you think.

you smirk at his empty words. you can see the way he's looking at you: your messy hair, bare legs, the shadow of his shirt hiding away your most sensitive spot. his breathing grows heavier and so does his stare.

"i have work--" miguel is always so soft and sweet to you, melting in your hand though he has all the power to stop it.

"please, miguel? just one, for me?" his lips part as you place his hand against your bare thigh, slowly dragging it upwards until it meets your center.

he doesn't take his hand away, doesn't even pull back a single inch, instead, he instantly complies, cupping his warm hand over its entirety. he chokes out a low groan. you're not wearing anything underneath.

"ok, i guess if it's only once..." he whispers, already breathy. he's leaning over you, almost on top of you, forcing your legs to spread impossibly wide.

he watches as his finger rubs against your slick center, spreading your wetness until you're glistening for him under the late morning light. he pushes in slowly, so slowly, eyes flicking up to your face to witness the small o your mouth makes as he presses in deeper.

his mouth waters as he fingers you, he wishes he had enough time to go down on you, and taste your slick straight from the source. he knows how much you love it when he fucks you with his tongue and suckles on your clit. but no, he has work to do. he needs to get you off so he can finally focus.

"this what you needed, cariño?" it's all but growled into your space, his voice low and taunting. all you can do is nod with bleary eyes as your hands grip onto his thick bicep for support.

he adds another finger and thrusts them into you quicker, angling them just so his palm can gently nudge at your clit. he can feel you tightening around him already, fluttering with each pass that he makes against your g spot. he presses harder, drinking in your choked gasp and shaking thighs.

you're so wet, spilling over his fingers and dripping against his hand. the noises between you are deafening. a mixture of sopping thrusts, heavy breathing, and quiet mewls fill the still silence of the living room.

he's so good at this, too good at this.

how can he make you fall apart with just his hands, caress every sensitive nerve with a single stroke?

you're at the cusp of euphoria. your body, filled to the brim with pleasure, urges you to let go, to take what you want. but you don't want to. you want to stay at the edge forever with his hands on you, to be at the center of his affections, always just one breath away from transcendence.

you're not ready for him to stop touching you anytime soon, you realize. you still need it and after you'll need it again. you need him.

his glasses start sliding as he looks down at you, dropping until they're barely at the tip of his nose. he's focused, eyes locked on how he fills you again and again.

his fingers speed up, expertly aiming against that special spot inside of you. your hips rise from the couch, needing him as deep as possible. then it all falls apart.

you cry out, back arching and eyes rolling. your body is barely touching the couch under you and it feels like you're being lifted up by unknown forces as you reach your climax. white fills your vision and heat thrums through your limbs. you can't hide your one orgasm from him, it's too intense.

before you could recover, he slips his fingers out of you.

"alright, honey, we're done." he casually sucks your essence off of his fingers before propping his glasses back to the arch of his nose.

"ok, ok, i get it. you're busy." you pant, still pulsing from your high. and...he's already back to work. he wasn't kidding when he said he had stuff to do. "i'll just...be sitting here."

so you watch him get back to work, or you try to. the incessant scrolling, typing, reading, and muttering thoughts that accompany his work is usually enough to put you to sleep. it's an unusual lullaby that's attached to him. one that brings you the comfort of knowing he's near.

but he's hard.

he seems so relaxed, so content to work, but his erection presses so desperately against his sweats, outlined perfectly by the grey fabric.

so how could you not touch him? he clearly needs your help... and if he doesn't, then you need it.

you want to be good, you do, but when he types so effortlessly like that with the fingers that were just stuffed in your cunt, or when he looks over his dad-glasses to look at something like a hot fucking nerd, you can't help it.

it's been, what, 12 minutes? that's enough work for the day in your opinion.

you start slow, hesitantly, watching to make sure he's not looking at you (though he can clearly see you from his peripheral vision). you stand up on the couch right next to him. you're a bit unstable on the squishy cushions so you use his shoulder for support.

he looks over at you, confused as to why you decided to walk all over the furniture like a toddler.

you carefully maneuver over his arms to settle yourself on his lap. you're a koala around him, holding your torso to his, looping your arms around his neck and sharing your shimmering lustful body heat. he grunts when you scoot even closer to him, your bare pussy pressing entirely against his covered cock.

but he ignores it.

he doesn't say anything, barely even moves, and just continues to work. you pout a bit, but let him. you convince yourself that you're content with just sitting here and enjoying his company (despite the large distraction that pulses against your pussy, pressing so sweetly under your needy clit).

you listen to his steady heartbeat and slow breaths, the occasional sound of tapping keys. you nuzzle against the soft shirt that stretches over his chest. you're fine.

it's not like you're leaking all over his sweatpants, leaving a puddle at the apex of the fabric. you're not crying on the inside, so empty and fluttering around nothing. you're fine.

until you arent.

you lazily lift your hips above his, nearly head-butting his chin in the process. his arms lift to help you get settled, hands resting on your waist, as patient as ever.

you reach below you and he stiffens. he wasn't expecting you to--

your hand buries itself under his sweats, delicate fingers brushing over his erection. he breathes out your name when you squeeze him teasingly before pulling him out.

"what did i say?" he grunts, hand swiftly wrapping around your wrist. the words are lost on your ears as you caress the silky steel in your fist. it pulses at your touch. he needs this.

he says your name once more.

"you're working."

"then why are you trying to fuck me?!"

"i'm only going to sit on it." you give him an innocent look. you slowly lower yourself so your dripping center meets his before sliding your glistening lips over his hardness. "won't move or say a thing, promise!"

"cariño..."

"just wanna warm you, baby." you position him right against your entrance. "is that so wrong?" you lower yourself before he can say anything else.

you take him easily with how wet you are, and he fills you perfectly. he sucks in a breath at the feeling then growls out, "don't move."

well, you do move (is anyone surprised). you move a lot. but he moves too. harsher and more competitive. who the hell fucks competitively?

you moan over him, bouncing on his cock eagerly. his hands hold your waist, guiding your movements just how he likes it: fast and hard. his laptop, somewhere on the other side of the couch, is forgotten and probably long dead by now. so much for working at home.

you've cum at least four times already, but who's keeping count (you're not. you're so fucked out, you have to manually breathe now.)

he won't let up anymore. you asked for it and you're getting it.

"do i gotta fuck you to sleep, hm? is that the only way you'll leave me the fuck alone and let me work?"

you only admit now that you're eyes were definitely bigger than your stomach. you're practically drooling as he takes control once again, snapping his hips from under you, harsh and punishing. as if this is a punishment.

he has to carry you back to bed that afternoon. he couldn't just leave you on the couch, naked and shivering. plus you'd be a distraction with your bruised hips and fucked out cunt.

you murmur adorably in your sleep as your body unconsciously nuzzles further into his arms. he places you lovingly on the bed and you immediately curl up. he sighs, brushing your hair out of your face because he knows how much you hate it when it gets in your eyes or tickles at your nose during the night.

you look so cozy and comfortable. but so alone in this huge bed.

he debates laying down with you, only until you're in a deeper sleep.

maybe just a few minutes?

LYLA had a few choice words when he woke up in the morning....

[gothgoblinbabe]

Love Game

[Logan Howlett x fem!reader]

Warnings: MDNI/18+ use of she/her, female reader, swearing, being referred to as a girl, mention of being a stress eater, mild alcohol consumption and mention of alcoholism kinda, jealous!Logan, mild violence, you’re shorter than Logan, unprotected sex (wrap it up), little bit of spitting, sub!logan x kinda dom!reader, voyeurism? Technically?, use of pet names, I believe that’s it but pls lmk if I missed any! ps. you wear a dress in this but if that don't work for you, imagine its a sick ass tux/ fancy attire you're comfy in

Also non cannon compliant because I know Logan is heavy as shit and his body weight would crush you but just for a minute you’re gonna pretend like it wouldn’t

Summary: essentially [this ask] with plot ! // Scott needs to mind his god damn business, but he might’ve done you a favor by snatching your diary and waving it in Logan's face.

Word Count: 8K

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“That fucking kid.”

You groaned, lifting your mattress and checking underneath and round your bed. You knew Scott was going to snatch your diary the moment you’d realized he overheard you tell Ororo where you kept it.  He was always busting your balls the same way he did Logans, even insisting it was a ‘two for one’ deal when he got to bother you at the same time. 

Well, he was really gonna regret messing with you this time.

“Summers! I’m going to wring your goddamn neck! Where is it?”

Your voice boomed through the open halls of the mansion as you barreled down the stairs, feet moving faster than your thoughts. Everything echoed in this place; if he was here, you know he heard you.

“Scott!”

You continued to call his name, stomping around until you locked eyes with him as you entered the kitchen. In his hands - to your abject horror - was your diary, spread open while Logan peeked over his shoulder. 

Truthfully, Scott was a little scared shitless of the consequences of what he’d done. He’d dealt with Logan back and forth, sure, but you? Terrifying. You had just about the same strength as Logan and about five times his rage. That’s why his eyes grew wide when he saw you, snapping the little book shut. 

You could feel your face burning. A diary was private within itself, but there were some things you’d written that were never supposed to be read by another soul; Scott and Logan’s included.

“Fucker,” you grumbled, reaching forward to grab the book from Scott’s hands until Logan snatched it, holding it above your head. 

“Ah, not so fast,” he teased.

You’d gotten into plenty of squabbles with Scott, but he was absolutely going to pay for this. He knew the way you felt about Logan and you swore he got some sick satisfaction out of trying to humiliate you. He only found out because he’d overheard you confiding in Jean late one night in the living room with a pint of ice cream in your hands, yapping while you shoveled Ben and Jerrys into your mouth.

Your eyes flickered between his face and Logan’s. If looks could kill, Scott would have dropped dead the second you walked into the kitchen. 

“Now what is this,” Logan asked with a lilt in his voice as his eyes scanned a page, “a whole paragraph for little ol’ me?”

Shit. 

“I’ll give it back, I promise, but I gotta read this.”

If you tried, you could maybe snatch the thing from his grip before he read too much. You considered jumping on him, piggybacking until he dropped it or handed it over. What lengths would you be willing to go through to keep it a secret anyway? Was it really even a big deal?

You had a crush. Everybody does at some point. A stupid, harmless crush and if this was how he was going to find out, so be it. 

You were still absolutely planning on tearing Scott from limb to limb, though.

“Huh,” Logan clicked his tongue, beginning to read from the pages, “No one knows how to piss me off like Logan.”

You sighed, dropping your head into your hands.

“True,” he commented, “and he spends a ridiculous amount of time in the bathroom to do his hair.”

“Also true,” Scott chimed in, becoming the subject of your seething gaze. 

“He’d save so much time if he just let me do it for him - like it would be hard to comb it into two cat ears,” he read, looking up to speak to you, “first of all, I told you they’re not cat ears.”

You simply nodded and rolled your eyes.

“Second of all, you couldn’t master ‘em anyway - I’d have to fix it myself.”

You just scoffed, leaning yourself back against the kitchen counter in an attempt to act nonchalant while you tapped one foot uncontrollably. Everything he’d read so far seemed to be the mundane stuff, nothing incriminating just yet. 

“God, how I wanna…play with his hair,” he read, eyebrow quirked in confusion.

Ah, there it is.

