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venomnyx · 3 months ago

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HOUSE IN NEBRASKA — Logan "Worst Wolverine" Howlett x Mutant!Reader AO3 version Spotify Playlist

WORD COUNT — 15.4k SUMMARY — Reader gets roped into saving the timeline with ex-best friend Deadpool, coming face-to-face with a variant of Logan that uproots memories she'd long suppressed, only to find that this version of him lost her in his universe, too. TAGS/WARNINGS — she/her pronouns (minimal usage), female anatomy, flashbacks in italics, angst, enemies to lovers, alcoholism, smoking, arguments, canon typical violence, cursing/bad language, Deadpool breaks the fourth wall like twice, canon behaviour worst wolverine, religious trauma, honda odyssey scene self-insert, eventual smut, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, dirty nasty talk (logan has a filthy mouth), mentions of cocaine literally once. smut is marked after last divider if you want to skip plot but i'll kiss you if you don't!

You’re smoking a cigarette on your porch when the snowfall happens. It would be normal, you think, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s dead in the middle of July. A group of nanas, elbow-deep in the community garden soil, glance up to the sky and begin muttering prayers amongst themselves.

You’ve lived in this safe house for a while now, up in the mid-west of the Appalachian mountains, surrounded by thickets of pine and opposite a bubbling creek. You grew up somewhere near here and the locals welcomed you back with open arms and a plateful of hot food when the humans started the culling— when the X-men fell apart.

It has plenty of benefits. The smell of lavender, for one, and your cat, Kevin, loves chasing the pigeons, even if he’s not the most successful hunter. The locally sourced produce means you can avoid the poisoned food they’re distributing in supermarkets.

But, most importantly, the humans can’t find you out here. You’re lucky the gossip of your… genetics, so to speak, doesn’t leave Sunday morning church.

Things have been different, lately. The trees are shedding down to dust, people are disappearing at an exponential rate, and there was a time when you’d be on the front lines helping them. You’re on the edge of your seat waiting for the call — a learned habit — but it’s never coming. Charles is dead. Logan is dead. The X-men are dead.

The snow is warm when it lands on your skin. It feels like rot, and your solitude suddenly feels lonelier and more daunting than ever.

You reach to take a sip of your steaming coffee when you hear movement. A zipping strobe light crosses your vision and you flinch against the intrusion, but you’re not afraid. You’ve surely survived worse.

Stryker worse.

A comical and confused looking figure pops out from an orange portal, scratching the crown of his head over the red and black mask on his face. You sip your coffee as you observe him nonchalantly.

He notices you and approaches with a dainty point of his finger.

“Um, excuse me, ma’am.”

“Well, well well,” you suck on your cigarette with a frown. “Look what the cat dragged in. Got a new suit, Red?”

“What, aren’t you happy to see lil’ old me?”

“You’re on my property,” you say matter-of-factually. You had a shotgun stowed away inside for emergencies, but frankly, you never had to use it. You were enough of a weapon yourself. Consider it insurance, if the corn-syrup they’re poisoning ever finally makes it way to you.

You glance sidelong at the old ladies in their aprons, clutching one another with stern gazes in your direction. The deal was that you didn’t bring trouble their way — but it looks like trouble found you. You narrow your eyes and silently hope that this doesn’t turn messy, as it so usually does where he’s concerned.

He sighs heavily and continues approaching regardless. You analyse his stature and take notes of the weapons on his holsters and back. You reckon you could take him if it came down to it, but he didn’t seem threatening.

You and Wade used to be friends, but after isolating yourself from grief, you don’t necessarily consider yourselves to have a close relationship. More often than not he brought trouble; hence your defensive response.

“Listen, ants in your pants, I’ve done this about a hundred times,” he huffs and places a hand on his hip, waving the device around in his hand. You take another drag of your cigarette and perk your brows before rising to your feet.

“I’ve had my spleen shattered by the Hulk, about eighty stab wounds…”

He rambles on about his collection of injuries and you tilt your head with amusement. Must be another one of his famous mental breakdowns. This might be entertaining, at the very least.

“…You’ve even killed me a few times in different universes!” He claps his hands together. “And frankly, I was just going to let you die here. You’re not even canon, so you won’t be missed, but you appear to be of use to me. So I need you to come with me. Now. Please.”

What on Earth was he talking about? What on Earth was he ever talking about?

You bark a laugh. “I ain’t going anywhere with you, Red and Black.”

“Will it change your mind if I add a cherry on top?” He asks with a dry laugh before nodding enthusiastically. Manically. “You’re coming. Kevin’s life depends on it.”

“What are you talkin’ about? Are you threatenin’ my cat? That’s a new low, Wade.”

“Is it? Is it really? I am certain that I can go unfathomably lower.”

You roll your eyes, half-way through turning your back on him.

“You see this?” He holds out a gloved hand and catches some snowflakes. He rubs them between his fingers and they spark and fizzle before dusting away. “That’s not snow. That’s time death. Our universe is dying, womp womp. Stay here, sure! By all means, but—”

Your cat launches out of the door behind you, chirping and meowing to himself before promptly dashing through the portal and disappearing into the blurry void on the other side.

“Well. Looks like he made his choice.”

He sighs and lets you process. You take the final swig of your coffee and huff a breath.

“You literally have nothing left to lose. Trust me. I know. I’ve seen all kinds of you and, believe me when I say this, even though I love and cherish this version of you, this—” he points two fingers at you and gestures towards you judgmentally. “— isn’t the best look on you, honey.”

You want to dismiss him. You want to turn him away, to tell him to get lost. Grief swallowed your heroism whole, turning it into a barren wasteland of bitter indifference. You used to be bright, full of light, love, and hope.

Fucking hope. It’s the reason Logan left you to help Charles in the first place. You just wanted to settle down and disappear, to live a normal life. You lost an intrinsic part of your being when he died; you remember feeling it before you heard the news. Fucking hope.

Hope, hope, hope. Nana Rose chants on about it when she clasps your hands with her wrinkly ones, dragging you to church in spite of your atheism.

“And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts,” she chants, basket of flowers on her hip. “Romans 5:5. You’d do well to do your readin’, tulip.”

You didn’t and don’t ever usually believe a word she says, but you can feel her faith. It’s solid as steel, pouring out of her like blotting light through the gaps in the trees. Undying. And you’ll be damned if you let anything happen to her.

A flicker remains. You imagine what Charles would say to you now, how you’d hang onto his every word and he’d bring out the better of you. You truly do have nothing left to lose, except maybe your cat. Over your dead body.

“Come ooon,” he pokes his fingers together. “Fancy being a hero? One last time?”

You take the final drag before stubbing the cigarette out on your railing. “Alright, Red. I’ll bite.”

“Then suit up.”

Your friendship with Deadpool was a rocky one. There was a time you told him you’d be there for him through everything, and you technically owed him one for saving your life that one time even though your ego insists that, to this day, you could’ve taken the fight. That’s what heightened cellular control of your body is for, right? Accelerated healing? Empathetic abilities? Faster reactions, enhanced strength— you get the point.

Though you didn’t realise that returning the favour meant following him through space, time and alternate dimensions, you were a person who stayed true to their word, and you hated being indebted to someone.

So, here you were, waking up in the middle of a barren wasteland that was seconded as a cocktail soup of abandoned universal relics and heroes ripped from their worlds, accompanying your ex-best friend to restore your timeline.

But, one thing about paying someone back, it doesn’t technically count if they lie to you about the terms and conditions of the agreement. Only a few mere moments after you come to, dazed by the impact and the blaring wobbly heat of the sun, you rise to watch as Deadpool takes six blades of Wolverine to the chest.

You’re still a little dizzy when you stagger to your feet, head throbbing, as you’re trying to process if, yes, that’s exactly what you were witnessing.

“Let’s see you grow your fuckin’ head back!” Wolverine growls.

Deadpool holds his hands up in surrender. “Wait, wait, wait! I can fix it! I can fix it!”

The man in yellow hesitates. “Fix what?”

“Whatever it is that you did, whatever made you so bad—” Wade pants, catching his breath. “Those pricks at the TVA, you heard ‘em. They have the power to end my universe, but they also have the power to change yours. We get back there, and we can fix your world! Together. I promise.”

You stumble from around a pile of debris, clutching your side as a rib pops back into place. Wolverine sniffs the air, face blanching as he snaps to look in your direction.

When you first make eye contact with him, it feels as though you’re resurfacing from water after being on the precipice of drowning. Your heart leaps into your throat, adrenaline boils your veins and your lungs burst with relief of breathing.

“Troubles always gonna find you, baby,” Logan murmurs, kissing his way up from the pulse in your throat as he rocks against you. “But so am I.”

You’ve never loved him more, you think, than when he fucks you slow like this. A snowstorm rages outside the cabin, howling full of glass and needles and rattling the window frames. His skin against yours burns a fire within you, warming you to the bone. He sweeps hair away from your face before capturing your mouth in his, swallowing the sounds of your pants, threading his fingers between yours.

You could stay here forever, you think.

Your fingers shake from the whiplash of the memory. You instinctively reach towards him but you catch yourself. This was the husk of him, not your Logan. The realisation feels akin to ripping open a haphazardly sewn wound right down to the fatty yellow flesh, raw and needling and sore.

He’s broader than you remember. Hair a little darker, wrinkles a little deeper. He smells of alcohol and cigars — that much is familiar. That’s him, flesh and adamantium bone, living, breathing. Alive. The physical shell of him prods alive parts of your inner circuitry that you weren’t aware had fallen asleep, like intrinsic nerves untangling within you.

You can sense that he knows you, too, based on his emotional response. His noise is extremely loud, spilling out of the cracks of whatever wall he thought he’d successfully built up. This version of Logan certainly had a lot of secrets.

“You,” he whisper-growls. It’s almost intangible, leaving him like a breath. He pulls his blades promptly from Deadpool’s chest and kicks him backwards.

You’re starting to understand that faith thing that Nana Rose was knocking on about when he strides towards you, large and tall. You certainly weren’t a believer by any means but you’re sure you’d be the picture of unbridled worship for the way you’d fall to your knees for him.

Your empathetic power lurches for him, seeking him out as you used to — like a flower to the sun — but it physically recoils from the aura that it touches. It was all your Logan but not in a familiar way. It’s tainted, dark, and it tastes like copper and screams.

All colour melts from his face and his body shuffles in a way that indicates discomfort; a dry swallow, tense shoulders and flicking eyes that refuse to meet your gaze. He omits feelings of guilt and shame that linger on the tendrils of your empathetic powers where you connect with him.

You try to zone Wade out, squinting as you attempt to navigate through his cobweb of emotions (seriously, this guy’s aura could do with a cleanup) but it’s like wading through black-tar syrup, feelings negated by years of alcohol-abuse and avoidance. Eventually, you feel something that makes your guts twist and your legs shake: a version of romantic attraction and recognition so carnal and raw that you begin to blush, a warmth that creeps its way up from your belly. A breath escapes you like a punch.

“Well. This feels awkward.” Wade glances between you both and places his hands on his hips. “Why do you both look like you’ve seen a ghost? Do I need to call Egon Splegler and tell him to bring his ghost sucky-sucky vacuum? Oh my god—” He slaps his hands to his face and gasps sharply. “Cross-Universal lovers?”

As inappropriately timed and tone-deaf his one-liners could be, you’d never been more appreciative of an icebreaker. You think you could’ve stood there for an hour, frozen in silence, staring at a reanimated corpse, basking in the noise of his emotional frequency like an addict finally getting another hit.

But then the noise stops, swallowed up like a heaving black hole had split and atomised the tension whole with its unforgiving jaws. He closes himself off from you. Connection severed. You reach out and feel a cold nothingness similar to how, on particularly rough nights, you’d try to reach out to him after his passing. You’d clung onto his plaid shirts until the smell and emotional residue wore off of them.

“You with the mouth? To fix things?”

You nod tightly. You don’t think you can find your voice in front of him.

“Let’s just keep moving. And stay out of my head,” Logan grumbles, crossing you with a cold shoulder and mumbling something incoherent under his breath. When he’s made enough distance, you turn to your old friend with a cold glare.

“Ooh, brr. Anybody else feel a chill?”

“Wade.”

He twists towards you comically slow.

“You. Motherfucker.” You begin approaching him. He backs up slowly and holds his hands up.

“I knew if I told you the plan you wouldn’t have gone along with it!”

“Are you insane? You think multiversally grave-robbing my fucking dead ex-boyfriend is going to save our timelines?!” You yell.

“Technically he’s not dead—”

You push him. “He should be! He- he was— he is!”

“Well, this one isn’t!” He pushes back. “And I’m not sorry for finding a loophole in the plan to fry — not just mine, mind you — but both of our timelines! Did you happen to forget that? No multi-dimensional depressed Logan? Alright then! No more Kevin!”

He’s talking about your cat. Anger flares.

“Don’t you dare bring Kevin into this.”

“You forced my hand!” He yells, mouth moving alien-like behind the mask on his face. “Besides, I’m not doing this for me—”

You blink your eyes closed. You might reach the end of your tether if he said her name one more time. You’ve been in his company for approximately an hour, and he’s already drilled a hole into your brain with his incessant yapping about the “love of his life”.

“Wade, you need to move on. She clearly has.”

“I will not move on from the only people I love in this fucked up dimension. This isn’t just for Vanessa.” He shoves a glossy photograph in your face. “This is for you and blind Al and even that shit-head teenager and her pinkie-pie girlfriend! They deserve their timeline!”

“I literally don’t care about any of those people!”

Even yourself?

“Well, I do! I have people I care about! Aren’t you supposed to be a hero? God, all of you X-men are so depressing. Is it the suits they make you wear? Is that it? Can’t breathe in that thing?” He continues poking at you. “Loosen up a little!”

You straighten your posture and the black leather of your suit crackles. You swat his hands away as he continues poking. “Alright! Cut it out!”

“Think of Nana Rose.” He draws a heart with two fingers. “Little old ladies like her deserve a chance, don’t they?”

And even though humans had done nothing but wage war on your kind for simply existing, you still felt obliged to help them. Besides, the thought of other mutants — kid mutants — dying when you hold the chance to save them in the palm of your hand? You were hardly managing as you were now. You’re not sure you’d be able to live with yourself if you kept going like this.

“Alright, alright!” You huff, heart pounding in your chest. You look over at where Wolverine kicks at rocks in the distance. “Fucking hell, Red. Holy fuck.”

You say it again, only this time you scream it into your hands.

“You should’ve warned me.”

“Are we good?”

“Are we go—” You scoff. You kick his ankle, feel the bones shatter and crunch beneath your foot. He lets out a short, high-pitched yelp. “You deserved that.”

“Motherfuckermotherfucker… oh you’re lucky I feel bad about lying to you or I would’ve twisted your milk bags off for that I swear to God.” He sucks in a breath. “I’ll allow it. Just this once.”

“Mhm,” you murmur, walking forward. “That doesn’t sound like an apology.”

He limps after you, floppy ankle dragging a line in the sandy dirt. “I’ll be dead before you ever get one of those out of me! And too bad I can’t fucking die!”

The difference between this Logan and your Logan is stark, minus the uncanny resemblance. Your Logan was soft and gentle, but this version is sharper and blade-edged, and your fingers bleed when you try to touch him.

Staring at him feels like throwing up a mirror and analysing yourself, a picture of what happens to a person when they make all of the wrong choices. You’re embarrassed, almost. This isn’t a version of you that you ever want him to know, but at least you can say you’re trying.

Him, on the other hand…

“Are we going to keep up the awkward silence?” You snip, awkwardly adjusting the restraints on your wrist.

You’ve been in Logan’s company for all of an hour, and yet accompanying one another through literal time purgatory didn’t seem to irk any feelings of obligation from his end. He’d been cold-shouldering and ignoring you the entire time, even though you kept catching him staring.

“I have nothing to say to you,” he spits, wriggling uncomfortably against a very unconscious Deadpool. “You got us into this mess.”

You frown, small. You can feel hatred pouring out from him, leaving a sickly bile taste in the back of your throat. You’ve lived through enough hate for being a mutant in your lifetime, enough that you’d become accustomed to tuning it out of your radio channel, so to speak, but something about it coming from the man you loved makes it a little harder to swallow.

You’re quiet when you next speak. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

He shoots you an indistinguishable look and grunts to himself. Such a Libra.

“So, what’s the story here?” Johnny asks with a sly grin. He turns to you with a glimmer of mischief in his eye. “You two know each other?”

You cringe. “Sort of. Last I remember, he wasn’t this much of a prick.”

“Oh, trouble in paradise, huh?” His grin grows. “That’s a shame. Not often we get girls like you in the void.”

“Seriously?” You say with a side-eye.

He shrugs, all blue-spandex biceps and charming smile. “No harm in trying.”

Your breath hitches as Cassandra approaches, wide eyes and tilted head aiming for you purposefully. Logan swiftly angles his body so that he’s standing in front of you and she halts as a delighted, implicating smile stretches across her face. Your chest constricts, tendrils of yearning coiling tighter. It appeared to be muscle memory: his instinctual, protective flinch. Just like your Logan used to, despite how capable he knew you were.

“Now, I’ve always wanted a Wolverine.” Her finger moves along the crowd. “Knew I’d get one eventually. But I never even dreamed of having you.”

Cassandra zips behind you and her slender fingers delve into the crevices and valleys of your brain, lips intimately close to your neck and ear. Wolverine snarls territoriality, but he’s unable to move. The urge to reach for him is overwhelming.

“Do you know that there are so few universes where you exist?” She whispers, caressing your deepest memories. “I even asked the TVA about you, in exchange for keeping the peace. I was disheartened when I found out one of you died. But you’re here! Now, I don’t believe in fate, but this almost feels like it was meant to be.”

You flinch when she uncovers a particularly fond memory, one you hadn’t been aware was so prominently in the forefront.

In the back of his truck, a cigar between his teeth, hands sliding under your shirt. In another world, he would’ve taken the time to do this properly, but living in a school didn’t exactly grant two consenting adults any privacy.

“Waited long enough for this.”

He kisses up from your bare foot to the sensitive skin of your inner knee, lips scorching against your skin.

“Logan…”

“Easy,” he murmurs, leaning away for a moment to remove his plaid overshirt, leaving himself in that white vest you could eat him alive in. “Still wanna take my time with you.”

You’re desperate, he can tell— can probably smell it, too, but you’re far too humiliated to ask him if he can.

Logan wasn’t your first by any means, but with the way you were near trembling for him truly felt like you’d be losing all of your innocence in the back seat. You’re shy and quiet, everything he isn’t. You’re infatuated with him — have been since he burst out of the lab in his grey hoodie — and have daydreamed about what it would be like to have him. You certainly didn’t let him know that right away, and with whatever shred of composure remained around his relentless flirting and teasing remarks, you tried to play hard to get.

Until you couldn’t. Because you weren’t. He had you, and with every fibre of your being, you wanted him to.

She pulls her hands from your brain with a shlick sound, rubbing her fingers together as if relishing in the produce of your memories. She grabs a rag from her pocket and smirks knowingly.

“You’re thinking of that at a time like this?” She laughs all witch-like. “Worry not; your secret’s safe with me, naughty girl.”

Wade lowers his voice and leans towards Logan. “She was thinking of me.”

“I can read between the lines, darling,” she potters on. “This isn’t about a sexual fantasy. Deep down, you just want to be wanted. To be loved.”

She steps back and extends her arms. “After all, you’ll never amount to anything in your world. It’s such a shame that your Logan left you so abruptly. Did he break your heart?” She giggles. “Why suppress your powers in his name? For a level-five mutant, you certainly don’t act like one. You can do that, here. Freely!”

Your worn thin tether creaks with exhaustion like a dilapidated bridge under pressure. There isn’t a singular fibre of your being that desires to be stuck here, but the small, angry teenage voice in your head would love nothing more than to just let go. You’d been containing your powers for as far as you can remember, and they'd always been as irresistible as the promise of Pandora's box.

But you know how that story ends.

You take a moment’s pause. “I have no interest in livin’ in a garbage dump.”

She tilts her head and neatly clasps her hands behind her back. “Do you forget where you come from? I think we both know who lives in a garbage dump.”

“You motherf—”

You’d just managed to escape Cassandra’s lair with Alioth’s foggy storm fangs nipping at your ankles when you ran across the abandoned diner.

You’re ravenous, wrist aching from how you dig at the freezer-burned ice cream. It’s your least favourite flavour but you’ve been running on fumes for the past day or so, so you’ll take what you can get, though you begin to lose your appetite when you remember Johnny, and how Cassandra had zipped the skin from him like popping a blood-filled water balloon.

Something is rumbling beneath your surface. A distinct, constant buzzing, like two atoms slowly building up radioactive energy. You’d asked for none of this, and would certainly give Wade a talking to when the time called for it, but, for now, you’re trying your hardest to make this as easy a process as possible.

Your male counterpart, however, was doing exactly what men generally do. He was making this fucking unbearable.

Logan sits across from you, brooding, fingers gripping the medicinal bottle as if it’s anywhere near appropriate to be drinking. He throws you a particularly lingering glare when he notices you staring, but refuses to maintain eye contact when you look back at him

You toss the tub and spoon across the table with a sharp clatter, your patience collapsing.

“What? Can’t even look at me?” You snap. His eyes look exhausted when they finally meet yours. Wade, being the characteristic little fucker he is, pulls a delighted, shit-stirring grin as he glances between the two of you as if watching a tennis match.

Logan gasps as he finishes taking a drink. “Not much to look at,” he says, wiping the back of his mouth.

The words twist like a fist in your gut. For a moment, you’re rendered too stunned to respond, like he’d tossed a flash-bang toward you. His casual cruelty digs deeper than you care to admit— but you’ve had far too much therapy, too much psychological training, to know he’s deflecting.

But you wouldn’t doubt for a second that there was a more beautiful version of you somewhere.

“What, you comparin’ me to someone?” You ask. You can tell you’ve struck a nerve by the way he goes for another sip. “That it?”

He grimaces.

“Do I make you feel sick? Am I making you feel sick?”

He stares at you hard, but silently. He takes a long swig of the rubbing alcohol and you cringe as his throat bobs. His silence and feigned indifference light a fire of indignation.

“You know, you’re not the only person who’s suffered. Who’s lost people.”

He laughs like what you’re saying is funny. “Yeah, right, bub, you have got no idea what loss is.”

“Oh, you are such a fucking cunt,” you spit, slamming your hands on the table as you rise to your feet. “You know what, Wade? You’re right. I can’t do this. So fuck you and fuck his timeline and fuck every timeline that had anything to do with it! I’m done.”

A wave of uncontrolled psionic energy born from your anger blasts from you upon your final words, slamming them back into their seats and sending the cutlery, nearby debris and weapons flying. The neighbouring windows smash, shattering explosively and sprinkling outside of the diner.

The simmering stops, replaced by a stifling emptiness.

“I wasn’t finished with that!” Wade cries, crouching down to scoop up what remains of the gelatinous spam.

You pause for a moment, glance at your hands, and then grab your jacket in an aggressive fit.

Wade whines your name, halfway through gagging down a forkful of cold spam off of the floor (one of which resonates with a particularly distinct crunch, but you don’t stay to find out whether or not he just truly ate glass), and he doesn’t attempt to get up and follow you as you storm off.

You take a heaving breath of hot desert air when you leave the diner. The sandy breeze tousles your hair, and with the prickly energy of an incoming nervous breakdown, your legs kick and you’re running.

“Stryker got you, too?” Logan asks, eyebrows flicking up.

You don’t look him in the eye when you nod. You cross your arms and slouch a little, caging your heart in. Stryker — the ex-militant with a fetish for experimenting on mutants — had held you captive for several years. He’d brainwashed you into using your empathetic abilities for nefarious purposes, like seducing other mutants, and sometimes important political and militant figures.

“You like me?” He questions, quieter this time.

“No… no, not like you,” you reply. “I don’t have the fancy bones. I heal fast, but I wouldn’t survive that kinda procedure.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t remember everything. Just bits and pieces. Feelings, mostly. Nightmares,” you explain. He nods understandingly. “I’m always on edge.”

“You always seem so calm,” he observes. “Nothing seems to phase you.”

“I have to be. It took a lot of pain and damage to get this level-headed,” you respond quickly. “If I don’t manage my emotions, all the emotions that I receive, touch— it all comes out. Explosively. It has to come out somehow. I could hurt people.”

“Funny. School therapist ‘n’ you’ve got the most issues,” he teases light-heartedly.

“You got no idea, lumberjack.”

You hated killing.