“That’s, uh - it’s really old, I didn’t mean, like - it’s from years ago,” you tried to blabber out an excuse.

“It’s dated - it’s from a couple months ago.”

You pursed your lips, nearly biting through the flesh at the same time from the pressure. You had to get that book out of his hands.

“He’s so stubborn,” Logan continued to read with a smug grin, holding the book high when you jumped to grab it, “I wish someone would just put him in his place.”

“Ooh,” Scott chuckled, looking to you, “are you gonna be the one to do it?”

“Fuck you, Summers - I’m so gonna get you back for this,” you snarled.

“I don’t think it would take too much for him to keep his mouth shut” Logan started to read again.

You instantly recognized the part he was reading and gasped, frantically reaching again for the book. 

“No, no, no, Logan, please - you don’t wanna read th-“

“I’d love to be the one to do it. I wanna take him and -”

He stopped reading and his eyes scanned the rest of the page, his amused smile faltering. You knew exactly what it was he’d read and you wanted to bury yourself alive. You remembered scrawling it down, snickering to yourself as you dragged the gel pen across the paper.

I wanna take him and tie him to my bedpost, probably shove my panties in his mouth and fuck him senseless.That would really shut him up.

Out of all the pages in that goddamn book, that’s the one he had to open up to?

You watched intently as his eyes flashed from yours to the page and then back again.

“What does it say?” Scott questioned, trying to lean over to get a look.

Instead of letting him read it, he snapped it shut and held it out towards you, his face expressionless. Was he mad? Grossed out?

“Don’t worry about it. We shouldn’t be readin’ her private stuff anyway.”

“Uh…,” you hesitated, fingers softly grazing his when you took it back, “thanks.”

You turned on your heel immediately and hastily made your way back to your room. You hoped to hide out there the rest of the day, praying maybe Logan would forget what he’d read or just let it be. You knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t.

You knew him so well because you were like mirrors of each other; smart mouthed and hot headed. You realized that the first couple months with the X-men, always butting heads with him until one mission where you had to grab the back of his jacket in an attempt to keep him where he was. You tugged with so much force that you nearly knocked him on his ass. Even Hank had never been bold enough to do that, not when Logan was as riled up as could be. From that point on, it was kind of an unspoken assumption that you would always be the one who calmed him down or held him back. So, you did just that; grabbing his wrist with both hands to force him to keep his claws to himself or pushing back against him when he tried to lunge at Scott for something stupid - though, after what he just pulled, you may just let Logan rip him apart next time. Though it was never acknowledged between the two of you, you were his anchor. You held him down when he began to drift away. Fortunately for you, he did the same - using minimal effort to keep you in place when you tried to go for someone’s face or going as far as to hike you over his shoulder and carry you away from the confrontation, all while you kicked and screamed to be let down. 

You avoided him the best you could for two days after the incident in the kitchen, quick comments in passing but never staying long enough for a full conversation out of fear that he’d bring up what he read. What were you supposed to say, anyway? ‘Sorry I thought about fucking you?’

You’d have to think of something because you were face to face in training a few days later. Scott stood to the side of you both, a stopwatch in his hand. 

“Alright, when I say go, whoever pins the other down for more than five seconds wins. Remember, you're each trying to beat your time from the last session.”

Scott’s voice almost sounded underwater. Your eyes were locked with Logan’s and though you wanted to rip your gaze away, you couldn’t.

“Ready? And…go!”

He backed out of the way and you tried to lunge at Logan, quickly being flipped onto your back.

“Okay, ow,” you whispered to yourself, immediately standing back up.

He tried to grab you when you stood but you caught his hand, twisting his arm behind his back to force him to the ground. You straddled his back and kept your weight on him but he was too quick, turning over and pushing you off him.

“Don’t get too excited, now,” he panted, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You were caught off by the low cadence of his voice, inadvertently letting your guard down and giving him an opportunity to pin your arms above your head and keep your legs down with the weight of his knee. Scott began to count down and you racked your brain for a way to get yourself out from underneath him. 

You were able to pull one of your legs free, sending him a little off balance and using your leg on the side of his torso to roll him over on his back again. You straddled his waist, using your hands and your forearms to hold his down. That, however, left you nose to nose while panting for air. 

“What, you thought I’d let you win?” You asked, tongue poking at the corner of your open mouth. It was usual for you to tease each other with little snide comments. Nothing any different from the usual, right?

“Nah, I just really like havin’ you on top.”

Nope, definitely different. 

You didn’t even hear Scott call time on your match at first. 

“Hey! Lovebirds! I said you can get off each other. Jesus,” he groaned. You finally remembered where you were and quickly scrambled off of Logan. 

“Aw, really? It was just gettin’ good,” he chuckled. You could feel his eyes on you as you gathered your belongings with your back turned. You tried to step out into the hallway, praying he wouldn’t catch you before you met the elevator doors - of course, you weren’t that lucky.

“Hey, hey - princess, wait up,” you heard him call after you and you stopped, turning on your heel with an irritated expression.

“About the other day, the thing you wrote - “

You sighed, rubbing your face in distress and cutting him off before he could finish.

“Listen, Logan,” you quickly looked around the corridor to make sure you were alone, “I know what you read, I don’t wanna talk about it. It - look, it was some stupid phase where I had a crush and it’s over, okay?”

He tilted his head. You hoped he would simply nod and move on, but you watched his lips curl into a smile instead.

“Aw, what happened - you changed your mind?”

You knew him well enough to understand the look on his face. He was never gonna let this go - in fact, he was probably going to nearly torture you over it. 

“Shut up,” you huffed and continued to walk away, keeping your stare straight ahead.

“Aw, pretty girl -“

You dropped your belongings to the floor with an audible thud and gathered the front of Logan’s t-shirt in your fists, tugging him down to your height so you were face to face. 

“First of all, I told you not to call me that - ‘princess’, ’pretty girl’ - like I’m one of your little girlfriends. Okay, kitty cat?” you scolded through gritted teeth. He hated being called that and you knew it.

His eyebrows were raised and his lips parted in surprise.

“And second of all,” you continued with a deep breath, “you read it, it’s done - leave it be, would you? It doesn’t mean anything.”

You still had his shirt in your tight grip.

“Alright, alright - I’m just teasing,” he admitted, trying to pry your fingers from his t-shirt, “and I’m sorry, I never should’ve been reading it in the first place.” 

You sighed and finally let him go.

“Fine, I forgive you. And you can’t ever tell anyone what you read. Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“So, we’re cool again? Nothings weird?”

“Not unless you make it weird.”

“You were the one flirting with me.”

“Uh - was not. I was simply creating a distraction to throw you off guard and it worked.”

“I’ll get you back.”

“Sure, you will.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You and Logan were in forced proximity hours later, standing with Scott, Jean and Ororo in Charles’ office.

“Do we really have to go?” Logan groaned, hanging his head back in frustration.

You were staring at the thick paper invite atop Charles’ desk. All your names were scrawled in cursive, surrounded by small gold detailing with the event written on top. It was some kind of Gala, something for charity that you couldn’t quite make out from where you were standing.

“It would be a wonderful opportunity to represent the school, yourselves and the mutant population as a whole,” Charles answered.

“You really think wolvie and his little hothead wrangler are gonna be well behaved enough to not make a scene?” Scott gestured towards you both.

Logan stepped towards him and you instinctively grabbed the sleeve of his jacket to hold him back. He looked back at you, clearly annoyed.

“We’ll be fine,” you insisted while glaring daggers in Scott’s direction.

You didn’t notice that you were still holding the sleeve of Logan’s jacket when Charles dismissed you. You let go and cleared your throat as you followed him out of the room.

“There's no way in hell I'm wearing a suit,” he grumbled, looking down at his flannel and jeans.

“You don’t wanna play dress up?” You teased.

“And look like a stuck up prick? No.”

“I'm kind of excited to wear something nice for once,” you admitted, “I’ve got a couple nice dresses I’ve never even worn. Besides, maybe there’s gonna be a couple of hot, rich guys there.”

You were looking straight ahead as you walked side by side down the hall, smiling to yourself. If you had turned your head, you would have seen the way Logan rolled his eyes. 

“What, you’re gonna go home with some rich schmuck just ‘cause he’s got money?”

He sounded almost annoyed. You furrowed your eyebrows and shrugged. 

“I don’t know, if he’s good looking, maybe.”

That was only a little truthful. You were not the type of person who was comfortable enough to go back to a stranger's place or hook up with someone you’d never see again. But maybe you could, if it would keep your mind off Logan and convince him to forget about what he’d read a few days ago. And if the guy did have money? It certainly wouldn’t be a problem for you.

“Oh,” Ororo piped up from behind you, stretching out the vowel, “I see - you’re going shopping. Gotta try before you buy, huh?”

She playfully poked your side and you chuckled, swatting her hand away.

“Call it what you want,” you responded, “but I’m gonna have fun, at the very least.”

You would end up having fun - just in a much different way than you expected.

You decided on getting ready for the night in Ororo’s room when the time came a few weeks later. She was touching up her makeup at her vanity while you changed behind the bathroom door. 

“Does it fit?” She asked through the wood with her eyes still on her reflection.

You were attempting to zip the back of your dress with your arm stretched uncomfortably over your shoulder.

“In a way? Kind of.”

Jean entered the room just then, having already gotten ready in her and Scott’s room.

“She’s trying on a dress that’s been in her closet since last year that still had tags,” Ororo explained to her as she sat on the edge of the bed.

“Can one of you zip me up, though?” you sighed in defeat and opened the door, “I can’t get it.”

“Woah, mama!” Ororo comically wolf whistled and you rolled your eyes with a smile.

The dress was your favorite out of your collection of unworn clothing; it showed the perfect amount of skin and hugged your figure phenomenally. To top it off, the color complemented your skin in the best way possible.

“I don’t look silly? I feel a little funny getting all dolled up,” you confessed, turning around so Jean could pull your zipper up the rest of the way.

“Definitely not silly,” Jean reassured you but mumbled under her breath after, “Logan’s gonna lose it.”

You turned back around to quirk an eyebrow at her.

“Who cares what he thinks? Did I say I care what he thinks? ‘Cause I don’t. Like, at all.”

“Honey,” Ororo began, “we already know you like him, remember?”

You groaned and bent down to look into the mirror on her vanity.

“I don’t - not anymore, at least.”

“Yeah, right,” Jean giggled, “keep telling yourself that.”

Ororo looked at the time on her watch and hastily stood to slip on her shoes, “We’re gonna be late if we don’t leave soon. Logan and Scott are supposed to meet us downstairs.”

You stepped into your shoes and grabbed the little bag you’d carry for the night, following her and Jean out the door. When you finally got to the staircase, you could see Scott and Logan talking to each other at the bottom, the latter of the two standing with his back facing the stairs. 

“All right, ready!” Jean enthusiastically announced. If she hadn’t said anything, the simultaneous clicking of your shoes would’ve announced your presence for you.

Logan turned around to face you. At that moment, he wondered why he ever complained about going in the first place. His eyes were glued to you as you came down the stairs and you could feel yourself start to get warmer. 

He looked so good in a tux, Jesus Christ. You liked when he wore those tight fitting tanks and jeans, sure, but something about the formal attire really did it for you. His cologne wafting into your space when you stood next to him didn’t do much to help dispel any feelings you had, either. How badly you wanted to just forget the stupid event, tug him into your bedroom upstairs and show him that you were so not kidding about what you’d scribbled in your diary. Alas, that was certainly not going to happen.

‘Just an old crush,’ you internally tried to remind yourself, ‘just an old crush - that’s it. I’m not into him anymore.’

Except that you knew damn well it was a lie. 

“We’re gonna be late if we stand here any longer, c’mon,” Scott began walking with Jean while you, Logan and Ororo followed.

“You look nice,” Logan finally spoke as you made it to the door, “think you’ll bag any of those rich guys?”

You almost asked what he was talking about, too lost in thinking about how you actually wanted to bag him and not some stranger.

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully, “but if I do, you’ll be the last to find out.”

“Oh, really? Why’s that?”

“Because I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Got that right.”

You eventually found yourself in a large, decorated open room, sat in the corner with Logan while he nursed a glass of whiskey and you anxiously scarfed down appetizers. The rest of the team had walked off to mingle - like normal people do.

“Kid, you’re gonna choke if you keep eatin’ that fast,” he warned you.

“ ‘m a stress eater,” you explained with a mouthful of fancy cheese, “besides, you’re a stress drinker. Thank god there’s so many tiny foods.”

He scoffed and took a sip of his drink. 

“What are you even stressed about, anyway? Half your job tonight is to just stand there and look pretty and you’ve already got that down.”

“Thank you, I think?” your eyes nervously scanned the room, “I just hate being in a crowded place, especially one this big that’s full of complete strangers.”

“Why do you think I’m holdin’ a glass right now?” 

Your eyes flickered between his and the half full glass in his hand. You wordlessly took it from his fingers before he even had time to react and downed the contents in one gulp.

“Well, that’s one way to calm your nerves,” he commented, “but if you keep drinkin’ like that, you’re gonna be face first on the ground before the nights even started.”

You were still holding a grimace from the burn of the alcohol but shook your head and cleared your throat, “I just needed the kick in the ass - I’m good.”

“So, you’re gonna go socialize? Good luck,” he raised his eyebrows, “something tells me these people aren’t really who we want to be hanging out with.”

“Why, because they have an immense amount of cash to burn and we don’t? You can’t hate people just because they have money, Logan.”

“Then how am I doin’ it right now?”

You rolled your eyes.

“I think there’s gotta be a few genuinely good people out there who just happen to be rich.”

“Uh-huh, and I think two plus two is five - it doesn’t make me right.”

“You know what? I’m going to prove you wrong,” you said smugly, standing up from the table. 

“I think you’ll prove me right.”

“You wanna bet?”

“It’s a deal.”

“What are we betting, exactly?”

“How ‘bout this - if either of us can find someone here we actually want to go home with, you win. If we don’t, I win.”

“Fine,” you narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms, “what does the winner get?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “we can figure it out later.”

With that, you both dispersed. You were still feeling uncomfortable but that wasn’t going to go away unless you did something about it. Do you just go up and talk to someone? What do you say?

“Excuse me,” a voice said from behind you and you turned around, only to be face to face with a cute guy in a tux.

“Oh, so they come up to you,” you thought immediately.

“Uh, I don’t mean to be forward with you, but you look very beautiful,” he said politely, a charming smile on his face, “I saw you when you walked in and wanted to say something, I just wasn’t sure if you came with someone.”

You took a second to respond, still processing the fact that he even came up to you. 

“Oh, thanks,” you finally replied, “you’re not too bad yourself.”

You tried to use humor to dispel the awkwardness - the type of awkwardness you feel when you get asked to go to a school dance in the seventh grade - but this guy was cute. If you just got to know him a bit, the mild discomfort would probably pass.

“I didn’t come here with anyone, by the way,” you added, “Well, I mean, I did but not in that way - I’m with friends.”

“That’s good to know,” he said, grinning, “in that case, would you wanna dance with me?”

You hadn’t even asked each other your names, and you didn’t really care. 

You nodded and let him take your hand, “I have to warn you, though - I’m no dancer.”

“Well, do I look like one? ‘Cause I’m certainly not, either. But when there’s a beautiful woman in the room that you really wanna talk to, you’ve got to think of a reason to go up and talk to her.”

“I don’t know - I think you just might be a bit of a smooth talker.”

He was and it was definitely working. He clicked his tongue and waved his hand dismissively.

“Oh, c’mon, don’t make me blush.”

He was funny, too. All you had to do was find out a little more about him - for the sake of the bet, yes, but also to determine the probability of breaking his bed frame later if it all went well.

So, you let him rest his arms around your waist and you put your hands on his shoulders. It was kind of nice to have someone so close. You started to feel mildly uncomfortable, though, as if someone was staring at you. You ignored it anyway, deciding it was just the anxiety of being in a place with a lot of people.

Really, it was Logan standing across the room with his stare glued to you two. He looked like he wanted to bore a hole into the poor guy's skull. When you finally caught sight of him, he turned and seemingly disappeared.

You spent a bit of time with your new date, intending to subtilely interrogate him to find out if he fit the criteria for your bet with Logan. Even if he didn’t? You might let him take you home anyway.

You sat with him at an abandoned table, leaning your head on your hand as you half - listened to him talk about stocks. You glanced around the room and spotted Logan again almost immediately. 

He was leaning against the wall with a girl hanging from his arm. She was talking away and he looked completely disinterested. The whole point of coming was to distract yourself from anything to do with him and there you were, ignoring your date to silently seethe at a girl who was only in his vicinity.

You tried to zone back in on the conversation and really pay attention when he started to talk about his job. It was some tech company you’d heard of, a big name in the industry.

“Oh, so, what do you do there?” 

“Well, I own it.”

You squinted and sat up straight.

“You own the company.”

It was more of a statement than a question.

He nodded and you raised your eyebrows. This was going much better than you anticipated. You couldn’t help but glance over at Logan to see that girl still standing with him.  She was twirling a strand of her long hair around her finger. She was undeniably pretty, so you wondered why he wasn’t even looking at her while she hung all over him.

“Hey, would you wanna dance with me again? I know it’s a little slow paced, but I love this song.”

You returned your attention to the man in front of you and smiled as politely as possible.

“You know what? Sure, why not.”

You let him lead you into the middle of the room and rest his hands on your hips. He pulled you much closer than you’d been standing before, so much so that you were nearly stepping on his shoes. His hands slid down further and you laughed a little to yourself. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? So you wondered why it didn’t feel like something you wanted at all.

You caught Ororo’s gaze from across the room and she smiled, flashing you a thumbs up. When you caught Logan’s gaze, he was anything but smiling. There was a reason you felt like all this was something you didn’t want - you knew you wished it was him you were standing with. Still, you weren’t sure of why he wouldn’t tear his eyes from you or why he had such a scowl on his face. 

You stopped staring back when your date planted a kiss on your forehead.

“What was that for?”

“Well, I kinda wanted to kiss you but I figured maybe goin’ right for the lips might have been too much.”

“We don’t even know each other's names.”

“Do we have to?”

You thought hard for a moment, wondering if Logan was still watching. It wasn’t fair to kiss someone just to try to make another person jealous, you knew that. He didn’t even have a reason to be jealous.

“You can kiss me.”

He was an alright kisser - nothing exciting. His lips were soft, though, and you liked the smell of his cologne. Before you could deepen the kiss any further, he was tugged backwards and off of you.

Logan had the back of the poor guy's jacket in his fists, nearly yanking him down to the floor with how much force he used.

“Alright, bub,” he grunted, “I think that's enough, she’s leavin’.”

You glared daggers at him with your lips parted in surprise.

“I can leave when I want to,” you said through gritted teeth, “what the hell is your problem?”

“Is he your boyfriend?” your date asked, nervously looking between you both.

“He’s n-” you began to answer and Logan cut you off as he grabbed your arm.

“Yeah. Get lost.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows in anger but could feel your face becoming warm. You weren’t totally sure if you were turning pink from how enraged you were with Logan or from the words that just came out of his mouth.

“Outside. Now,” you demanded, tugging your arm from his grip.

You turned to walk away and he followed as you grumbled to him, holding your dress up a bit so you wouldn’t trip as you stomped out.

‘What the fuck was that?”

He didn’t answer, simply following at your heels with his eyes on the marble floor of the corridor. You swung open the door and stepped into the cool summer evening air, waiting until the door shut behind you to speak again.

“What, you didn’t want me to win the bet?” you guessed with raised eyebrows.

“You’re really gonna let some guy you don’t know shove his tongue in your mouth?”

You stood in stunned silence for a moment.

“Are you kidding? How is that any of your business?”

He scoffed and shook his head.

“I can’t believe you’re gonna let some asshole be all over you just ‘cause he's got money.”

“What?” you furrowed your eyebrows, “why do you care?”

“Why don’t you? Seriously, you’d just go home with some guy and fuck him?”

“I don’t - I don’t know,” you stuttered, “maybe, but that was part of that stupid bet! Not that it’s any of your concern!”

You were nearly shouting at each other.

He clicked his tongue and spoke in a sour tone, “none of my concern, sure. I didn’t think you’d actually try and go home with someone -”

“Okay, you know what?” you threw your hands up in frustration, “I don’t know what the hell your problem is or why you’re acting like some jealous boyfriend, but fucking cut it out!”

You were both finally quiet for a moment. The sound of cicadas and crickets songs filled the silence. Logan’s face was pleading, his features highlighted by the soft golden yellow light seeping through the building’s windows.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” he mumbled under his breath, his arms crossed over his chest.

You raised your eyebrows, “get what?”

You sounded exasperated, sick of playing what felt like the worst game of twenty questions ever.

Logan brought a hand to his face, scratching at his facial hair - something you recognized as a nervous habit.

“That stupid fuckin’ notebook, the little one you write in,” he groaned, “I just wish I never read it.”

“So, you’re mad about that?” You asked, clearly still confused as to what he was trying to say, “listen, I’m sorry, it wasn’t -“

“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying,” he interrupted, “it’s - fuck, I don’t know. I don’t know, It's like I read that damn thing and lost my mind.”

You waited for him to elaborate, a puzzled expression still plastered on your face.

“It’s all I can think about, all the time - it's like I close my eyes and I can still see it written down in your chicken scratch. I don’t even know what to do, It’s so stupid,” he huffed.

You still didn’t understand what he was trying to tell you or whether he was talking to you or himself.

“And then - I don’t know, alright - you look so…” he groaned with his face in his hands, “I like you - is that enough? Ya’ get it? I liked you for awhile and then Scott had to go peekin’ through shit that wasn’t his and reading that shit you wrote just made it even worse for me. I’m supposed to read that you wanna ‘fuck me senseless’ and just let it go? You thought that wasn’t gonna do something to me?”

You were slack jawed, feeling like your legs were going to give out from under you.

He seemed angry, his nostrils flaring while he held a frown.

“So…you -“ 

His hands cupped your face and he leaned down close enough for you to feel his warm breath on your skin.

“So, I want you to fuck me like you said you wanted to.”

Your eyes grew so wide that you feared they might pop out of your head. 

“Would you, if I asked?” He continued in a low voice.

Your stomach erupted in butterflies and you nodded without hesitation. Conversations like this with Logan had only ever happened in your dreams.