You’re on your knees, arms and hands and chest soaked crimson, sobbing. They’d come out of nowhere, the raiders, and they were hungry for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. All you know is that you felt their need, their desperation, their willingness to do anything to get it.

The flash of harrowing horror someone feels before they die isn’t a unique experience. It simply varies in strength — sometimes it’s a feather-like touch that careens over you, a shuddering realisation that they’re taking their last breath, and sometimes it’s like a crack of lightning. Bloodied hands gripping your biceps with fear in a final attempt to survive. They’d rather cling to you than die alone.

You hate killing. Especially this up close.

You don’t cry for them. You don’t even cry for yourself. It’s a small emotional space where they cry vicariously through you.

You were black-out when it happened, you tell yourself, and suddenly regress to the student you used to be, sobbing on your knees in front of Charles as he tries to teach you serenity and control after an outburst had caused you to kill a nest of birds. He’d done it for Magneto, he said— so he could certainly do it for you.

You should have meditated more.

The sound of a car gurgles somewhere behind you, but you haven’t the energy to look or use your powers to seek out who’s approaching and what their intent is. You’re exhausted enough that whatever they wish to do with you — turn you to processed dog kibble, send you back into the jaws of Cassandra’s lair, kill you — whatever. Just let it happen.

A slamming car door and then the crunching of boots on gravel.

“You’re easy to track.” A pause. “You look pathetic. You done throwing your tantrum?”

Logan. Of course, it’s him.

“Leave me alone, prick.”

“As much as I’d like to, you and the Mouth still have to hold up your end of the bargain,” he quips, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Now get up.”

You glare up at him and his arms unfurl as he notices your tear-streaked face. His expression drops, softens, before it quickly ticks back up into an incredulous, irritated look.

“Are you crying?” He asks with a scoff. He pauses before dragging his hand down his face and rubbing his scruffy jaw. “Jesus Christ. Get up. Get in the car.”

“I ain’t fuckin’ around, Logan. Piss. Off.”

He mumbles a string of incoherent curses and turns on his heel. You think, for a moment and a breath of relief, that he’s truly going to give up on you and leave. He could finish this without you. It’s easier this way.

Instead, a thick bicep wraps around your middle and you’re flung over his shoulder with a yelp.

“Quit your squirmin’.”

“Then put me down!” You yell, thrashing in his grasp. He promptly ignores you, unphased by the jabs you strike at his back. You quickly unsheath the small knife from your jacket sleeve, winding up your arm before you drive it into the muscly pocket by his kidneys.

“Ow! Cheap shot, you little fucker!”

Wade sighs and clutches his hands in front of his chest romantically. “Oh, the newlyweds.”

Logan dumps you into the front seat of the car carelessly, grumbling something as he slams the door shut and applies the child locks. Petty motherfucker.

You rub the sore spot on your tailbone where you landed on a seat buckle funny. You want to bite your tongue but you’re flared up.

“We should switch places. I’m a better driver than you are.”

Logan doesn’t bother looking at you as he starts up the ignition. “Just shut up.”

“You can go on ahead and smoke a cat turd in hell, then.”

“So fuckin’ immature. Grow up.”

“Mom and Dad can you please stop fighting!” Deadpool cries out from the backseats.

You just roll your eyes, resigning into your chair and folding your arms.

At some point along the ride, Wade falls asleep, snoring soundly to himself. You’re silent in the front, drumming a beat on your knees, awkwardly thinking of something to say. You have the impulsive need to fill the silence, even if you were trapped in a crappy car with a man who had made it vehemently clear that he irrevocably hated you.

“So, if they can fix your world, what’s the first thing you’ll do?”

Logan rips his eyes towards you. “What did you say?”

“I said when you get back, what’s the first thing—”

“No, no, no— before that.”

You hesitate, wondering if you’d landed yourself in a trap based on the sharpness of his tone and the way that anger crackles off of him like static lightning.

“If… they can fix your world?”

He slams his foot on the brake and you just about catch yourself before your nose goes flying into the dashboard. Wade is thrust out of the front window, smashing through and promptly falling unconscious underneath a tree, neck broken at an awkward angle.

Your eyes widen.

“What do you mean: if?”

“That’s what Wade said—”

“I don’t give a fuck who said what. He promised me he would fix things—”

“Well, I didn’t promise you shit!”

He laughs, low and devoid of humour. “You don’t have a clue if they can fix things, do you?”

Well, no. You’ve been operating on a hunch the entire time and had half come to accept that you might be stuck in the TVA void forever. Who knows how much time has passed elsewhere?

Regardless of the fact you truly had nothing to do with whatever came out of Wade’s mouth, you weren’t about to let Mr. Worst Wolverine shit all over him and his plan to save his friends.

“Is it really that far-fetched? We made an educated wish!”

Something dark flashes across his face. You can feel hate pulsing off of him in dizzying waves, doubling with each passing moment.

“You made… an educated fucking wish?”

“What’s your problem with me, huh? Got a stick up your ass?” You reach for the car door handle, but he snaps up your wrist, holding it high. “You better let go of me right now, old man—”

“Or what, huh? Gonna run away again?” He threatens.

“You geriatric, alcoholic motherfucker. I’ve done nothin’ but try and be civil with you and you treat me like I’m the one who ruined your life! I don’t know what version of me you knew but you need to stop actin’ like I ain’t worthy of being here because of what you did!”

“Listen, I’ll tell you what my problem is with you—” he leans closer, eyes roving over you with a disgusted look on his face. “I mean, you are a ridiculous, emotional, immature crybaby. I have never met a sadder, more attention-seeking, foul-mouthed little bitch in my entire life and that says a lot because I’ve been alive for more than two hundred fuckin’ years.”

“And I’ll tell you, that bald chick was right about one thing: you will never amount to anything. You’ll never save the world. You couldn’t even save a relationship with me. I’d say you should’ve died alone but it’s one of God’s best jokes that in this universe you didn’t seem to fuckin’ die, except that ones on the rest of all of us!”

He breathes heavily when his rant finishes. You’re taken aback, jaw slack, eyes warm with the onset of tears born from shock.

“What, you got nothin’ to say, empath?”

You suck in a deep breath, blinking slowly as you flick the emotional switch off in your head.

“I’m going to hurt you now.”

He snorts. “Oh, are you?”

In a swift manoeuvre, you raise your slap him around the face. You knew better than to punch a metal skull, but you still wanted him to sting. His eyes slit, nostrils flaring in challenge.

“That all you got?”

“Not even close,” you snap back, knuckles whitening from the way you curl your fingers into your palm. “You want to play this game, Logan? Fine— but I’m not gonna sit here and keep on provin’ myself to you. I’ve had enough of your Christ-born-again superiority complex. Did you forget that you’re the worst Wolverine?”

“Oh, yeah? Well, at least I’m honest about who I am. Look at you— you’re a fuckin’ joke, pretending to be some hero in a suit made for a dead team,” he barks back, voice rising with each word. “I don’t need your bullshit “wishes”— you should know, I’ve buried people for less.”

“Yeah, because you’re so perfect, ain’t that right?” You yell, voice cracking from the power of your anger. “The almighty Wolverine— the unkillable bastard who can’t seem to hold onto anythin’ good in his life! You’ve had centuries to get your shit together, and look at you—” You look him up and down with disgust. “—still just a bitter, lonely, broken man, takin’ it out on everyone else and a goddamn bottle.”

His eyes narrow, muscles in his jaw twitching as he appears to fight and keep his temper in check, but there’s an obvious crack forming, the dam of his unbridled rage near overflowing.

“You think you know me, huh?” He murmurs, voice a deadly whisper, the calm before the storm. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about what I’ve been through. You’re nothing but a lost woman playing make-believe and hiding in the shadow of a fuckin’ merc. You’re pathetic.”

Something inside of you breaks. “I’m pathetic? Look at yourself! You’re so goddamn desperate to feel anythin’ that you’ll lash out at everyone around you for some semblance of warmth. There’s a fine line between hate and love, after all! You think you’re so strong because you can heal, because you’ve lived forever? Yeah, right— you’re the weakest, most cowardly man I’ve met in a loong time.”

The blades between his knuckles shoot out with a shink! For a moment, you think that he’s going to attack you. Hell— you even hope that he will, just to diminish some of the unbearable, stifling tension. Instead, the blades retract with a deep breath, and he grabs you forcefully by the collar of your suit, yanking you so close that you can feel the heat of his breath on your face.

His voice is low and rough, each word dripping with venom. “Go on, keep psychoanalysing me. You wanna talk about cowardice? How about leaving people who need you, just because it’s easier to run? Better yet, how about the fact that you abandoned the X-men to hide away in the mountains, huh?”

Your eyes widen with recognition.

“Yeah… Wade’s got a big mouth. Told me everythin’. You’re no hero. Hell, you’re just a selfish, reckless hillbilly who failed at pretending to be human.”

Your heart palpitates in your chest, each word coiling and slicing like blades in your intestines, but you refuse to let him see how much it hurts. Instead, your lips curl into a cold, bitter smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“And you’re just a sad, angry old man who can’t handle the fact that he’s lost everythin’. Go ahead: keep pushing people away! Keep hidin’ behind that anger o’ yours! It’s got you this far, ain’t it?! I’ve treated kids with trauma worth double yours and they were nothin’ but kind and selfless. I won’t let you project your failures onto me. I’m done with this.”

“Yeah, why don’t you walk away!”

The argument reaches a fever pitch, tension sizzling in the air between you. You’re so close, glaring at each other with so much anger, so much resonating heat, that it feels like something’s going to break. And then, suddenly, it does.

Before either of you can think, you close the gap between you, lips crashing against his. It’s not gentle, it’s not soft— the kiss is rough, violent, a clash of lips and fury. His grip on your collar tightens, and for a moment, you’re both frozen, caught in the shock of what’s happening.

But then something more fiery in nature than anger ignites, and he kisses you back just as fiercely, and maybe a little more desperate— like he’s trying to pour out all of his pain and resentment, into this one moment. Your tongues slide against each other and his teeth catch against yours as he groans into your mouth. Your hands thread through his hair, yanking him closer as if trying to hold onto something real and tangible in the chaos of the kiss, reeling from the sudden spinning in your head. It’s angry, raw, filled with all the things you’re not capable of verbalising: grief, love, yearning, reconciliation.

The result of a painful reunion.

The world falls away and all that’s left is the taste of him, the feel of his lips against yours, rough and demanding. You hate him right now— hate him so much that you can’t help but want him. The sheer intensity of it all overwhelms you and makes your fingers shake against the nape of his neck, but you can’t pull away— not now, not when you’ve tasted the wine. You’re too far gone, caught up in the storm of his intoxication, fantasising about ripping that yellow and blue suit off of him and riding him until there’s nothing left for him to regenerate.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, the bubble of the moment bursts with the sound of slow clapping coming from outside the car. You jerk back from Logan, breath coming in ragged gasps. Logan is equally as stunned, still tight-gripping your collar as if he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands.

You both see Wade sitting up, hands together, eyes wide as saucers as he takes in the scene.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Did I just wake up in a telenovela?” His voice is laced with amusement. “I mean, I know you two clearly had some unresolved sexual tension— but this? Oh, this is gold. Please don’t stop on my account, just let me get the camcorder first!”

You’re too stun-locked to respond, lips parting and closing as your brain scrambles to formulate a response as you’re still reeling from what just happened. Logan (for once) seems equally as lost for words, his typical scowl replaced with a look of confusion.

“Shut up, Mouth,” Logan barks, but there’s no real heat behind it. There can’t be, really, not when you’ve both been caught red-handed. He releases your collar at once.

Wade, however, is having none of it. “Oh, no, no, no! You don’t just get to brush this off like it’s nothing! That was a full-on makeout session! I only interrupted because I thought you were about to rip each other’s clothes off.” He sighs wistfully and crosses his legs. “Here I was thinking that you two hated each other— but I guess all that anger was just foreplay, huh?”

Your face burns with a mixture of shame and something else you’re not quite ready to admit. “Wade— cut it out.”

He grins, not deterred in the least. “Oh, but I’m loving this. All that pent-up aggression finally coming to fruition. It’s beautiful, truly.”

Logan shoots him a look that could melt iron, but Wade just simply shrugs, unfazed. “Hey, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. Everyone being me.”

“Wade,” you warn through gritted teeth.

“Well, unless you want me to watch (which I am not opposed to, by the way) maybe next time the two of you should get a room,” he tilts his head. “Or, you know, a couples therapist.”