His lips finally connecting with yours made your head spin. If he wasn’t tenderly holding your face, you might’ve just let yourself fall to the ground.

“I’ve been thinking about you for months, you know,” he admitted when he pulled away, “watchin’ when you walk away, thinking about how you say my name, wishing I could just tell ya’ - I didn’t have the nerve. Seein’ you with another guy, though - I couldn’t take it anymore. I thought I could and I just can't.”

You almost expected to hear the beeping of your alarm clock that would startle you awake in your bedroom. Still, it never came. You could feel his hot breath on your face, the breeze on your skin, the warmth of his hands; it was all too real.

“You mean it? All of it?”

You didn’t know why your voice sounded so desperate, almost pleading with him not to toy with you.

“ ‘course I do. Of course, I mean - god, look at you.”

His mouth was on yours again and you smiled against his lips, your cheeks tinted pink.

“Hey, wait,” you pulled away momentarily, “why did you agree to that bet in the first place, then?”

He gnawed on his bottom lip anxiously.

“I kinda figured you wouldn’t be able to find someone good enough, I don’t know - maybe I could convince you to come back with me instead.”

“That was your plan?” you let out a small laugh, smiling so wide that your face began to ache.

“Well, It might’ve worked if you hadn’t met what’s-his-face in there.”

“I don’t know his name,” you shrugged, “didn’t care to ask.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you.

“I let him kiss me because I wanted to make you jealous,” you admitted, “I still like you.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

His expression was as smug as could be.

“That you still like me? Yeah.”

“How? Am I that obvious?”

“It’s not your fault,” he shrugged and lowered his voice to a whisper as he put his lips to your ear, “I could smell how wet you’ve been all night.”

You swallowed hard and shivered when his hand slid up your back.

“And it worked, by the way - I’m jealous.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded and leaned his forehead against yours.

“Well,” you affectionately scratched at the hair at the back of his head, “are you gonna do something about it, then?” 

He kissed you with much more fever than before and you caught his lower lip between your teeth, making him groan into your mouth. His hands were in your hair to push you even further into him to the point he was practically hunched over your body. When you finally took a second to catch your breath, you had a realization.

“I won the bet.”

He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Please tell me you don’t mean you’re actually still gonna go home with that guy.”

“No,” you rolled your eyes and let out an amused scoff, “I meant you, Logan.”

“Me,” he repeated with a beaming smile, “you’re coming home with me.”

You nodded and giggled, absentmindedly fixing the hair hanging in front of his forehead. 

He was staring into your eyes in a way that had you feeling as though there was nothing else around you - no fancy party inside, no responsibility to socialize - just you and Logan in the cool light of the moon. He was studying your face like he’d never see it again if he turned away.

“What if I couldn’t wait till we got home?” He asked quietly. His warm breath just barely grazed your lips.

Your eyes widened and you thought for a moment, looking between him and the door beside you.

“C’mere,” you instructed simply, taking him by his hand and leading him inside to walk down the main hallway. You scanned the area and once you were sure no one would see either of you, you began trying knobs of different doors to see if one would open. When one finally gave, you slipped inside with Logan in toe and flicked on the lights. It was a small dusty office, one that probably hadn’t been used in a few months at the very least.

Neither of you wasted any time in taking advantage of your newfound isolation. Logan was kissing you like he was starving to taste you, working his way down your neck with an open mouth to leave darkening spots slick with his saliva.

“Logan,” you sighed, eyes fluttering closed momentarily from the way he was nipping and sucking at your skin.

“I love when you say my name,” he admitted, mumbling into your neck. His hands were everywhere - tangled in your hair, resting on your waist, your hips, your ass - he was desperate to keep his hands on you now that he had you. 

You disconnected your lips for a moment so you could hop back to sit up on the top of the desk behind you. You hiked the skirt of your dress above your knees to avoid ripping it and motioned for him to stand between your knees as you held the middle of the skirt down with one hand.

“I’ve got an idea for my reward for winning the bet,” you smiled mischievously, leaning up to hold his chin and force him to look you in the eye, “what do you say, pretty boy? You wanna be part of it?”

He nodded eagerly and the pace of his breathing increased significantly.

“Good,” you leaned back on one hand, using the other to tug at Logan’s suit jacket, “off.”

He obeyed without hesitation and shrugged the garment off his shoulders. He began to untuck his shirt and you stopped him with a gentle touch.

“Did I say to take that off too, sweetheart? I don’t think I did,” you spoke softly in a firm tone.

“No - no, ma’am.”

It drove you crazy to have him under your thumb in that way, his usual domineering nature and dominance melting away by the second. 

“So do as you're told, baby,” you instructed, “if you’re good for me, maybe I’ll reward you back.”

You could see him swallow hard, eyelids nearly fluttering closed when he thought of all the possibilities of what that might entail. 

“F- mhm, fuck,” he stuttered when you brought a hand to the front of his pants and barely grazed the spot below the button with your fingertips. He began to twitch more and more with every touch.

“Are you gonna say yes?” your voice was near taunting, “or do I have to try a little more convincing?”

You popped the button on the front of his pants with ease and slid your hand underneath to feel him over the soft fabric of his underwear.

“Yeah, yes, I - ah, yeah,” he moaned in response, rocking his hips towards your hand and resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You smiled and gently kissed his temple.There was something so lovably vulnerable about the way he was acting with you. You knew he’d never let another soul find out that he loved what you did to him - dreaming of you whispering affectionate nicknames and praise as he sloppily pounded into you or spending hours on his sore knees just so he could feel you cum on his face - but the intensity of his devotion bordered otherworldly. 

“Do me a favor, baby,” you started, lifting your hips for a second to drag your panties down your legs, “take out your pretty cock for me.”

He obeyed, tugging his pants down his thighs just enough for his already hard dick to spring up out of the confines of his briefs. You inadvertently licked your lips at the sight, thinking of how heavenly he’d feel in you. He was huge, but for a guy who’s six foot two, it wasn’t a surprise.

He stood expectantly between your legs with his hands on your thighs. You leaned back on both hands, cocking your head to the side as you spoke.

“Touch yourself first and maybe I’ll let you touch me.”

The ‘maybe’ was a bluff. He knew as well as you did that you’d let him touch you regardless.

“Gimme your hand,” you ordered before he could even wrap his fingers around himself. You leaned your mouth over the palm of his hand and spat.

He groaned from the gesture alone, knees nearly buckling when he finally brought his hand down to coat his cock in your saliva.

“Feels good?” You cooed, eyes flickering from his face to his leaking cock in his fist.

“Mm - mhm, yeah, ‘s good,” he panted, “really fucking good.”

You failed an attempt to hide your wide smile, hypnotized by the repeated motion of his hand. He looked so pretty like this - his jaw hung open, chest heaving while his face became more flushed with every passing second. You could feel the rush of heat in your lower stomach just from watching him.

You couldn’t help yourself from leaning forward a little and unbuttoning his shirt from the top down, all while he watched you intently, his breathing becoming heavier the closer your hand came to his.

“Think of you all the time when I do this at home,” he panted, “you’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

The compliment made your heart swell; it was a sweet remark that so greatly contrasted the obscene speed of his hand as he stroked himself. 

“You’re such a pretty boy,” you whispered and planted a kiss on his pink cheek, “you look amazing.”

You caught the way the motion of his hand slowed and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching forward and wrapping your fingers around his cock. He growled, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Don’t work yourself up so soon, kitty cat, or you’re gonna be finished before I even get to fuck you,” you murmured into his ear and he gasped as you started to pump him.

“Don’t - ah - don’t call me that,” he whimpered.

“Aw, you don’t like it, my pretty kitty?”

He growled again, even more animalistically , but his hips jerking into your hand told you he really didn’t hate that nickname as much as he told you he did.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” you continued to tease, “I know you like it - you love bein’ my big, pretty kitty.”

He groaned, lifting his head from your shoulder and crashing his lips into yours. 

“Sh-shut up,” he managed to grunt.

You immediately withdrew your hand and sat back again.

He whimpered from the loss of contact and looked at you with pleading eyes, silently asking why you stopped.

“I said you had to be good for me, didn’t I?” you asked.

He nodded, eyes traveling from your thighs, up your body and then back down again. 

“Good boys don’t talk back,” you said simply, raising your eyebrows.

“I’m sorry, I’ll - I’m good, I’ll behave, just please -“

His speech was cut short when you hiked your dress up even further to expose your bare, wet pussy.

“Fucking Christ,” he moaned.

You tugged the top of your dress down to expose your chest and he had to grip the desk you were sitting on so his legs wouldn’t give out from under him. 

“If you can be real quiet,” you pushed some fallen hair out of his face, “I’ll let you cum in me. You want that?”

“Please, ‘v been thinking of that for fucking weeks,” he begged, “please, please, baby.”

He tentatively cupped one of your breasts and you rested your hand atop his, encouraging him to squeeze and knead however he pleased. You spurred him on to the point that he couldn’t resist leaning down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue and sucking while his fingers toyed with the other one.

You couldn’t help whining from the sensation of his mouth on you while you combed your fingers through his hair.

He finally detached himself after ravishing your chest in wet kisses and left a string of saliva connecting his tongue to your nipple. You giggled a little to yourself and crashed your lips into his again in a heated mess of tongues and teeth. You scooted your hips up on the table and used your grip on his cock to graze his tip up against you, making him shudder.

“You’re so - fuck, you’re such a fuckin’ tease,” he gasped and held your hips in an iron grip.

“What’d I say about back talk?” you moved the head of his cock further away from you.

He groaned in frustration, moving his hands to hold your face, “Honey, I’m already beggin’ -  please, I need you.”

The desperation in his voice made you even wetter.

“I guess you’ve been pretty good for me - do you think you deserve it?” 

He nodded eagerly and placed his hand over yours that was around him. You let him nudge your hand away to align himself with your entrance. His eyes bore into yours as he finally began to push himself into you, rocking his hips slowly to help you adjust to his size. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he wrapped his around your waist. When he fully sheathed himself inside of you, he let out a loud moan that echoed through the small space.

“I told you to be quiet, sweetheart,” you whispered into his ear.

“Uh-huh, ‘s a lil’ hard when I’m fuckin’ a girl I’ve been dreamin’  about for months,” he mumbled, working up a steady pace while you wrapped your legs around him and locked your ankles at the small of his back to help push him further into you.

“You feel so good, Logan,” you moaned, kissing down his jaw and throat.

He groaned at full volume again.

“Are you gonna stay quiet? or do I have to shut you up? Hm?” you grinned and he made an even louder noise. You reached behind you to find your panties and folded them into a ball, holding his jaw with your other hand.

“Open.”

He obeyed immediately, rolling his eyes into the back of his head when you stuffed them into his open mouth.

“Good kitty.”

He let out a muffled growl and the speed of his hips increased.

“Yeah,” you panted, “I know you like that.”

The angle at which he was fucking you made it so that he was hitting the sensitive spot inside of you over and over again, making you gasp each time. Sweat was forming on his neck and down both your chests, practically sticking your skin together in the hot, stuffy room.

“You’re - you’re so pretty,” you told him truthfully, admiring the rosey tint of his face and the drool that was starting to run down from the corner of his mouth. His eyelids fluttered closed and he started to thrust into you hard enough to shake the desk you were sitting on. 

“Easy, kitty cat - you’re gonna break somethin’,” you muttered into the hot skin of his neck with a smug smile on your face.

His pace didn’t falter in the slightest, his hands gripping your ass to push you towards him every time he slammed his hips forward. The fabric of your panties muffled the guttural moan he choked on when you lightly sunk your teeth into his shoulder. He slid his hand between your bodies to bring his thumb to your clit, working tight circles around the bundle of nerves in rhythm with the thrust of his hips.

“Fuck, fuck, I-“ you were speechless, at a loss for words from the brutal combination of the pressure he applied with his fingers and the way he repeatedly hit that spot inside of you. His eyes were squeezed shut and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, still whining and growling like an animal into the fabric of your underwear. You felt the heat in your lower stomach start to build and you buried your face in his shoulder, your mascara smudged under your eyes.

“Logan, Logan, I’m - ah - ‘m gonna come,” you warned, tugging on the back of his hair.

He groaned and yanked the fabric out of his mouth, immediately bringing his lips to yours so he could tenderly make out with you while the squelching sound of your dripping cunt filled the room. 

“C’mon,” he growled into your mouth, “c’mon, baby, please.”

Both your chins were slick with each other's saliva from the frantic way you’d smashed your lips together. Your whining and pleading became louder with every roll of his hips until the sensation sent you over the edge, euphoria blossoming from your lower stomach and spreading all throughout your body.

“Oh my god, Logan,” you nearly yelled, your hands slipping under his open shirt to scratch down his back, “s-so good. I love you.”

The three words slipped out without hesitation and your eyes widened, mild humiliation replacing the fading feeling of your orgasm.

His hips rutted against yours when you spoke and he leaned his face down so he was nose to nose with you.

“Love you so much.”

He kissed you softly with both his hands on your cheeks, so filled with affection that you could’ve cried. He slid his hands down back to your hips and kept his forehead against yours as he continued to drill into you.

“I don’t - I don’t ever wanna see ya’ with anybody else,” he panted, “I needed ya’ so bad. You - ah - ya’ drive me crazy.”

Even after having already came, his pussy-drunk rambling still spawned butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

“You’ll never see me with someone else, baby - promise. ‘s always been you. Only ever really wanted you,” you admitted with a soft voice.

His thrusts became sloppy and you could tell that spurring him on with your words would make him finish just as quickly as you did.

“I’m yours, always have been,” you whispered in his ear, “you’re the only one I’ve ever thought about fucking me like this.”

He choked out a sob into your shoulder and came with an animalistic growl, looking down to watch the mess being made all over your inner thighs.

“Love you so fucking much,” he repeated with a sigh, slowly stopping the thrust of his hips and resting his head against yours again.

“I love you, too,” you replied and planted a sweet kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Sorry I made such a mess of ya’,” he apologized, spreading your thighs as he pulled out, “I’ll clean ya’ up when we’re home, I swear.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” you chuckled, readjusting your dress and slipping your underwear back on while Logan tucked himself back into his pants and buttoned his shirt.

You caught a glimpse of the watch on his wrist as he moved and grabbed his hand so you could see the time.

“Shit! We were supposed to meet everyone back out front ten minutes ago,” you realized aloud, slipping yourself off the desk and pulling your dress down.

He mirrored your haste and let you fix his hair, doing the same for you and wiping away the mascara under your eyes.

“Okay, okay, c’mon,” you insisted, opening the door and slipping out hand in hand. You scurried down the abandoned corridor and all the way to the front exit. When Logan pushed open the door, you were met with Jean, Scott, and Ororo standing with worried expressions.

“What happened to you guys?” Scott asked before Jean nudged him in the arm, pointing towards your intertwined hands.

You looked towards where she was pointing and back up again, “Oh, uh…”

You tried to think of an excuse and looked to Logan beside you for help. 

“Nothin’,” he said in a nonchalant manner, “just got lost around the place - lot’s of rooms in there.”

Ororo raised her eyebrows suspiciously. 

“Sure, and, uh - Is that why you’re holding hands?”

You laughed a little, tugging his hand behind your back.

“Well,” you started, “remember I said I’d try to bag a guy tonight? Um-”

“I’ve been bagged,” Logan interrupted with a huge, smug grin.

“I wasn’t gonna put it like that,” you insisted, “but - yeah.”

“Finally,” Jean huffed and rolled her eyes, “I thought we’d have to have an intervention.”

“Huh?” Logan narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, c’mon,” Ororo laughed, “we all knew you liked each other, even before you did.” 

“And you never said anything?” Logan asked.

“Neither of you ever believed us!”

“True,” you agreed with a shrug and giggle. 

“I believe you now,” he stated, still holding your hand as you all made your way into the night, “She might like me. Just a little bit.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

A/N: Thank you so much if you read till the end :) !! I did get stuck with some writers block in the middle of this and I'm not completely fulfilled w it but if I kept working on it it may take another week and my brain can't do it

Still working on requests rn so if you sent one in, I haven't forgotten about you!!! I'm trying to do two at a time so I can keep up (I won't burn myself out dw I usually do nothing all day till I work in the afternoon) <3

[anotherlongstoryshort]

Things about the Wisdom Saga that have plagued me all damn day

Legendary

Whether intentional or not, Miguel's Telemachus really sounds like a younger version of Jorge's Odysseus. And that hurts.

"If I fight those monsters, is it you I'll find?" The layers. Could he go out and hunt for his father? Could he find his 'legendary' strength within himself? Or will Odysseus be the 'monster' he finds?

"Somebody help me, come and give me the strength" And his call is answered T_T

20 years.

Antinous fully interrupts this bop. Rude.

Ayron sounds legitimately scary and Telemachus taking a stand is so O.O

Little Wolf

I wanna fight this guy. Love that Athena agrees. (The beat of the song and sharp bursts of vocals really emulate blows.)

The quaver on "I don't know how".

Athena is immediately charmed by Telemachus' enthusiasm. She sounds so fond.

The fact she sees heart in him as an advantage when it was Odysseus choosing heart over mind that drove them apart. Guh.

Did she tell him to bite Antinous? XD

"Oh, maybe I pushed you a bit too hard." The change in her perspective is already so apparent - she wouldn't have admitted a mistake or miscalculation to Odysseus.

We'll Be Fine

"I had a friend before..." A FRIEND? FRIEND?!?!

An admission that she didn't fully appreciate what Odysseus was going through, that she feels guilty for having "missed it all".

It's unclear to begin with if she's come to Telemachus for Odysseus, or to try and replace him. Both are equally heart-breaking.

"I don't know who your friend is, I don't know what he's like" UNKNOWINGLY ECHOING HIS OWN THOUGHTS IN 'LEGENDARY'. NO IT'S FINE I'M FINE.

"The best day of my life because I got in a fight and I didn't die! :D" Telemachus, child, please.

"We'll be fine" using the same run as "this is my goodbye" T_T

Him immediately offering up friendship to Athena, like Odysseus once did, must hit her so hard. "You're a good kid." Yes he is - because he's more like his dad than he knows.

Love in Paradise

"Old friend..." FRRRRRIIIIEEEENNNNNDDDDD!!!!!

10 years.

The memory fragments sounding so fraught and chaotic together, hitting harder because they're hitting Athena all at once. She missed a lot.

"She's my wife." "Anyways..." Calypso, girl, please.

Love that they're singing completely different melodies through the first half of this song for two reasons: because Odysseus is revisiting previous motifs, once more trying to hold onto the man he was, and also because it shows Calypso is not willing to compromise on what she wants.

"Last I checked goddesses can't die." We'll come back to this later.

Then Odysseus realises he is truly trapped and he sings along to Calypso's melody in muted horror.

POLITIES OUT HERE STILL HAUNTING THE NARRATIVE.

Just the words "open arms" are enough to confront Odysseus (again) with all he's lost. All he hears are screams.

And the one he screams out for is Athena.

"He needs my help." NO KIDDING GO GET YOUR BOY.

God Games

"Father, God, King..." There's a lot to unpack in that fun family dynamic.

"To untie apprehensions that were placed on that Greek?" Zeus is like, nobody likes that guy, why do you care?

The gods being called out like X Factor finalists is everything.

So there's a great contrast against the previous song - unlike Calypso, Athena is matching each of her singing partners with their tone and beat as she convinces them. She isn't winning by 'imposing her will', she's meeting them where they are.

Rational arguments work until Aphrodite, where Athena says "please" for the first time. She softens to appeal to Aphrodite, which is why Ares has to step in.

The way she says his name XD

Ares' lines sound like as much of a fighting chant as 'Little Wolf' did, which makes it all the better that the mention of Telemachus is what gets her to 'fight back'.

"His son's my friend!" YES HE IS. And Athena of all people declaring "a broken heart can mend" is fascinating. Can't help but wonder if she's talking about herself coming around to forgiving Odysseus.

"Never once has he cheated on his wife." Handwaving the source material is worth it for this line ALONE.

Zeus is so pressed by everyone openly knowing he cheats on Hera. Stop doing it then my dude.

Ares sounding genuinely concerned for Athena is doing things to me. Goddesses can't die, huh?

Her time motif flitting in and out like a weak heartbeat.

The soft piano of 'Warrior of the Mind', touching on a whisper of 'Legendary', then rising to a triumphant crescendo as Athena regains herself. I will be forever haunted by visions of Odysseus and Telemachus helping her to her feet.

And then, finally, she faces her own father and begs. Because Odysseus and Telemachus deserve a chance to be father and child.

The parallel, by the way, of Athena entering this saga to help an outnumbered Telemachus, and now closing it with him/Odysseus unknowingly helping her win her own battle too. JORGE HOW DARE YOU T_T

[slayfics]

Katsuki struggles to let you do things on your own.

650 words

Katsuki painfully watched as you fumbled around with the shampoo bottle attempting to pop open the top.

"Here," he grumbled snapping open the top, eliciting a sigh from you.

The room was filled with steam from the hot water that rained out in the shower. You had been home from the hospital for a few days following a major injury from hero work. Even though the doctors recommended that Katsuki let you do things on your own, he was having difficulty staying back. Including, accompanying you into the shower.

"Kats," you sighed. "You're supposed to let me do things on my own," you reminded him.

"I just opened the damn shampoo bottle," he said, but his eyes watched as you struggled to squeeze the shampoo out onto your hand. Hands barely being able to hold back from taking the bottle again to lather your hair for you.

Your hand strength wasn't back yet, and all your movements were painfully slow, making the most mundane tasks a challenge. Including squeezing shampoo out of a bottle.

"Want help?" he mumbled, being unable to contain himself.

"No," You snapped stubbornly. Frustrated at him, but mostly with yourself and your inebriated movements.

Katsuki's eyes snapped away from you, a small gesture that signified you'd hurt him.

You sighed again, finally getting enough soap in your hand to begin running it through your hair.

"I'm sorry Katsuki, I know this is hard for you," you sympathized with him.

"The hell do you mean hard for me? You're the one that's struggling to wash your damn hair," he pointed out. "Just let me help, brat."

"Katsuki if I don't start doing what I can on my own I'm never going to fully recover. I have to do it on my own even if it's hard or takes me way too long," you said refusing his help again. Katsuki grunted in annoyance.