He then turns to address Logan directly.

“And I must’ve missed the AO3 tags because I did not peg you for the enemies-to-lovers type, Mister. Who knew all it took was a bit of hate-kissing to get the sparks flying? Don’t look so ashamed! I’m just jealous I didn’t get to you first.”

He stumbles towards the car and collapses into the back seat. “Next time you wanna bump uglies, just ask for some privacy! You can save me the broken neck!” He gets himself comfortable, man-spreading and laying his hands on both of your shoulders as you stare dead-forwards, unable to look at each other.

“Gosh, you’re both so tense.” He begins massaging. “Look— props to you both for not letting all that angst go to waste. This is a safe space, and there’s no shame in a little hormone-induced—”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Logan interrupts, revving the car back to life and shoving his prodding hands away. “Just be quiet back there.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll keep the commentary to myself. But just so you know— got that bad boy playing on repeat, right here.” He says, tapping the side of his head.

You bury your face in your hands. This was going to be a long car ride.

As the car starts moving again, you muster the bravery to risk a glance at Logan. His expression is hard to read but his energy thrums with uncertainty. The boiling hatred seems to have dialled down to a gentle simmer, mostly redirected towards himself rather than you. There’s something else— something that wasn’t there before. You rip your eyes away quickly, mind racing.

For somebody so in tune with emotions and the literal ability to manipulate them if you so desired, you were horrendous at navigating your own. You don’t know what this kiss meant, or if it even meant anything at all.

If there’s anyone you didn’t expect to come across in the void, it’s X-23— Laura. She’s taller, now, with hair down her back, but she’s still got that stern, mean look on her face that intimidated you the first time you met her.

The weak front door squeaks when you open it a crack. A girl, maybe in her small teen years, blinks up at you.

“Can I help you?” You ask, wiping your flour-dusty hands down on the front of your cooking apron.

“Are you—” she says your name.

You attempt to swing the door shut, but she jams it with her boot. You flick your eyes up, glance around for any signs of threats, and then lower your gaze to her. You wrap your cardigan around your mid-section.

“I don’t go by that name anymore. Who the Hell are you, kid, and what do you want?”

“I’m here about Logan,” she says, matter-of-factly.

Logan. A name followed by your own, both of which you hadn’t heard in years.

“He’s not here, kid. He died years ago.”

“I know,” she answers, unwavering. “I was there when it happened. Your name was the last thing he said.”

You’d let her in for a glass of sugary sweet tea that day, but once stories were exchanged you told her not to come back. She respected your wishes— she said she simply wanted to put a name to the face, to get closure, but you’d felt her desperation. Perhaps she was seeking out respite, or family, but you were in no position to be sharing your space with someone who could put another target on your back.

After introductions were made with the others who had been ripped from their timelines (Elektra, Blade and oh my god a Gambit variant with muscles so huge he could pop your head between his biceps) you excused yourself to sit outside. The buzzing emotional energy made your collar feel a little tight around the neck, your head a little fuzzy with noise, so you decided to reignite the small campfire a few yards away from the safe-house and rest there, instead.

You hadn’t realised you were being followed.

“It’s not safe here.”

“It’s not safe anywhere, Logan.”

He looks defeated, raising and clasping his hands behind his head.

“I gotta leave, baby.”

“If you leave, I ain’t lettin’ you back,” you whisper. “You don’t heal the same anymore, Logan, and you promised me—”

“I know what I promised,” he rebuts, but not angrily. You can already see on his face that he’s made his choice. He’s not coming to you to discuss it. “But I owe it to him. To Charles. He gave me everything.”

“So then what did I give you?” You ask. “Not a home, not my love, not everything?” You slam the tea towel down and turn away from him as the tears form. He’s quiet, perhaps processing everything, but you’re too impatient.

“If you’re just gon’ get up and leave, do it now. I won’t beg you to stay, Jimmy.”

“I love you.”

You don’t say it back.

You wake up with a start, damp clinging to your forehead. You immediately sense another presence and glance over to see Logan watching you with a steady gaze. His expression is soft and almost reverent at first, but his facade hardens with a quick tick of his jaw.

“You talk in your sleep.” The bottle in his hand sloshes as he takes a drink. “Nightmare?”

You sigh frustratedly when you realise it’s him. Of course, it’s him — his energy reeks of whiskey and self-loathing. You prop yourself on your elbows, massaging the sore spots on your temples where sleep fog forms.

“I can’t even get some rest without you botherin’ me? You’re leakin’ self-hatred everywhere.”

“Quit hogging the fire then.”

“Fuck you,” you murmur, but it’s without bite.

A moment passes before he fills the silence again. “What are you even doing out here, alone? Trying to get yourself killed? Pretty stupid.”

“Do you know how hard it is to sleep when nobody shuts up?”

His brows knit. “They’re all dead asleep.”

His hand runs up and down your back.

“Can’t settle?” He asks after you sigh.

“No.” You turn so you’re lying on your back, shoulder touching his, staring up at the ceiling. “Everyone is feeling so loud. It’s like a frequency I can’t turn off.”

He hums. “They’re grieving, I s’pose.”

“Even you and you always said you hated the guy.” You shuffle to lie on your side, facing him. You place a hand on his bare chest. “I can feel it, you know.”

“I didn’t hate Scott. Just found him… obnoxiously irritating.”

“Tough guy.” You giggle and stroke his cheek. “You’re turnin’ soft, old man.”

He pulls you flush against him and presses a kiss to your hairline. You lay in verbal silence for a while, soaking up his presence (god, you were so in love), but you’re interrupted when he abruptly sits up and grabs the white vest he discarded somewhere near the bed.

You lean on your elbows. “Where you goin’?”

“Let’s go for a ride.”

“What?”

“You can’t sleep here. Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

“But Charles said—”

“Screw Charles. You comin’ or what?”

He hadn’t told you he loved you yet, but at that moment you felt it.

And so you do, clinging to his mid-section on his motorcycle, head stuffed into the helmet he affectionately forces you to wear. It’s a warm night in New York, soupy with heat, but the further you get away from the compound with him by your side the more you feel you can breathe.

“’Course, you don’t understand.”

You reach for the small pouch on your hip and retrieve a cigarette. You light it between your lips, taking a seat a few paces away from him, hands still shaking a little with the aftershocks of the night terror.

“Since when did you start smoking?”

You perk a brow. “I’ve always smoked.”

He seems to realise something and simply shakes his head before returning to the vice in his fist.

“Right.”

You stare at him for a long, passing moment, before pulling out your lighter again and offering it towards him. He perks a brow.

“I know you got a cigar in there somewhere,” you say. He pauses, sighs, and then retrieves a thick cigar from one of the pouches on his suit. You lean closer, flick the lighter, and cup your hand to protect it from the breeze, shamelessly glancing at the dancing glow that bathes his face amid the firelight. You feel the urge to kiss him again, and when his eyes flick up to yours, you think for the briefest second that he wants to kiss you, too.

Swallowing, you collapse your lighter and clear your throat. You sit quietly, smoking and drinking in a silence only negated by the distant sound of chittering bugs around you. Once you’re finished with your cigarette, you toss the butt into the fire.

“We’re infiltrating tomorrow morning.”

He laughs dryly. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

Your lips tighten into a thin line. “We won’t make it without you.”

“Sure you will. I’m not him, you know,” Wolverine grumbles, slugging another shot of alcohol.

You scrutinise him from across the log. You wonder if he feels as pathetic as he looks.

“No— you got that right,” you answer. You pry the liquor from his hands but the grip he releases from the neck of the bottle must have been a mercy on his part because you knew he was extraordinarily stronger than you. “He was much braver than you.”

His eyes flicker from the flames to you as you take a long swig.

“Although probably just as stupid.”

A pause. Crackling and popping firewood fills the silence.

“But, he was a hero. And so are you.”

A beat before he spits a dry laugh, “what gave you that idea?”

You give him a once over and offer a half-smile. “That suit, for starters.”

He looks down at himself like he’d forgotten he was wearing it and wipes away a stray speck of blood from the bright material that you’re sure you might be responsible for.

“What, you like it?” He grunts.

You can’t help but smile. “Yellow suits you.”

“This is all I had left to remember you— them by,” he says, tone turning more sombre as he reminisces.

You decide it’s not the time to make another jab, so, instead, you play back and forth with the bottle for a while until the alcohol stops stinging your throat.

Something small shatters inside of you when you watch him muster the strength to look into your eyes, and his look a little glassy.

“Did you love him?”

Woof, that needed a healthy drink of courage to answer. When you hold his gaze, there’s a hollowness to his expression— an unasked question. Was there truly a version of him worth loving?

“Yeah.” You wipe the back of your hand across your mouth to cover the crack in your voice. “Yeah, I did.”

He’d insisted he hadn’t wanted you around yet he’d kissed you and now followed you to where you’d been sleeping. That had to count for something, so you extend your arm and gesture the bottle towards him— an olive branch in the form of shitty Jack Daniels. Your fingers touch when he accepts it and the brief glimmer of eye contact you share sends shivery energy zipping between you.

“I loved him,” you repeat, as if convincing yourself. A repeated balm to soothe the pain of letting him leave.

“He’s an idiot for leaving you.”

You bite back a sob-laugh, imagination caught somewhere between wondering who you’d rather beat up more: him, or yourself.

“Maybe I’m an idiot for not followin’ him.” You sniff deeply to push back the incoming sob-induced mess. “Not that he woulda let me.”

He hums resignedly.

Clearing your throat, you tuck your hands between your thighs. Swiftly moving on. “What was I— she like?”

He takes a long drink and sighs thickly when he comes up for air. He looks down at his hands when he talks as if choosing his words thoughtfully and carefully.

“Strong, smart. Stubborn. Far too fuckin’ stubborn.”

You force a smile over the flinch of pain in your chest. “Guess we got that in common.”

You reach up and twist the dog tag around your neck, feeling for the ring you’d slipped around the chain. You were never married legally but were in all the ways that mattered. Your heart aches for the brief moment of domesticity you shared with him. You expect him to be finished, but he once laughs, a smile cracking on his face.

“She loved kids— had a soft spot for the weird ones.” He squints and rubs at the flesh between his knuckles where the blades typically protrude. “Put me in my place. Stood up for what was right.”

His words strike a chord in your heart, playing the familiar tune of yearning and guilt and grief. A swelling sensation rises from your stomach and you’re not sure if you’re going to scream, cry or throw up.

“Were you—?”

“In love with her? What, like you can’t tell?” He interrupts, face hardening. Another drink. “It doesn’t matter. We argued one night and I refused to follow her back to the school, ‘bout the same time the humans went mutant hunting.”

Logan takes a moment to catch himself.

“When I came back, shit-faced from the bar, I realised I’d gotten my version of you murdered, along with the rest of them. Laid up like a fucking log pile. That’s what loving me got you.”

The gruesome imagery sours the liquor in your stomach. You push the nausea down with a hard swallow.

“I’m sorry.”

“Wh—” He jolts back, face pinched. “I got you killed, and you’re fuckin’ sorry?”

“There’s a world where you didn’t make that choice. You know, I’m not proud of who I am, either,” you answer, softly. “After you left and I lost you… I got bitter, stopped pulling my punches.”

“You never liked hurting people.”

“I didn’t.” You take a deep breath, willing away the warmth that pools behind your eyes. You quickly regain composure with a short cough. “Whatever woman you’re comparing me to, I stopped being her a long time ago. Like you told me— I’m no hero.”

He grunts, looking like he regrets saying that now. Checkmate. You’re not what either of you expected or yearned for in one another, but maybe you’re exactly what you both need.

“You know, your accents thicker.”

He says it as if to draw a line of separation, but you take it as an invitation. Your head swims from the alcohol, and against what probably is your better judgement, you inch closer to him until your knees bump against each other.

“That’s what I get for hidin’ in the mountains. Got adopted by a scary old lady and her church friends. I reckon she rubbed off on me. You’d like her, I think,” you tell him fondly. There’s something wistful about it, imagining a life with him. You grieve a life you never had but somehow, in his company, the melancholy loosens its grip.

“Maybe we got lucky,” you add flatly.

He lifts the bottle with a dry laugh. “You have a very funny idea of what lucky means, bub.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure. Y’see, they didn’t get lucky. They died, ‘n’ we lost each other,” you explain, glancing up at the stars as if either version of you would ever be in heaven, as if it was as loving enough as a mother’s womb to stretch wide enough to allow space for mutants.