"I get it, your love language is acts of service, so this is hard for you to not be able to do things for me," You clarified your early statement.

"You talking about that dumb test you made me take ages ago?" he asked, eyeing your slow movement as your fingers ran through your hair to work the soap in.

"Mhm," You hummed, placing your head back to let the water run over your hair. Satisfied, you moved out of the water again. "You show love by doing things for me, so this has to be torture for you to watch me struggle, but I have to. I want to get better." You explained. "Maybe just pretend your love language is something else while I recover," you joked.

Katsuki clicked his tongue, "Like what words of affirmation? I don't think so," he said.

"Awe, you did pay attention to the test!" You cooed at him. "Yeah, give it a shot, affirm me with your words" You joked, grabbing the conditioner bottle now and starting the painfully slow process again.

Katsuki watched as you struggled but eventually popped the top open, "Wow babe you're doing great," he said sarcastically, enticing a laugh out of both of you. "Fuck that was awful," he chuckled.

"What? No! That was good!" You laughed, feeling pain in your belly from your deep laugh. It had been a while since you'd laughed that hard.

"Fuck no, ain't doing that cheesy shit again," he stated.

"Fine fine," you agreed, laughter barely subsiding. "How about quality time then, just stay next to me, and when I need help with something I promise I'll ask," you suggested, washing your hair under the water again.

"Alight," he agreed.

"Here," you said handing him a loofah. "You can do my back for me."

You hadn't noticed how much tension Katsuki had been holding until his shoulders dropped and face relaxed at finally being able to help you with something.

"Thought you'd never ask," he smiled.

[sublimitymp3]

Pray for me

Pairing ✵ Gwayne Hightower/Niece!reader

Warnings ✵ Hotd season 2 spoilers, incest, littleee bit of crybaby!reader, smut (frottage, oral F receiving, fingering, and slight dacryphilia), and religious themes

Word count ✵ 2.5k

Summary ✵ Your uncle Gwayne arrives from Oldtown at your brother's call, and pays a visit to you while you pray.

"Your mother told me I might find you in here,"

You whipped your head around to see the source of the voice that disturbed you from your prayers and saw none other than your uncle, Ser Gwayne Hightower. He had finally come from Oldtown, answering your brother's call for assistance in his war.

"It is the seventh day, I thought I ought to pray. Especially now..." You explain with a small smile. You stood from your kneeling position on the cold, unyielding sept floor so you may look upon him. Your face twists into a cringe as you feel the bruises from kneeling for so long begin to form on your knees, and you are sure they'll be an ugly purple color later. Relaxing your features, you finally turn on your heel to face your uncle. It has been so long since you've seen him.

Too long.

He's as handsome as you remember, with his auburn hair, pale blue eyes, and the faint freckles that dust his face. How you wished you could map kisses along those freckles, connecting them with a trail of where your lips had been. But your faith and virtue prevent you from giving in to the desire. Besides, you are sure that if he ever found out you ever thought such things, he'd look at you with such revulsion that you'd crumble to the floor in shame.

He steps closer to you, tucking a stray hair behind your ear tenderly. "You have your mother's beauty, but your father's features," he hums, tweaking your nose playfully before wrapping you in a firm hug. It is not lost on you the slight curt tone his voice took on at the mention of your late father, but you dismiss it.

"And tell me, how have you been fairing during these trying times, hm? Don't tell me you hole yourself up in this sept all day." He teases, bringing a feeling of embarrassment over you for he had guessed correctly. Recently, you do spend the brunt of your days at the sept, praying to almost every facet of the Seven for mercy, strength, wisdom, and safety. Today, you were praying at the statue of the Mother, and after you lit a candle for her altar, you prayed for mercy and protection for your family members. It is one of the few things that brings you comfort nowadays, your faith in the Seven who are One.

"Well, there isn't much I can do," you shrug, letting a small frown tug at your lips. "It's not like I can sit in on a council meeting, and mother refuses to let me on my dragon. She seems perfectly content in keeping me idle and useless," you remark with a tone of annoyance, one that draws a low laugh from your uncle.

"Your mother means well, sweet niece. You're better suited here, getting favor from the gods as opposed to being in the midst of battle. Believe me, it is a bloody, nasty affair, and you are far too delicate to join in," he grips your chin in between his forefinger and his thumb, keeping your lilac gaze trained on his ocean-blue eyes.

You cannot even think of a response to his dismissing words, as you are too busy trying to push away the familiar ache you get between your thighs. It always comes at the most inconvenient of times, like when you watch the men in the training yard move, sweaty and shirtless, or when you spy on your brother coupling with a serving girl. All you know is that it persists for ages, and no amount of praying stops it.

But you can only try.

"S-Shall we pray, uncle? So that the Mother may grant us safety, of course," you propose, shifting nervously on your feet. Perhaps it is the light flush that has appeared on your face, or how you try to discreetly press your thighs together for some form of relief, but Gwayne knows. He always knows.

To save yourself some embarrassment, you resume your kneeling position before the statue and altar of the Mother, clasping your hands together in the standard praying position. You expect your uncle to kneel beside you, or just leave the sept all together, so you are quite surprised when you feel him loom behind you.

His firm chest swiftly presses against your back, and his larger and calloused hands come to rest over your softer ones, and you find yourself trapped in this embrace. Whether it is to your delight or misfortune, you cannot decide. You squeeze your eyes shut and silently beg for forgiveness for the unseemly thoughts that run through your brain at his actions. 'Who thinks such perverse things in a holy place?' you think, mentally chastising yourself.

"Well, go on then, sweet one. Pray for me," he whispers, and you can feel his breath fanning against the shell of your ear. Gwayne is enjoying this, enjoying this little game of denial you two play. Of course, it is wrong for him to want to take you in the lewdest positions, to have you scream his name so everyone knows who is fucking you so good, but he has restrained himself all this time. Patience is a great virtue, yes, but he wishes to reap his reward for remaining ever so patient now.

"M-Mother Above, have mercy on us all. I beg you for your protection, and for you to-" you cut yourself off with a gasp as your uncle buries his face into the crook of your neck, and gently nips at the soft skin there. He begins pressing himself against your ass, making your cheeks flush even more.

Noticing your sudden pause, he pulls back to look at your blushing face with a devilish smirk. "Well? Go on, don't mind me," he says before going right back to nipping and sucking at your neck. It is impossible for you to stay concentrated on your prayers as he continues, and you resign to praying in your head as your words fail you.

Your prayers only falter as you feel something hard poking against your backside, prodding and bumping against you relentlessly. Gwayne begins peppering kisses from your neck and to your jawline before tugging your head back gently, and letting his lips brush against yours. He only pauses as you tilt your head a little bit away in reluctance.

"U-Uncle, this is wrong. N-Not here, we cannot do this-"

"Shh, enough with that. It isn't wrong, not in the slightest. It's not wrong, not when you're meant for me. Surely even the gods will understand," he mumbles against the softness of your lips. You feel in that little moment of pause that his are a bit chapped, most likely from days of riding on horseback and camping in the wilderness. But it matters little then.

Once his lips are on yours, you cannot help the cascade of little moans that leaves you. His mouth is overwhelming and easily overpowers your rather inexperienced one, and you feel his hands move from their position over yours. One hand moves to your neck, and the other to your breast, fondling it through your dress as he continues humping you from behind.

You are thankful the sept is empty today. If word of what you do now reached your mother, of the depravity you partake in with her own brother, you're sure she'd have you sent far away to become a septa.

With a final peck to your lips, your uncle stands. He drinks in the sight of you like this; cheeks flushed, hair a bit messy, clothes rumpled, and swollen lips, all from him, of course. He swears then and there he's never seen a more beautiful sight.

"Up you go, princess," he mumbles, before picking you up with ease and setting you to sit on the edge of the altar. He messily pushes away the candles and various offerings left there to make room for you, and you cringe at the disrespect, disrespect born from lust and hastiness.

The new position allows for you to be relatively level with his face, and he soon hikes your dress up and stands between your parted thighs. As he begins to rub his erection against your clothed cunt, you grab onto his forearms to ground yourself.

His erection rubs against your dampened smallclothes, brushing against your bud and your folds. With each grind of his hips, you feel something like a fire burning through your bones. But with your clothes acting like a barrier, and the slightly awkward angle, it's not enough for you. Even with your unfamiliarity to such actions, you still know it is not enough.

"M-More, more. Uncle, I need more." you whine, pulling him closer by the laces of his breeches, eliciting a sly smirk from him.

"Well well, I never thought I'd see the day where my own niece was begging for me like a whore." he teases, making you frown at the crude and cruel word.

A cruel word indeed, and you feel the familiar sensation of your eyes watering, and your nose instinctively sniffling. Gwayne's smirk falters for a moment as he watches little tears spill from your eyes, but only for a moment.

"Aw, come now sweet girl, don't take offense. It was all in good fun, yes?" he coos to you, and you feel him begin to lick your tears away, catching the salty evidence of your crying on his tongue. "But oh, darling one, how pretty you look when you cry. Are you gonna cry more with what I do to you, little princess?" he asks with a mocking little pout, before kissing back down your neck.

You've always been a bit of a sensitive girl, everyone knows this. The smallest hint of frustration or anger to you, or even words spoken to you all in jest send you easily into tears. What you were not expecting was for them to be met with something other than the typical annoyed shushing you are used to receiving when you begin to cry.

Soon, Gwayne is kneeling before you, and pulling your wet smallclothes down. His lips pepper light kisses along your soft inner thighs, teasing you once more. "So wet...all for me, little princess?" he asks before nudging his nose against your bud, making you jolt with pleasure. He inhales your sweet scent. 'The scent of a wet virgin', he thinks crudely to himself.

You keep yourself propped up with your arms, and you look down at him between your thighs. Both of your legs have been thrown over his shoulders, and the instinct to wiggle your core closer to him grows. With a knowing gaze, Gwayne looks up at you with a smirk, before his tongue darts out and he dives in.

He eats you like a starved man.

His tongue licks stripes along your core, lapping up your arousal hungrily. His mouth works expertly, and all you can do is sit there helplessly and moan. Your little squeals and high-pitched whines sound adorable to him, and he laughs against your cunt. The vibrations, of course, make you jump again.

"My my, little niece, aren't you quite the sensitive one? Is your cunny as sensitive as your heart, hm?" he teases, as he continues to lick and suckle you. You cannot respond, too incapacitated by the pleasure his mouth brings you. It is nothing like you've ever felt before. Even your pillow or your hands don't feel as good as this.

"U-Uncle, uncle Gwayne, it feels s'good," you practically babble out as the lewd sounds of him slurping against you echoes around the sept. Your hand comes down to grip at his auburn hair, tugging him closer to your cunt. You care not anymore if this depravity is sullying a holy place, or if the gods watch with disapproval. There's always time to repent, after all.

The little pain you yanking his hair brings him makes him groan against your puffy folds, adding only to the stimulation you feel. "Yeah? Feels good? Oh, baby, you have no idea..." he murmurs, leaving you a little confused at his choice of words.

But you soon find out what exactly he means.

His mouth moves to focus only on your sensitive bud, sucking on it gently while he introduces two fingers to your wet folds. His fingers dance along your slit, dragging up and down in a slow, almost torturous manner.