God probably hated you just as much as they did down here.

You lower your head onto his shoulder. “But, we’re still here. Maybe there was always space in my universe for you.”

“You’re drunk,” he observes flatly, but he doesn’t move.

“A little.” You get more comfortable against his tense bicep and close your eyes. “Humour me, why don’t you?”

He sighs, but it’s gentle. “Just for a while.”

“Good, because you’re not very good at keeping your feelings quiet. I know you like this.”

“Keep that to yourself.”

You sigh, eyes remaining closed. “We ain’t gonna talk about it, are we?” You ask, in reference to the kiss.

“Nope.”

A high-pitched whine resonates in your ears, vision blurring as if lying underneath a rippling river current. Paradox has just explained the stakes to you — to stop Cassandra, somebody would have to lay down on the wire and make the sacrifice play. This wasn’t a matter of regeneration anymore— it was being ripped apart from the seams, atomised.

It just so happens that your cat, Kevin, has been loving his little journey around the TVA. Cheater.

“You won’t survive it,” is what you say in response to Logan offering himself up for the job. What you really meant was: I don’t think I can survive losing you again.

“I know,” Logan answers. His eyes drip to where you palm at the slow-healing wound on your side, courtesy of the Lady Deadpool variant. You’re winded, running on fumes, and know you’re in no position to start throwing yourself out there as a suicide volunteer. You’d never make the journey, let alone succeed in your venture.

“That’s why it’s gotta be me,” Deadpool interrupts, peeling the mask from his face to address you both. “Neither of you asked for any of this. You were right. I lied. I lied right to both of your faces — just to get you to help me, and you did.”

“You didn’t lie,” Logan replies, throwing you a glance. “You made an educated wish.”

He reaches into his pocket and slaps the bloodied Polaroid of Deadpool’s friends against Wade’s chest. The gesture is a final, silent acknowledgement of why any of you are here in the first place, and everything that’s led to this moment.

“I got nothin’ back in my world,” he explains, the sharp arrow of his words striking a sting straight through your heart. “Let me do this. For you.”

You could see that this meant more to him, that he would only deem himself worthy and die a peaceful death if he could do it knowing he saved at least one variant of you. This is more than just a mission. This is his only chance to redeem himself, and you know you’re in no position to start trying to convince him that you’d have him either way. Fuck redemption.

You’re parallel from one another, standing just outside of touching distance. It was a cruel existence— reaching out and never quite being able to hold on. It’s inevitable, the pull you feel. You’re dictated by his gravity but cursed by the narrative.

Your chest rises and falls with shallow, laboured breaths as you attempt to process what’s happening, what he’s asking you to let him do. The pain in your side ebbs only from the comparative pain of watching another version of the man you love sacrifice himself for you.

His voice is a quiet whisper. “Give me this.”

But I love you. The words are there, hiding behind your clenched teeth, gnawing at the bars like a feral animal caged in the reminder that this isn’t — shouldn’t be — the man that you love.

Something shifts and as you’re running on the delirium of your battery running low, healing resources drained, you decide that you don’t actually care to make the distinction any more.

You’re in no condition to fight; you barely had the energy to argue with him, let alone stop him. But you can’t just let him go.

One wobbly step forward. You poke his chest, mustering whatever energy remains to express your feelings in the only true way you know how. “I…” you stammer, but you suddenly can’t find the words.

His hand reaches up and he splays yours flat against his chest. Faintly, buried deep behind the armoured layer of his suit, you feel the distinct thunk, thunk of his heart. He exhales deeply when your empathetic energy transmission reaches the other side. Your eyes connect, and even through the sharp whites of his mask, you can feel the psionic pulse resonating between you two— strong enough that the wound on your side begins to sew itself together.

“I know,” he whispers.

And you believe that he does.

He nods shortly, releases your hand, and turns on his heel. You collapse against the control centre, eyes needling through the camera footage, desperate to watch the final moments and know that his sacrifice was worth it.

It’s about the same time that Deadpool yanks his mask back on and barrels down the hallway after him.

“Wade!”

You glance back at the party as you creep towards the apartment door to leave. Your consciousness has only recently slipped back into place, having hovered somewhere above your body for the entire time you witnessed your friends atomically ripped apart, only for them to return mere moments later.

You think it might’ve been witnessing Wolverine sweaty and shirtless that was finally the last straw for you. You’re not sure you’ve recovered since.

You thought you were being sneaky about your departure, but a flat hand reaches from out of view, splays and then holds the door closed.

“You sure I can’t convince you to stay?” Logan asks, voice slow and tentative.

“I ain’t runnin’ this time, I promise,” you answer. He rests his arm on the beam above him, making him appear even taller and maybe even more imposing. Your pulse quickens as you look up at him, trying to find the right words, ones that you hope won’t give you away. You nearly squeak. “I um— just—”

He arches a brow, a hint of a micro-smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He shifts, getting closer by just a fraction. “Yeah?”

Trying to keep your distance is proving to be immensely hard when he’s gotten himself this deliciously close. His energy tastes of confidence, a stark contrast to the self-loathing only a mere few days prior. It’s magnetic. If you make eye contact now, you’re not sure you’ll be able to control yourself.

The atmosphere crackles with tension, like the static energy right before lightning strikes. His gaze is intense when you look at him, and with the way his eyes glance purposefully down at your parted lips—

Jesus. Pull yourself together.

You gently pull away from him and feel the spell of the moment dissolve. “I just… need time.”

Recognition flashes on his face, as well as a tick of disappointment, but he seems to understand.

A beat, then he taps the door before stepping aside. “Alright. Don’t be a stranger.”

Wade bursts around the corner, arms wide and voice booming. Vanessa hangs off of his arm, white teeth gleaming with mischievous joy.

“Whoa, hey there, lovebirds! What’s going on here— a secret rendezvous? Looking for somewhere to sneak off? Should I cue the romantic music or just give you two some privacy?”

You jump in surprise at his sudden entrance, flinching away from Logan as if you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Logan’s expression shifts from whatever tender moment was brewing, spell broken, to a mix of exasperation and resignation, jaw tightening.

“Wade,” he grumbles, voice sharp, but you can acknowledge there’s a level of begrudging affection beneath the steely surface. “Timing, as usual, is impeccable.”

“Um, actually, I was just leavin’,” you answer, tugging on your bag.

“WHAT!” Wade exclaims, face dropping. “We haven’t even gotten to our favourite part yet!”

You tick a brow. “Our favourite part?”

“The cocaine part,” he says, matter-of-factually.

“Wade, that was one time,” you pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry. Thank you for inviting me. I just can’t miss my flight.”

Dogpool jumps at your ankles, whimpering and chewing on the hem of your jeans. You give her a gentle scratch on her head, deftly avoiding the lick of her impressive tongue. Wade scoops her up, holding her against his shoulder and kissing her affectionately on her wet nose.

“You, ah, need a ride?” Logan offers.

Your heart stutters at his chivalrous attempt. “Oh, um. That’s okay— I called a cab. So.”

That was a lie. You hadn’t— not yet. You just weren’t sure if you were going to make the right decisions if you were alone in his company for an hour. Probably wouldn’t make it to the airport without fighting or crying or making stupid choices.

He rubs his jaw. “Right.”

“I’ll… see you around?”

“I better!” Wade yells, using two fingers to gesture that he’s keeping his eye on you as Vanessa yanks him around the corner gleefully.

A magnetic tether — or red string, whatever you want to call it — seems to strain when you walk away from Logan. You feel the pull in your chest, a fluttering of electricity, but you swallow the urges and ignore the way they scratch like glass on the way down.

You call an Uber, squeezing your bag tightly for a source of comfort as you crowd yourself into the back seat. You spare one last glance at the apartment and think for a brief moment you see a silhouette of someone watching you from the balcony, but they slip away into the light before you can discern it.

You know, though. Of course, you know.

You expected relief when you arrived home, but, instead, the aching, gnawing black hole in your chest seems to grow exponentially. You go through the motions— feed your cat, tend to the garden, eat the food with no appetite, go to Church.

The fixture of Jesus pinned to the cross gives you pause for the first time. You wonder if he was a mutant.

You weren’t sure how much of this “time” thing you were going to need to heal or make a decision on where you and Logan stood after everything, but only after your second night, sleepless and alone, do you start to doubt that this will be an easy process. You communicate like you know what you’re doing, but you haven’t stopped shaking since he kissed you, like a newborn foal traversing ice.

You want to do things right. You’re not trying to replace any missing pieces or live up to any expectations he might have of you. The girl he knew seemed to be a softer, sweeter (less traumatised) version of you, and you worry that you’d be constantly comparing him to a ghost of himself.

The rain lulls you as it patters on the window by your bed, but sleep doesn’t take you.

You hear thunder, you think, and wonder if the chickens are frightened in their coops. However, the distant grumble continues to grow, reverberating through the floorboards of your rickety cabin. As it creeps closer you discern that it’s not a brewing storm— but the growling engine of a motorcycle.

Awash with a deep sense of knowing, you throw yourself out of bed and knot a silk robe around your middle. The sound of the engine dissipates, replaced only by the hammering rain and the rushing pulse in your ears when you tear your door open.

You see him— all leather jacket slick with rainwater and tight jeans, brows pinched against the onslaught of the weather as he dismounts his bike.

Logan.

When your eyes meet, there’s a palpable shift in the air, and the storm, angry as a howling spirit, mirrors the turbulent emotions within you. You don’t speak, you don’t think, you just act.

Barefoot, dressed in your slip of a robe, you race down the short path and meet him halfway.

“Logan? Logan?” You call out. “What are you doin’ here?!”

“Had to see you,” he calls out between strides, voice nonchalant as if what he’s said was obvious.

You’re closing the distance. “That’s a day’s ride, and the weather—”

Instead of letting you finish, he grasps your face, kissing you suddenly and with a reverence so sincere that your knees feel gelatinous and weak. His thumbs brush away the raindrops— tears? —that drip over your crystallised lashes. His touch is both grounding and electrifying; the warmth of him pressed against you is a stark contrast to the chilling downpour.

Your fingers curl against the front of his jacket, clinging with equal fervour as if it’s the only thing keeping you anchored from floating someplace else. The strength of his body crowds over you, arm sliding down to capture you by your waist as you lean into him, syrupy-decadent and entirely reliant on him to keep you upright.

The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding over yours tasting both bittersweet and intoxicating in equal measures, like cigar smoke and peppermint gum. There’s a distinct sharpness of liqour and you wonder if he had a shot (or bottle) of courage before coming here. You breathe deeply against his skin, smelling rainwater, musk and gunpowder; your senses are completely overwhelmed by him and you’re not sure that anything could pull you away.

The red string knots.

When you both eventually take pause, gasping for air as the rain continues to pelt, his eyes lock with yours. He radiates relief, desire, and a raw vulnerability that makes your heart ache.

“You’re freezin’,” he murmurs, peppering kisses against your lips, your cold nose, and pulling one of your hands to his face to peck along your palm. You feel dizzy in his embrace, drunk on his lips.

“You should come inside,” you whisper, “before the neighbours start askin’ questions.”

He quietly nods, kissing your fingers before following you inside and ducking away from the rain.

Once inside, he shakes the rain from his hair with a flick, eyes immediately roaming around the innards of your respectable (tiny) house, the size of him immediately proportionally shrinking the interior. He absorbs your surroundings, chivalrously pretending like he can’t see every curve of you in that wet material.

You lead him towards the heath, lighting a small fire to help dry you both off. You leave, pottering around to gather some towels for your hair, and arrive back to see he’s peeled off the top layer of his clothes, leaving him half-exposed, his back an impressive marvel of rippling muscle. He glances at you over his shoulder.

You’re lost for words, but can’t just stand there ogling him. “Um, I don’t think I have any spare clothes that’ll… fit…”

When he turns to face you, his rain-slick torso shines in the firelight, skin glistening on the taught muscles of his biceps as he accepts a towel from you. Your words lag, entirely distracted by the realisation of one thing when you glance down at his v-line and dark, coiling hair that creeps down into his jeans: you’re absolutely going to have sex with this man.

You might’ve decided that when you watched the way his jeans clung to him when he dismounted his motorcycle, but that’s beside the point.

“That’s alright,” he answers, towel slung over his shoulder, eyes roving shamelessly over the damp, silky robe that clings to your silhouette effortlessly. “Don’t need ‘em.”