You cry and squirm against him, greedily pushing his face right against your cunt. He heeds your signal, and finally pushes his fingers inside your velvety walls.

The stretch and feeling of something penetrating you are new and utterly foreign, but with the added stimulation his mouth still gives, the uncomfortableness of it all soon washes away to make room for pleasure. He begins pumping his fingers in and out of you slowly, careful to not hurt you as he works you open.

Once he is sure you are ready, only then does he move his fingers faster. Your thighs squeeze around his head with the intensity of it all, and he has to wrench them back apart. "I can't move if you're trying to block me, sweetling," he chuckles, earning a sheepish "sorry" from you.

As he continues his ministrations, his fingers finally brush against and find that spongy sweet spot hidden up you. He begins to nudge against it with his fingertips, making you gush your arousal all over his face. You've never felt such an intense and yet wonderful feeling in your life, and soon you find it all beginning to build up and crescendo.

His free hand massages and strokes your hips gently, and rubs circles over your belly a little, just to soothe you. He can feel your walls tightening up, and how your thighs tremble and shake around his head. "You can do it, baby, you can do it. Go on, sweet niece," he coos, finally sending you over the edge.

With a loud cry, you tremble and feel such intense pleasure crashing over you like the waves during a tumultuous seastorm. You chant his name, worshipping him as if he were a god.

Once your peak washes over you, you slump against the base of the statue of the Mother. Gwayne promptly stands, his mouth and chin dripping with your juices. "You're the sweetest thing I've ever tasted. Perhaps I should have you every night instead of wine." he smiles, before thumbing stray tears that rest on your flushed cheeks away.

He wipes his mouth with his forearm, before kissing you once more. You can taste yourself on your tongue. "I have to go now, sweet one. Pray to the gods for me, will you? And when I come back, we can pray together again. Wouldn't you like that?" he grins, cupping your face in his hands.

A knowing smile forms on your kiss-swollen lips as you understand the insinuations of his words. As he rides off to fight your brother's war, you will remain praying in the sept, longing for the day he will return and come to pray with you again.

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[after-witch]

Bait [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Title: Bait [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Synopsis: You're taken as bait, but will Geto even bother? Companion piece to Fever Pitch and Bus Stop.

Word count: 3100ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader (er, twice?); violence against reader; some non-graphic blood and violence 

There is a thin line separating your world at all times. It might be white or gold or every color under the sun, but it doesn’t matter, because you are the only one who can see it. The only one who knows what categories fall on either side of this decisive line. 

On one side, there is something like comfort to be found. Something like acceptance. It is the world where you sit quietly when Geto tells you to be with him; the world where your heart flutters when he asks you to comb through his hair, or undress him for the day, or bring him his meal. A world where you are his good pet, and that is enough.

But on the other side, there is only one singular certainty:

He will get bored of you.

He will no longer find your compliance endearing. He will kill you, or discard you on the streets, and you’re not sure which is worse.

You’ve never been able to decide how much of his behavior towards you is actually endearment, and how much is a vague interest in the novelty of your compliance. Maybe it’s pointless to decide, because that thought always comes in cold and creeping: you’ll be gone, in a flash, like a wayward candle left on in the night. Dead or alive but without him, and isn’t that just about the same thing?

That thought slithers its way around you even in some of your best moments. When he pats the cushion behind him--a cushion, instead of the bare floor--and instructs you to comb out his hair for the evening. When the water is warm and your bodies are wet and close, and afterwards, you smell almost the same. At least for the night.

He’ll get bored of you, that reality hisses, and that will be that. Not even the twins could save you, if they were so inclined. You’re not sure if they would be, if it came down to Geto wanting to be rid of you. Sometimes, they are warm--sitting with you, reading with you, tending to you. Asking for your opinion like you are, perhaps, a person after all. At other times, they keep to themselves; watch you with something that might be wariness.

Nanako and Mimiko are the reason you are here, under his thumb, at his feet. They saw you and wanted you--like a mother, you think, when you’re feeling sentimental--and they got what they wanted. Geto told you this, once, your knees banging against the floor from where he dropped you like a bad dog. 

And you don’t think he’s lying. Even here, now, in the sitting room with the girls, they seem to still like you overall. 

Still.

If Geto wanted you to go away, you would.

And it’s this sole thought that pushes past the primal surge of adrenaline that comes when a rough bag is suddenly, crudely shoved down over your head.

He’s getting rid of me.

Over your heartbeat, though, you hear sounds that don’t match up with those bitter thoughts that whispered at your back for ages.

It’s not Geto in the room; not Geto who put a bag over your head.

The girls are shouting something--a yelp of surprise?--and there are too many strange voices, too many conflicting sounds. Someone’s fumbling with your arms, and you can feel the scratch of rope, but something about that awful yelp from one of the girls gives you the strength to shove them aside, to rip the bag off your head.

Strangers. There are strangers in the room. Strange men wearing black face masks, with their arms on the girls, rough and cruel. They’re carrying rope, too--to tie them up? To take them? To hurt them?

No. No.

You don’t have a plan. You don’t have the time or ability to think of one. Your body simply launches itself at the men, who aren’t expecting it, who trip and stumble when  you throw your entire body weight against them to get them away from the girls.

“Run!” Your voice sounds foreign to your ears.

And the girls--oh, it makes your heart feel fuzzy--hesitate to leave you. But then they grip each other’s hands and run away. The sight makes your heart soar, for a moment. 

They’re safe. They’ll get to Geto, and be safe.

And you--

You grunt against a stinking cloth shoved over your mouth and nose, and inhale a sharp, pungent scent that makes you gag. You blink against the coming grayness as you fall to your knees. Unconsciousness doesn’t come swiftly, and there’s an uncomfortable dizziness as your hands are tied behind your back, and someone hoists you roughly over their shoulder.

You can just make out what one of them says before you pass out--

“Fuck, I don’t know. Just--just grab her instead. He must like her, to let her around those kids.”

--

The sensation when the world gradually returns to you is a familiar one: you’ve been tied up. But instead of soft silks tightly pinning you to the bed, or winding around your body only to be hidden by your layers of clothing, it’s rough rope that keeps you bound to a cold metal chair.

The room that you’re in, when your eyesight returns with a blurry fog, is not Geto’s comfortable apartments but a bare room with concrete walls. The only decorations are--the realization comes with a dull acceptance--bloodstains against the wall, on the floor.

Ah.

This is where you die.

A sound--muffled, still, but a jarring screen all the same--makes you jerk your head. It’s another metal chair. But the person sitting in this one isn’t tied up--it’s a man, wearing a gray suit and puffing a cigarette that glows in the dimly lit space.

“Wakey, wakey.” 

He blows a puff of gray cigarette smoke into your face, and you cough, throat acidic and burning. 

It takes you some time to realize that it’s certainly one of the men who took you, who wanted to take--and maybe there is some justice in the world, because it seems they got away--the girls. There’s a bandage on his face and a vague memory comes back to you; your own hand reaching across his face, clawing at him with your carefully trimmed nails. 

There are other men behind him, quiet, watching the two of you with their hands folded. There are probably countless of these men, waiting for orders, in the rest of the building. 

“You hear me yet? Or are you still all fucked up?” His eyes narrow; his voice is gruff, no-nonsense. There’s some grit behind it. You wonder how much of his gruffness is because their plans were thwarted, and how much is because you managed to get a good dig into his flesh. Maybe both. 

Your lips part, and you feel a film of stickiness keeping your mouth together peeling as you lick the inside to give yourself some sort of moisture. Your voice comes out hoarse and dry, despite your efforts.

“I… can hear you.” 

Your hands flex from their bound position behind your back, pressed harshly against the chair. There’s no way to get out of this, not on your own. And you are on your own, because Geto would not bother getting you from here. 

You can imagine what happened as clearly as anything, despite the lingering effects of whatever drug they used on you.

The girls would run immediately to Geto, and tell him what happened. He would look them over to make sure they weren’t hurt. He would ask who attacked them, how many, what they looked like, and if they could remember any other identifiers. Then he would probably think back to who might have done this… someone with a grudge? Some enemy he’s made? 

It would only be then that he would realize the girls said you had been taken, and he would sigh. Perhaps he'd be annoyed that he lost his pet, but that would be the end of that. It would be too much of a hassle to get you, too much of a bother. He’d need a plan and perhaps men to back him up and heaven knows you weren’t worth…

Your head snaps to the side, pain blossoming on your cheek, as the gruff voice huffs out from above you.

He slapped you.

“Are you even fucking listening to me?”

You’re not trying to be distracted. Really. It would be better to stay focused, since you’re going to die here. Maybe you can think about your life from before all this, that would surely be a more pleasant ending than spending your last moments dwelling on Geto leaving you here.

“Sorry,” you say, out of reflex, more than anything.

The man sighs and runs a scarred hand over his hair. He takes another puff of his cigarette. 

“I said, you’re our bait for that greedy sorcerer. Once he shows up, we’ll do this on our terms, and our boss’ll get his curse removed in exchange for keeping your pretty little head intact.”

You don’t mean to do it, you swear you don’t. The reaction comes from deep inside you, from that part of you that’s been stepping over the line where you know that you’ll eventually be discarded by the man who took over your life.

Your lips quirk. And then, from your stomach, into your chest, it happens: you laugh. A harsh, almost braying sound that bounces off the bloodied concrete walls. 

The man’s face contorts, and perhaps he might hit you again, but there’s something freeing in this moment that makes you not care. What’s another slap to the face, when your blood will spray the flat end of those walls before the night is over? Whenever they realize that Geto won’t be coming for you, that you’re the worst bait they could have possibly chosen.

That you’re simply a pet that’s more trouble than you’re worth. 

The feeble jerk your body makes when he screeches his chair back and gets in your face, hot cigarette dangling from his lips, is reflexive. You’re not scared of him, or what he might do--you’ve faced far worse.

Spittle hits your sore cheek when he growls out--

“What the fuck is so funny?” 

You don’t tell him--

What’s so fucking funny is that they think Geto will actually come for you. That he’ll deign to respond to their blackmail, the heavy presumption of it all, just to rescue you.

A trinket. A pet. A toy.

You smile, and wait to die.

--

Surprises are not something Geto particularly enjoys, unless they end up working to his advantage. And there is a keen sense, as he picks up the sudden sounds of scuffles and running feet and shouts, that this is not going to be a surprise he welcomes.

Something in him turns dull and heavy when he sees the girls running down the hall, hair askew, missing the smiles they often sport around him--instead, their faces are etched in worry, fear, and a terrible sort of uncertainty that he hasn’t seen in them in years.

Everything connects together like an unwanted puzzle. The sounds of a scuffle. The girls with their gasping breaths, their flailing limbs, words that tumble out together like spilled marbles--

“They took her.”

Her.

You.

You, whom he expected to find sitting quietly, sweetly, with Nanako and Mimiko when he returned to you in an hour or two. Yet everything was wrong. Topsy-turvy. There would be no quiet evening where you looked up at him with ridiculous doe eyes, hoping to please him, eager to do whatever he told you.

There would be no warm satisfaction in his gut at the sight, no pleasant tingling in his skin as he bade you to do as he pleased. 

Instead, he would be spending his time retrieving you, and what if–the thought comes, and it’s disturbing how much the thought seems to weigh him down. What if you’re already dead? Disposed of, a corpse? 