Your mouth dries when he steps closer to you, head angled, lips centimetres apart.

“Logan…” you breathe, tone edging toward a warning.

He presses against you, tilting you back. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop. I’ll get back on that bike and I’ll leave.”

You creep further away, trying to catch your breath. “I—”

The words don’t manifest, simply because you don’t have it in you to lie— to deny yourself of this.

He cages you in against the wall, shrinking you underneath his frame, eyes narrowed and dark as they search for yours through lowered lashes. “Tell me you don’t feel somethin’, and I’ll walk away. You won’t see me again.”

His bare-chested proximity was overwhelming you. You’re acutely aware of every inch of his skin that touches yours, pebbled nipples hard against his warm flesh, stubbled jaw nuzzling against your neck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You feel like a teenager again, anxious and hormonal, a ball of puppy fat and unrequited crushes. The space between your thighs positively aches with heat, throbbing like a second heartbeat.

“I can’t… I can’t tell you that I feel something.”

He leans back, lips quirked with a flash of disappointment.

You blink up at him. “Let me show you instead.”

He ticks an eyebrow.

You use your empathetic influence to decrease his heartbeat, relaxing him down to the bone. He sighs, nosing against your shoulder, arms flexing as he holds himself up against you.

“Just with a little influence…” you stroke your way up from the slow pulse in his neck to his jaw, capturing him swiftly. You use your mutation to increase his heart rate this time, hiking it up to an excitable level. His cheeks begin to flush, pupils dilated, lips parted with the anticipation of your kiss. His eyes darken with something intrinsically primal and hungry.

“Does it excite you?” You ask, innocently.

He shakes his head all dog-like as if to regain control, canine showing as his lips curl into a wolfish grin.

“You’re not the only one with… tricks. I can do that, too— in other ways,” he says, tone low and suggestive. He lifts a hand, tracing a knuckle over your exposed collarbone, shifting the soft material of your robe just an inch. Your breath hitches.

“You know I can hear your heartbeat, right?”

You blush. You hadn’t known that.

You challenge his eye contact, feigning self-control and authority. The stare-down has your pulse spiking, arousal ricocheting down your spine and sitting low and syrupy in your belly.

“Your heart’s beating pretty fast, too.”

Oh, Hell. He’s got you melted like butter in a pan.

You rest your head against the wall, breath quickening. “If we do this, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“Good,” he growls. “I don’t like to stop.”

The teasing back-and-forth game of teetering towards nearly touching finally gets the better of you. You’re weak, as malleable as soft dough, so you invite him against your mouth with a sigh-wine and a tug on the nape of his neck.

He positively devours you, a hand palming at your breast as you kiss desperately and feverishly. The shoulder of your robe slips and you’re half-exposed, the slip barely holding itself together by the loose knot on your waist. He pulls you impossibly closer, the skin of his chest flush against yours as he reaches and digs fingers into the globe of your ass, hips twitching together.

You fumble between your bodies, yanking on his belt buckle and zipper impatiently. He pulls backwards, a wet string of spit snapping between your lips as you separate, helping you with steadier fingers to remove his jeans. With equal passion, he swiftly tugs on the waist-tie of your robe and discards it somewhere on the floor.

When you’re both bare, nude silhouettes sharp and soft in the firelight, he stumbles you over to the plush rug in the centre of the room. He nods to the couch.

“Legs up.”

You obey without hesitation, taking your seat and spreading decadently for him. He kneels below you of you, hips between your ankles, and gazes at you like a hungry, stalking animal. You feel impossibly sexy and dangerous.

He peppers kisses along the bone of your ankle first, foot hiked up onto his shoulder, only breaking eye contact to flutter his eyes closed. He moves along the inner length of your leg, pausing keenly against the sensitive parts— the thin stretch behind your knee, the soft plush of your thigh. He lowers himself, scruff tickling between your legs, and then licks a molten stroke between your folds, parting you with his tongue and burying his face deeper.

You clench around his skull, mindfulness of your heightened mutant abilities long forgotten. You can’t crush metal between your thighs. Or can you?

He groans into you, varying suckling and kissing you on your clit with long strokes on the blade of his tongue to your hole, lapping up the nectar of your arousal, fingers digging bruisingly into your hips. The sting of his grip and the relentless lave of his tongue entice moans from you, fingers raking into his hair for some semblance of reality grounding in your pleasure-lapsed consciousness.

Jesus. With as filthy as his mouth was, you should’ve known he would be this good at eating pussy.

You come quick, orgasm pulsing on his lips. The burn of overstimulation seizes your muscles, writhing against his onslaught, but he shoves your hips down.

“Not done with you yet,” he murmurs possessively, leaning back to wipe his chin. “On all fours.”

You bite your lower lip, suppressing the humiliation of the intimacy (vulgarity) of it. You turn, belly still clenching with the aftershocks, arching with the anticipation, whining moments later when his mouth reconnects with you. His hands palm at your ass, spreading you wider, tongue slipping dangerously close to the tight ring of muscle.

He slides a finger knuckle-deep, miming fucking you in a rhythmic pulse. His other hand massages you, thumb sliding down until you jerk sensitively against his nudging intrusion.

You feel impossibly full and tingly, clenching around the burn of his thumb and the velvet of his finger, second orgasm surging and bubbling over with your face pressed against the couch cushion, lips agape. You’re slick, drip-dropping onto his cupping palm, every nerve in your body burning raw as his wrist works you through the pulses.

You turn over, relishing in the sight of his scruff glistening with the aftermath of your orgasm, his eyes dark with lust— a hellish man, seraphic on his knees for you. Your insides clench at the sight as he quite literally shatters and redefines what worship means to you.

“Tired already?” He hums, massaging your hips.

You perk a challenging brow. “That was just the warm-up, old man.”

“Alright,” he seethes, sucking on his lower lip as he lifts himself up to your level. “Show me what you got then, baby.”

When you kiss, his mouth slides against yours, drenched with the taste of yourself. His cock steels against your belly when you pull him close, tip pearl-smooth with precum when you reach down and grasp him with a hollowed fist. The feel of him, heavy and warm in your grip, fans to life the flames of your briefly quenched arousal, and you hungrily pull him down onto the couch beside you.

Moisture pools on your tongue as you rub him. You spit on your hand before stroking him from the base to tip, lathering him silky with your drool. You tuck your hair behind your ears, narrowing your cheeks as you slide your mouth up and down his length, fisting the inches that remain.

“Christ.” He twitches in your mouth as you gently massage the warm weight of his sac, lewd sounds emanating from where your lips and tongue meet him. “Just like that. Good fuckin’ girl,” he snarls, gripping your hair in a fist at the crown of your head. Your engine purrs with his encouragement, revving with newfound enthusiasm.

You always gave as good as you got, after all, and you’re certainly not one to back away from a challenge.

His head lolls onto the back of the couch, thighs tense beneath you, cock hot and hard on your tongue. He growls when he comes, pulsing strongly in your mouth as you lap up the produce of his orgasm, salty and molten down your throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Put those regenerative powers to good use, why don’t you?” You ask, working him through the over-sensitivity with your wrist. His eyes don’t once leave yours, even as they glaze over and flinch from the pleasure burn. There’s a sharp look of challenging determination on his face— a grit of his teeth, the furrow in his brow. He remains hard in your hands and you perk an impressed brow. Not bad for an old man.

There’s a sweet moment of vulnerability when you crawl over him, a brief sobering in the cloud of lust, a clarity of two not-quite strangers and their shared grief and yearning.

You’re not sure where this moment will take you, but the love of somebody scraping together the shards of a shattered heart for a brief time, even as it cuts their hands, holds you with a semblance of human connection so sincere that you’ll carry it with you for a lifetime.

His thighs spread to accommodate you. You hold your fingers against the thick chords in his neck for support as you fumble between your bodies, slotting him against the catch in your cunt before lowering yourself entirely.

You hiss against the intrusion and he steadies you with a hand on your hip.

“Easy. Don’t hurt yourself.”

You laugh-moan, laying your palms against the coils of hair on his sweat-shimmering chest.

“I can take it.”

The fire, intended to help dry you off, creates a heated environment that beads sweat on his temple. The only brain cells that remain coherent bounce around on lust in your skull — so you lean forward, lick the salty droplet clean, and sigh-whine as you begin rocking against him.

You fall into sync quickly, a desperate rhythm of desperate bodies. The delicious ache of him inside you is a masochistic thrill, similar to the irresistible press on a day-old bruise. The squelching shlick between your bodies is an animalistic reminder of your flesh and blood as you chase the pleasure, bouncing with vigour.

“Christ— I can feel you…” his jaw clenches with resolve, fingers digging into the meat of your ass. “…dripping all over me. You wanted this bad, huh?”

“Wanted to ride you in that fuckin’ Honda,” you straighten your posture, leaning away from him to hold your breasts, panting words between bated breaths. “Thought it might shut you up.”

His hand snaps up and grabs you roughly by the chin. “Mm… mouthy, aren’t ya?”

You grin. “You got no idea, lumberjack.”

He pulls your face against him, meeting your mouth halfway in a sloppier, fever-driven kiss that shoots arousal to your core like a shot of his favourite whiskey. Something feral stirs within you: a primal, cellular-deep need to connect with him further. Your empathetic power roils off of you like steam on a hot spring, surging into and merging with him until there’s nothing but one feeling, a black hole of unquenchable desire.

You suddenly feel as though you are him: navel-deep, a throbbing muscle with an aching desire to dive further into the serpent-clutch of your cunt, gliding through tingly, honey-silk velvet, blades hanging onto a tether of self-control as they threaten to slide out of your knuckles in ecstasy.

Well. This was certainly new. Add “voodoo sex doll” to your list of mutations.

You gasp, ripping away from the kiss, your powers recoiling back into you at whip-lash speed, dizzying in its ferocity. His eyes meet yours with darkened curiosity.

“Did you—”

“I felt that,” he grunts, tongue darting out to roll over his lips. “It always like that for you? Feelin’ so fuckin’ full?”

You half-laugh blissfully. “Only the good times.”

“I’ll show you a good time, alright.”

He isn’t gentle when he manhandles you, forcing you into an arch as he repositions and aligns himself behind your thighs, one foot planted firmly on the floor, the other bent to accommodate the new angle. He reinserts himself inside of you with ease, hands palming your hips and ass.

You feel him nudging cervix-deep and you reach out, clawing at the couch to hold your jerking body steady against the relentless slap of his hips. There’s no need to tell him faster or harder when you feel the metal plate of his adamantium hips pressing against your ass, pounding and vulgar with the sound of sweat-damp skin-on-skin.

It’s involuntary, the way you pant and cry out, intoxicated by the relentless drag and pull of his cock. He says something to you but you either don’t hear him or have enough conscious space in your sex-drunk fog to process words and respond. He slides a hand down your spine and pulls on your hair until you’re upright, breath hot when it fans against your neck.

“Where’s that mouth gone?”

You lick the drool from your lip, throwing him a glance over your shoulder. “Fuck you.”

The half-lidded up-and-down look he gives you as satisfaction grows slowly on his lips turns your bones to jelly. “There she is,” he growls back, offering a sharp slap of encouragement on your ass as he drops you back onto your front. You involuntarily grip around him, puffy clit throbbing with the almost-but-not-quite-there anticipatory build. “You gonna come for me? Yeah? I can fuckin’ feel it.”

You slide a hand underneath yourself, reaching for the swollen nub with two fingers. You’re overwhelmed with kinetic energy akin to a fizzy champagne bottle— two more shakes until you’re ready to pop.

You hear a Snikt! behind you, accompanied by a throat-caught groan, and then the distinct ripping shred of blades impaling your couch. You finally come, hard, when you feel him throbbing inside of you, followed by the decadent syrupy flood of his orgasm filling you up. He ruts into you one, two three more final times, milking himself dry, before collapsing over your body in a sweaty heap, sparing you the weight of his metal bones with a forearm propped next to you.

Shared fluids drip to the couch when he eventually pulls out of you, blades retreating into his clenched fists. The fluffy innards of the chair spill out beside you, and, while you were in no financial position to afford another, the sight entices a humoured smile from you.

“Sorry,” he says with a wince, helping you sit up when your unreliable legs shake beneath you.

“That’s alright. It’ll make for an interestin’ story,” you retort, fanning yourself with a hand. You both let out a shared laugh, mostly from the relieved delirium of it all. After a beat, you lean into him, massaging a hand across his belly. “So. We really doin’ this?”

His face softens. “If you’ll have me.”

You cup his face and kiss his cheek. “I’d take any version of you I could get.”

divider credits: @/vysleix and @/cafekitsune tag list: @bearwithegg, @uhlunaro, @sseleniaa, @jxssimae, @autumnsymphony

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #james logan howlett #wolverine #x reader #deadpool and wolverine #honda odyssey #logan x reader

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berryblu-soda · 9 months ago

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literally *how* have i never talked abt seedling???? i have soooo much brainrot abt it bite bite bite bite bite bite

#shut up sheo #only named characters are tam and vera #and riven if ash lets me play around w him :) <- he has the lavender flower :D #other ones are just characters w a central concept #like “sun” vera´s lifelong friend; and lavender´s sister #and “mist”; spoiled alien brat who wanted to see earth for a bit and ends up tangled in this mess hdfjhdfj #vera´s dad:he had a name but i dont remember; really warm guy; lost his wife when vera was born; only recently going out w tam´s mom #tam´s mom: not much to her yet; genuinely nice lady but a lil too much for vera at first; divorced <- her ex´s fault #and of course tam! quiet and sharp tounged kid; was really excited to have a brother; standoffish as he may be #seedling #oc talk #long way to go on this project but it´s very special to me <3

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scorpiondancing · 1 month ago

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My favorite Wangxian fics:

Check the tags! I like all Wangxian dynamics 🖤 (I know it's not everyone's cup of tea)

(some of my favs sadly were hidden but these are the ones still up and ready to read)

Lan Never Kiss and Tell by FeelsForBreakfast

Explicit • Modern au

Wei Ying discovers Lan Zhan has kissed everyone in their friend group and decides he needs to remedy that IMMEDIATELY (more than kissing ensues)

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

we don't need to talk about it by: vesna (mrsronweasley)

Explicit • Modern au (fake dating)

In order to get an apartment they pretend to be a couple and they just keep pretending even when they are alone.. and eventually fall in love for real

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

Midnight, The Stars, And You by: Carrie25

Explicit • Modern au (coffee shop)

Lan Zhan works at a cafe while going to college and his new coworker Wei Ying turns his life into a bit of chaos. Only a lil bit of angst (like barely)

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

your problem as a mountain. by: cupofwater

Explicit • Canon Divergence (no war)

Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian send each other letters about their desires and fantasies. Nie Huaisang's brother unknowingly sends off the ones he labeled "Lan Wangji" to the man himself

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

solstice: 那夏天的我们 by: auberjing

Explicit • canon divergence (cloud recesses arc, no war)

Wei Ying decides he needs to teach Lan Zhan how to please himself... as a good friend. It all spirals out of his control

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

The Sculptor by: Eleanor_Fenyx

Mature • Modern au (1970s)

Lan Zhan and Wen Qing are in a lavender marriage and when he sees an ad to be a model, he for some reason takes it. Who would've thought that the artist was just his type

(Such good pining + lil misunderstanding)

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

Punchline by: jiangnan

General Audience • Humor

“Sorry guys, I’ll only know love it if hits me in the face!” Wei Wuxian laughed....

And then Lan Wangji punches him

(It's so silly, I laughed so hard. Truly adore this one)

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

i'm gonna drown when you wake up by: teenjiism

Explicit • Modern au

Neurodivergent Wangxian, getting together, slow burn, banter, PINING. It's just so good and I relate way too hard to adhd demisexual Wei Ying

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

in the blossom season (in the pouring rain) by: varnes

Mature • Modern with magic

Local florist, Wei Ying, seems to have a "magic touch" when it comes to plants. Lan Yuan meets someone he calls "Doctor Flowers" and Lan Zhan's apartment rooftop garden suddenly grows exponentially.

(I adore fics with A-yuan 😭)

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

the soft animal of your body by: sysrae

Teen Audience • Modern with cultivation

BIG WHUMP WEI YING 😭 but it has a happy ending

Lan Huan needs a sitter for his newly acquired rabbit... and Wei Ying was in need of a warm bed and a shower.

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

Going on charmingly by: scribbet

Teen Audience • Canon Divergence

Cloud recesses arc but Wei Wuxian was a disciple of Baoshan Sanren and he is better of for it.

Lan Wangji is a lil sassy in this one

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

breaking in soft fires and wildflowers by AhoyTheShipOfDreams

Explicit • canon divergence (set during sunshot campaign)

Lan Wangji gets cursed and he must have physical contact at all times or he will be in immense pain and eventually die. Thankfully Wei Wuxian is there to help

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

Meet Me Friday At Seven by: craftyTrickster

Explicit • Modern au

Wei Ying and Lan Zhan meet when they both have a blind date with other people and decide to keep meeting before and after each date to commiserate.. it's slow burn but they work it out, lots of oblivious pining bc of miscommunication

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

Traveling in shadows, chasing your light by: MusicMe_tc

Mature • Canon divergence (getting together)

Lan Zhan gets hurt protecting Wei Ying at Nightless City. He gets taken to the Burial Mounds where Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen both learn they may have misjudged the Yiling Patriarch while they all heal Lan Zhan

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

A Haunting Love by: omegas_m, Selenay

Explicit • Modern with cultivation

Lan Zhan moves into a house that seems to be haunted by a very talkative ghost.

This one is full of mystery, suspense, romance, ANGST but a very happy end

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

paint smears on sunny days by: SnowshadowAO3

Explicit • Modern au (getting together)

Lan Zhan is running late to pick up his son but thankfully his son's art teacher watches him. And Lan Zhan may or may not fall in love at first sight.

I love the softness and cute little A-Yuan.

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it's a long road but we're not alone by: Stratisphyre

Mature • Canon Divergence

Jiang Yanli and Jin Ling "disappear" along with the Yiling Patriarch.

16 years later Lan Jingyi is on a night hunt and meets some rogue cultivators who remind Lan Wangji of a certain someone.

(Wangxian get together in the end)

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A More Practical Approach by: Elhana

Teen Audience • post canon

The Lan elders want to stop wangxian from doing it all the time so they make Wei Ying a teacher. He finds a way to teach the students with elaborate arrays and mazes in order to buy him and his husband some alone time

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Yearning for Miles by Murahi

Mature • Canon Divergence

Wei Ying finds an artifact in his dorm room at the Cloud Recesses. When him and Jiang Cheng test it out, they can see the future. With the help of Nie Huaisang they plan to change everything.

THIS IS THE BEST LONG FIC 🛐 I cried

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The Light That Fails to Dim by: glowingreverie

Teen Audience • Canon Divergence

Wei Ying gets taken in by the Nie sect but still is able to learn the sword and not the sabre.

Really underestimated how angsty it would get but such a good happy end with brothers nhs and wwx along the way

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inevitable everything by: isablightwood

Explicit • Canon Divergence

Wei Ying is Baoshan Sanren's adoptive grandson and still learns demon cultivation but differently. He offers his help with the Sunshot campaign but only if he can marry Lan Zhan

This one is angsty with unexpected twists + happy end

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Adventures in babysitting (or attempts at romance) by: Morgana_avalon

Mature • post canon

Wei Ying and Lan Zhan get turned into 5 year olds and Lan Xichen needs Jiang Chengs help

This might not be everyone's fav but I love baby Wangxian and secretly love the VERY rare pair. Unexpectedly fell in love with them (read the tags)

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The Golden Cutsleeve by: syrus_jones

Explicit • Canon divergence (Cloud Recesses arc)

Wei Ying saves a girl from being spiritually attached to an adult toy by attaching it to himself. Unfortunately he gets caught "just testing it out to make sure it's really attached to me" and in a dumb moment he gives it to Lan Wangji thinking he wouldn't actually use it right?

(Embarrassing but so funny, I love this one)

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A new found family by: MusicMe_tc

General Audience • Canon divergence (Cloud Recesses arc)

Lan Zhan gets turned into a baby and Lan Qiren has to take care of him while keeping it a secret. Unfortunately Wei Ying misses his buddy and sneaks into the Jingshi and finds a familiar looking child. He is given permission to help out and Lan Qiren gets a soft spot for the boy.

(Wangxian get together)

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The Simplest Way Forward by harriet_vane

Explicit • Modern au (accidental baby acquisition)

Wei Ying wakes up and finds a child in his apartment with a note from his cousin and no clear idea on how long this kid is gonna stay. Suddenly becoming a dad while in college is a lot. So he misses music rehearsal. Thankfully Lan Zhan comes over to check in on his classmate and ends up staying to help him out.

Acquaintances to lovers with a kid to speed things up

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#mdzs #wangxian #lan zhan #lan wangji #wei ying #wei wuxian #wangxian fic rec #mdzs fic recs

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brucewaynehater101 · 4 months ago

Note

I think it would be really funny if Tim kept up one very specific connection he made during Young Justice. One that no one but Tim and his team know about. One of the most dangerous beings in all the Universe.

Lobo The Space Biker.

The Main Man Himself, who has either tied or beaten Superman in a number of different comics *and* shows. When he showed up during the Justice Leauge Animated show, the entire JL (minus Clark) had to work together to just *barely* keep him in line and even *then* they did not command full authority nor respect from him. He is a top tier threat almost everytime he is spotted.

And I can only think of one person who he canonically will do basically whatever they say.

Tim Drake.

Tim managed to reign Lobo in multiple times during their adventures together, and no I don't mean the weaker clone. I mean The Real Actual Lobo (who had been turned into a teen by Klarion at the start of their friendship but *still*) does what if asked of him by Tim Drake, up to and including *walking away from unfinished fights*. Evidence by the time Tim got him to not fight the Space Cops right before The Baseball Game and got him and Big Bear to stop fighting when both wanted to continue.

All this to say, some kind of all hands on deck happens and the JL needs some back up for some kind of invasion and Tim says, "I have someone who owes me a few favors and it pretty strong." And makes a phone call. All the JL can hear is Tim as he says, "hey, Lil- I'm cashing in a favor... Yeah there's an invasion about to happen... Yes, you are the first person I call for Cracking Skulls, of course.... yes well, with or without you it's happening in an hour. Get here sooner and after we can have an extra meeting... of course I'll make the usual tea, plus Lavender and Rose cookies~... yes I know you very well.... see you in 25 minuets Lil." And he hangs up.

30 minutes later, Lobo breaks into the Watch Tower and the whole JL is like "WE DONT HAVE TIME FOR THIS DAMN IT." until Tim walks past them saying, "Lil! I got some cookies, they're chocolate chunk." And Lobo simply replies, "you know me so fraggin well, Runt."

Tim gets placed on Lobo's shoulder and they start talking about where Lobo will be so he can Crack the most skulls.

I don't know enough about Lobo (so thank you for the explanations), but I am all for Tim's friendship powers.

I don't know how he does it, but he's constantly nestling himself into villainous or morally grey characters' soft spots. Is there a list out there of folks that, for all intents and purposes, shouldn't like Tim but got bedazzled by his friendship charm?

Anyways, I'd love a 5 plus one fic of Tim being like: "Oh? We've got this problem? Hold up. I know a guy." Then he just calls up someone he definitely shouldn't be friends with. They act like the best of buds, too.

#tim drake #dc comics #dc universe #thank you for the ask!!!!#dc au #tim drake and his friendship rizz

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aothotties · 8 months ago

Text

Sneaky link w/ Best Friend!Eren

Warnings: MDNI, reader is a tease, swearing, unprotected sex, bathtub sex, multiple orgasms, light choking, squirting, cream pie, Eren and the reader say I love you.

Word count: 1874

________

“Alright lil mama, what do you want to do next?” Eren asks you before stuffing his face with cotton candy.

You look around at all the attractions and rides at the theme park, you two have been here since noon and basically did every damn thing.

“You can try and beat me at basketball again.” He suggests with a smirk on his face.

You roll your eyes and brush him off with a wave, you know better than to embarrass yourself like that. You smile as you stop in front of one of the games.

“Win me a stuffed animal, and I mean one of the big ones. Go on” You step to the side and take the cotton candy from him.

“You know good and well I’m not good at darts.” He says with an attitude, he pushes his sleeves up and ties his hair back.

“Oh you’re so damn dramatic Eren, I would’ve been halfway through by now.” You playfully brag and he shakes his head.

“And that’s your problem, you’re always in a hurry.” He taps your nose and steps up to the table

.You watch as he focuses on the balloons in front of him before he releases one in the direction of the board.

POP!