No. He shakes his head. They wanted you as bait, clearly; or rather, wanted the girls. Pride puffs in him that you protected them, at least. A small lightness in a sea of grey. 

Still–you were gone, and uncertainty weighed heavy in the air as he weighed the best options for retrieving you. 

It was an unpleasant surprise, after all.

They--whoever they were, it did not matter. Perhaps the girls already told him, but their identity wasn’t important. Not only because Geto didn’t have the slightest care over who they were, but because they would be dead in a matter of hours, if not sooner.

No one disrespects him like this and lives. 

The thought of their filthy monkey hands dirtying you, a pet he had risen up from the lowest of the low into something more palatable and pleasant, made acrid bile climb into his throat.

Oh, you were beneath him, of course. There was no doubting that. But the stench of these stranger’s mediocrity and ape-like helplessness would coat you like dust, undoing so much of his hard work. 

Geto collects only the finest things and oh, it had taken time, but you now counted among them. 

He doesn’t need a plan. Why would he, to counteract a foolish kidnapping perpetuated by some half-baked mafia gang? They stood no chance against him. Even without his curses. He’s not sure he’d even release curses against these monkeys; it would be a waste of time and talent. 

All he does is nod to the girls, who have curled up on his sofa, holding each other tight.

“I’ll be back.”

At this, they smile, and he can see their breaths coming easier, their shoulders relaxing down. 

He doesn’t even need to tell them that he won’t be coming back alone. 

It is, as with so many things, a certainty. 

--

The lingering pain after they left you alone was not too awful. Yes, your lip was bleeding--the man wore metal rings--and your neck was sure to bruise, if you were left alive long enough for the skin to get all mottled. 

But you had expected the pain, and that made it easier to manage while you waited for them to return. They would probably kill you now. A gun to the head, you think. They wouldn’t want to waste time with messier and slower implements, unless they were that angry about their “bait” plan failing.

You had expected the pain, and now you expect the door to open, for those no-nonsense guards to come through and simply pull out a gun and that would be that. Would there be pain? For a moment, maybe, but hopefully not more. 

You don’t expect what actually happens.

Shouts--that quickly turn to screams. 

Clanging of metal, the sound of something being struck and sliced. 

Thumping, an awful, dull sound; like a carcass at the butchershop being let off its chain.

And then that door in front of you creaking open to reveal the last person in the world you ever expected to see in the doorway.

Geto.

Geto, with blood sprayed on his face, gore clotting on his clothes.

It’s so unexpected that you don’t believe it until he’s behind you, the familiar warmth of his body turned upside down with the new stench of metallic blood, mingled the scent of your own sweat, the lingering puffs of cigarette smoke.

It’s not until he’s made you stand up, that he’s right in front of you, tilting your chin up to look at him that the realization comes.

He came for you.

He killed for you.

It’s too much--it’s too much to realize the reality beyond that line was bullshit the entire time. It’s too much to realize that you were, perhaps, worth something after all. Too much to see Geto covered in blood and wonder, briefly, if he had been hurt in the process of your rescue.

It’s too much, all of it, and you black out.

From adrenaline, from injuries, or perhaps from sheer disbelief.

--

When you wake up, you are sitting on the floor of Geto’s spacious bathroom. Disorientation keeps you on the floor for too long, because then there are hands--Geto’s--on you, pulling you to unsteady feet.

Despite the swaying of your body, there is something grounding about all this. You, and Geto, in this familiar space. 

Geto stands in front of you, face impassive, still covered in specks of blood. The reek of his blood covered clothing is stronger in this space, an invasion of stinking metal.

“Strip,” he tells you. Your body obeys before your mind registers the command fully, hands trembling as you peel off clothing stuck to you by sweat and a bit of blood. Most of it wasn’t yours.

He tsks at your naked form, and shame creeps down your collarbone--stopping cold when he opens his mouth again. 

“Remove my clothing.” Another order, obeyed just as quickly, but perhaps with more brightness than you thought possible. If he still wants you to do this, it means he doesn’t find you too disgusting, does he? He can’t, if he’s allowing you to touch him like this. 

He doesn’t give the clothing a second glance--he’ll probably burn it, and yours too--as he steps toward the tub. 

The bath has already been prepared, though without the usual luxuries Geto asks you to slip in for him; lotions and salts, dried flowers and oils. 

Still, it is a comfort when Geto steps into the tub. It is all familiar to you, expected--welcomed, even. The way the water sloshes as Geto steps inside, the warm heat of the water rising to greet you as he beckons you closer. The firm, damp grip of his hand as he steadies you, lest you slip and annoy him.

"Wash this filthy monkey blood off me," he says, when you’ve settled in, his voice soft and clipped.

 Is he angry with you, you wonder, or the people he’s killed? Would he think on this later, and decide that it was far too troublesome to go after you in the end? Maybe the next time you were a target, he wouldn’t save you after all. He’d leave you to die and mutter that once was quite enough. He--

“Well?”

“Sorry,” you murmur, not a reflex this time but a genuine apology.  You were making him wait. That wouldn’t do.

So you take up the cloth and gently wipe at his face and body, where those flecks of blood have sprayed onto him like troublesome paint. You go slow, soft, just like he’s taught you to do. 

It’s the softness of the moment that pushes the words from your mouth. If he had not brought you here, if you two were not together in the warm, naked intimacy of the water, you might never have dared to ask.

“Why did you save me?”

You don’t even stop wiping at his skin, dipping the cloth into the water and watching it run red. Not until he grips your wrists with his wet fingers, making you drop the cloth. 

He pulls your hands closer to his mouth and presses a kiss to your damp skin. Soft. Gentle. A streak of blood near his mouth catches on your skin.

“I merely took back what is mine.” His eyes roam over you; you, the pet he owns, the pet he’s created.  How cold his words are. Strict, no-nonsense. What you’ve come to expect from him.

And yet, and yet--

He presses his lips to your knuckles again, and inhales the scent of you, all traces of cigarette smoke  on your hands washed away with the bathwater. 

[imprfctlyok]

good things

logan howlett x reader

Summary: You and Logan hadn't had sex in weeks, and now that you had a bit of alone time celebrating your anniversary, you figured it was time to make it up to each other.

Warnings: afab!reader, MDNI, smut w/ plot, pet names (bub, princess, doll)

Aromatic herbs and garlic wafted throughout the house as you sat on the counter watching Logan cook.

If someone had told you in the past that you'd be living with this gruff, angry man, settled down and watching him make you dinner, you would have laughed in their faces. The man in front of you was definitely not the same one you met a year ago, but keeping him company as he prepared your anniversary dinner was definitely something you could get used to.

You swirled the red wine in your glass around, studying the strain of Logan's muscles under his white wife-beater. It had been so long since you had touched him, felt the lines and ridges of his arms and chest. Work had made it difficult for you two to find...alone time. By the time either of you made it home and into bed, one of you (usually Logan) would be too tired to start anything. You didn't say anything, because you were also tired, but also because you knew how much he needed the rest. Being in such a close proximity to him now, with nothing but time on your hands...it was too tempting.

Logan turned around, a slight smile growing on his face as he leaned on the counter and picked up his glass of wine. By no means was he a wine drinker, but today was a special occasion, and so he swallowed it down if for nothing else but your own sake. "Almost done doll. Ten minutes and then we can eat."

You clicked your glass against his and downed the rest of your wine. "Cheers to that. I'm starving. Wanna..." you trailed off, sliding your empty wineglass towards him, "...fill me up?"

A mischievous glint flickered in Logan's eye, but he didn't rise to your bait. His gaze never leaving yours, he slid the bottle of wine over and poured more in your glass, leaning just far enough over the counter to give you a kiss on the forehead with a dark chuckle. "Thirsty bub?"

You took his intense staring as a challenge, leaning back in your chair and lifting your glass to your lips, sensually tipping the liquid into your mouth. "Parched."

A smile formed on his lips. Shaking his head, he turned his back towards you again, gathering the dirty cooking utensils to dump into the sink. You were 100% certain that the wine must have been making you overzealous, because your before your brain could catch up with your movements, you had slipped out of your chair and padded to the other side of the counter. Logan stiffened as your set down your glass and snaked your arms around his midsection, pressing your face into his back.

"What's this?" he asked jokingly, spinning around to face you. His strong hands immediately found your waist, gripping them firmly as he pulled you closer.

"Lo," you said, so quiet it was almost a whisper. "We've both been working, and we haven't...it been a long time since we...you know."

Hesitation crept over his face. "Bub, I—"

"Logan, please." You reached up on tippy toes, pressing small kisses into his jaw. "I've missed you."

With a show of strength that made heat pool into your stomach, Logan lifted you up and set you on the counter, nudging himself between your thighs. The breath was stolen from your lungs, and that familiar ache in your core that you had pushed down for weeks returned.

"Princess," he whispered, his breath fanning against your ear. "There is nothing more I wanna do right now than fuck you right here on this counter. It's all I've been thinking about. But you've been working hard, and I'm sure you're tired. You need rest."

He's about to pull away from you again, but before he can, you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in, the buckle of his belt catching on the crotch of your jeans. He sucks in a breath and you arch into him.

Your lips ghost over his jawline, and you can't help the whimper that slips from your lips. "Please."

One, two, three seconds of hesitation before his hands are under your ass and hauling you into your shared bedroom. He drops you onto the bed, hands gripping your thighs, your hips, your tits. A gasp escapes you as he grinds into you, his hard cock hitting your clit so deliciously.

"Fuck," he groans, dropping his head against your shoulder as he rolls his hips against you. "Haven't had you in so long princess...haven't even taken your clothes off yet and you feel so damn good."

Your hands trail up his chest, down his back, as you arch yours looking for any sort of contact. Logan's fingers found the button of your jeans, making slow work of undoing them and pulling down the zipper.

"Do you know how badly I've been needing to taste you?" He slowly strips your jeans off of your silky legs, making quick work of your shirt next. "My baby, spread out all pretty like this—fuck—"

He trails a finger down your stomach, dipping the digit beneath your panties. A wanton moan slips out, your voice catching as his middle finger dipped into your folds, collecting the wetness pooled there. "Fuck, Logan—"

He pushes his finger into your mouth, effectively shutting you up as you lick and suck the taste of yourself off of him. His eyes never left yours, his gaze so dark and intense that it had your mind reeling with inappropriate thoughts. For weeks, this was all you had been wanting—him.

Pulling his finger out of your mouth with a pop, Logan slide down your body until his face was directly in front of your cunt. You gasped as the tip of his nose brushed your clit, your hips jolting forward to grind on his face, searching for any sort of contact. He laid his strong arm across your hips, caging you in and holding you down.

"Ah ah, patience doll. You've waited three weeks, what's a little longer?" He inhaled your arousal, hands gripping your thighs and prying your legs apart. You couldn't help but moan, him being so goddamn close to touching you where you need it.

"Besides," he added, pulling your panties to the side and looking up at you. "Good things come to those who wait."

a/n: AHHH MY FIRST FIC ON HERE FINALLY DONE! this is seriously a moment for me bc i haven’t written fanfiction that flowed so easy and genuinely enjoyed in a looooong time. i hope you like it!! lmk if you want a part 2?? lol