You watch in shock as the dart pierces the balloon with ease, a smirk appears on his face and he throws the second dart.

“That’s two for two princess, better pick out which stuffed animal you want.” You playfully roll your eyes, and look at all of the options while he finishes the game up.

“Congratulations! You’re the first person all day to get all 5 in one go. You can pick from wherever you like.” The man behind the stand says.

“Well baby doll, what do you want?” He wraps an arm around your shoulder, you point to a small dog and he looks down at you confused.

“What?” You ask, moving from under his arm to stare up at him.

“I managed to knock all five balloons out at once and you want that little ass dog? Sir, we’ll take the big teddy bear at the top. Thank you.” He looks down at you and shakes his head.

“I thought you said I got to pick?” You try to hide your smile by looking down at your phone.

“I thought I could trust you to pick.” He mumbles, he grabs the bear from the man and gives him a smile.

He takes your hand in his and begins walking towards the parking lot. You rest your head on his arm and he smiles at how cute you are.

“Do you have any plans after I drop you off?” He knows your routine like the back of his hand, but he loves to hear you repeat it.

Get inside, run a bubble bath, pour a glass of wine or smoke (sometimes both), lotion and moisturize then watch Criminal Minds before falling asleep.

“I feel like you know what I’m going to say.” You look up at him and he nods in agreement.

You two arrive to his car and he opens your door for you, you chuckle and get comfortable in the passenger seat.

“You’re being overly friendly right now.” You run your fingers through his long brown hair and he leans into your hand.

“Friendly isn’t what I’d call it, but to each their own.” He teases and you roll your eyes at his statement.

“If you want to have the feelings talk, I am all ears.” You challenge him and he seems to lose his voice all of a sudden.

“Exactly, now hurry up and take me home. Those lavender bubbles are calling my name and I don’t want to keep them waiting.” You kiss his lips and he closes your door carefully.

He sighs to himself as he walks around to his side of the door. He knows you’re right, you both know the feelings are there. He’s just second guessing himself.

He pulls himself out of his deep thought and gets into the driver's side, he stuffs the teddy bear into the back seat and you laugh into your hand.

“Poor thing, he’ll be alright. Let’s get you to that bubble bath.” He puts his seatbelt on and begins the drive to your house.

It took about 45 minutes for you to get home from the fair, you and Eren both had to pee a total of 3 times on the way.

“Alright, no more damn lemonade for a month.” You say as you walk inside the house with him.

“Yeah, luckily for us fairs are only every few months.” He sits on one of the kitchen stools and watches you shuffle around the living room.

“So you can help yourself to the kitchen and make yourself comfortable.” He stands up and walks over to you.

“You act like I’m not here three times a week.” You laugh and nod your head in return.

“I guess you are here all the time. I didn’t even notice.” You step closer to him and play with the end of his shirt.

He watches you closely and waits to see what you do next. You pull him down so your lips are by his ear and he resists the urge to gasp.

“I’m going to go upstairs and take a bath, if you come up there then I’ll take that as a yes. If not, then I know where we stand.” You take a step back before turning around in the direction of your bathroom.

You make sure to grab a bottle of wine on your way upstairs and Eren feels his throat dry up and his pants get tighter.

“Oh my god” He puts a hand on his rapidly beating heart and lets out a nervous breath.

Eren isn’t sure how or when, but he does make it upstairs at some point. He bites his lip at the sight of you in front of him.

You’re resting in your tub with your head resting against the back of it. Your breasts are partially covered, that is until you sit up to greet the man in front of you.

“You made it.’ You say sweetly, leaning over the side of the bathtub. Your ass peeks over the water and he immediately begins to undress.

He takes his clothes off in record time and gets into the tub directly behind you.

“I was a little nervous you weren’t going to come up here” you tell him, you plant kisses on his neck and he leans back.

“I’ll do anything for you baby. Anything you want.” He groans as you wrap a wet hand around his cock and stroke him slowly.

“You’ll do anything I want baby?” You watch him fall apart in your hands and sit on his thighs.

You smirk as his chest rises and falls with each movement of your hand. He nods his head quickly and you hold his chin with your free hand, forcing him to look at you.

“Tell me you love me Eren” You tell him, replacing your hand with your warm cunt, not even giving him a moment to breathe.

Eren’s eyes roll to the back of his head at the feeling of your tight pussy squeezing around him.

“F-fuck, I love you! I love you so fucking much.” He confesses, he pulls you in by the back of your neck and presses his lips against yours.

You melt into his arms and wrap your own arms around his neck. He rubs his hands up and down your waist and you sigh against his lips.

His hands rub their way up your back, and make their final destination on your chest. He gently tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth and rubs over your nipples with his thumbs.

You let out a shaky breath as he wraps his lips around your sensitive nub. As he begins to rub your other breast, he starts thrusting up into you.

“Eren!” You cry out, immediately grabbing his shoulders as his movements pick up.

He grins at how quickly things change. Less than five minutes ago he was falling apart in your hands and now you’re crumbling on top of him.

“Look at my pretty girl.” He says as he pulls away from your chest.

You moan and bounce faster as you feel that familiar warmth build up in your stomach.

“Are you getting close baby? Fuck, I love when your pussy gets tight like this!” He holds your hips in his hands tightly and fucks into you rapidly.

You rest your face in the crook of his neck and let out a cry of pleasure. He pulls you against his chest and plows into you.

“Oh god, R-Ren I’m coming!” You exclaim while coming all over his cock.

“Good girl, I’m not finished with you yet though.” He coos, wrapping a hand around your throat as you whine in overstimulation.

“God damn I should’ve confessed sooner.” He grunts as another orgasm washes over you.

“Eren!” You cry out, your limp body falling into his arms.

“Yeah baby that’s it. Feels good, huh?” He teases, the hand that was on your throat sneakily trails down your abdomen and to your soaking clit.

You bite his shoulder as he rubs slow circles on the nub to bring you to another orgasm.

“Y-yes, feels so fucking good.” Your eyes roll to the back of your head and drool starts to fall from your lips.

��That’s it, just like that mama, keep squeezing me just like that.” He bites his lip hard at the sight of your beautiful body on top of his.

He swears your body is a fucking masterpiece, he’d scream it from the rooftops if he could. Eren adores every part of you, from the hair on your head, down to your pretty feet. You’re perfect in his eyes and that would never change.

“Shit! I love you Eren, fuck I love you so so much.” You shriek as your final orgasm crashes throughout your entire body.

Your eyes squeeze and your vision turns white as you gush all over his thighs, your tight cunt convulses around his cock and his hips lose their rhythm.

“R-ren.” You whimper as his thrust turn into plowing.

“ ‘m so close princess, fuck I’m gonna fill you up so good.” He pulls you in for a kiss and smashes his lips against yours.

He grabs your ass and holds on for dear life as he pushes his cum deep inside of you. Rope after rope of hot cum fills you up to the brim as he slows the speed of his hips.

He pulls back from your lips and leans his head back against the tub to finally catch his breath.

“Holy shit.” He pants, rubbing a hand up and down your back.

“You okay baby?” He looks down at you and stifles his laugh at the sight of you drifting in and out of sleep.

You simply nod your head and wrap your arms around him tighter, letting your actions do the talking.

“Love you so much Eren.” You whisper in his neck and he pulls you in closer.

“I love you more”

Ari

#aot smut #aot x black reader #aot scenarios #aot x reader #eren x black fem!reader #eren yaeger x reader #eren smut #eren yaeger smut #eren x reader #aot imagines

890 notes · View notes

notleclerc · 1 year ago

Text

I want to be appreciated

🖤Charles x Fem!reader

🖤summary: Charles reached his limit after his results at the Austin Grand Prix and needs his lover more than ever

🖤warnings: angst, fluff and a lil suggestive at the end ;) French sentences are translated

🖤a/n: this is my first fic so please have mercy on me. English is not my first language so i am happy for any feedback <3 ENJOY BABES

Charles was always a giver. His friends needed him to take them somewhere? Alright be ready in 5. His Team Principal called him last minute for a team meeting? Of course anything for Ferrari.

It never bothered Charles because that’s his way of showing care and appreciation to what he has. He loves seeing others being well and happy and him being the reason for that but what about his needs? Why is it so hard for people to appreciate him?

It hit him hard when he ended up in P6 and was later on disqualified at the US Austin Grand Prix. People rushed to him and tried to cheer him up but nothing worked and that’s when they realised, they‘ve got no clue on how to help the one that always WAS the helper himself. All Charles needed right now was the warmth of one person. You, (Y/n). His lovely girlfriend that somehow notices everything about him.

Charles enters his driver room and sees you already waiting for him with your arms wide open and a gentle smile on your face.

„Come here mon amour, laisse-toi aller, tu es en sécurité ici“ (my love, let it all out, you are safe here)

It‘s in that moment that Charles finally let‘s go and crashes in your arms with quiet sobs and a tight grip on your shirt. He keeps repeating „why me, why? what did i do?“ as he hides his face in your neck.

(Y/n) doesn‘t say anything and keeps softly caressing his back and scratching his head and let‘s him cry it all out. You remind him that he is safe here and that you‘ve got him. Charles slowly stopped and sat down on his bed and rubbed his eyes.

„It‘s always like this ma cherrié, i just want to leave…peut-on retourner à l'hôtel s‘il tu plaît?“. (can we go back to the Hotel please?)

(Y/n) nods and grabs his bag that she already packed because she knew charles wouldn‘t want to be around anyone. (Y/n) messaged Joris and Andrea and let them know that they are leaving. You handed Charles his sunglasses and hat and grabbed his hand.

„Lets go Cha, just follow my lead okay baby?“

He only nodded and followed you like a lost puppy into his rented Ferrari. Fans, journalists and photographers tried to take pictures and ask questions but you shieled him and asked for distance and respect. Once at the car, you wanted to enter the passenger seat but got tugged back slightly by Charles.

„Can you please drive… i just… i just don‘t want to…“

With no hesitation, you let him sit and took the seat behind the steering wheel and drove the two of you back to the hotel. Once there, you helped Charles enter through the back door and you both immediatly made your way inside your room and let him lay down on the bed. Charles heard your footsteps and turned his face to look at you and saw you disappearing into the bathroom.

(Y/n) tied her hair up and started to run a warm bath for Charles with lavender scented bubbles, a scent to relax the mind. While the bathub was getting ready, (Y/n) went back to Charles and started to take off his shoes and his clothes.

„Let me take care of you my love okay? All you have to do is enjoy and relax and nothing else“

You kiss his forehead as he looked tiredly and hopeful at you. Charles nodded and let you guide him into the bathroom that is filled with the aroma of lavender which immediatly calms him down slowly. (Y/n) guides him into the bath and let’s him relax his tense muscles.

„Close your eyes mon amour and let me massage you and take care of you. Tell me if you need anything ma vie“ (my life)

You kiss his lips softly as he closes his eyes and sighs in content. You start to massage his head and move down towards his shoulders and arms. You make sure to massage the sore spots and gently start to also massage the rest of his body. Charles felt like he was on cloud nine as he could finally relax and only focus on you and your touch. Usually it’s a big havoc inside his brain when its a race weekend but with this? He never wants to go back.

After cleaning and massaging his whole body, (Y/n) also washed his hair and made him step out of the bathub once finished. He put the towel around himself and you gently took his hand and brought him back to the bedroom. You helped drying him and made sure to moisturize is body and face gently.

During the whole process you would give him soft kisses and tell him how proud you are of him and encourage him.

Charles watched you with nothing but loving eyes as he felt his whole body feel the warmth of your kind soul. Every touch and gaze from you made him feel loved, cared for and… and appreciated… finally…He almost teared up again at the thought of having you by his side and how blessed he was.

You lightly laugh at his teared up eyes and hold his face.

„I love you Charles, whatever goes inside of that incredible brain of yours just know that with me you will always be loved and appriciated.“

(Y/n) kisses him and Charles automatically wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to him. You sit on his lap and keep admiring him with a soft smile.

„Merci mon amour, je t'aime du plus profond de mon cœur et de mon âme.“ (thank you my love, i love you from the deepest part of my heart and soul.)

You were about to stand up and grab some clothes for Charles but he held your wrist and gave you a pleading look.

„Mon amour… please…je veux que tu touches tout mon corps, qui brûle de désir pour toi.“ (I want your touch all over my body, its burning in desire for you)

You looked down and saw his bulge growing underneath the towel and Charles blushing red in need and want for you. His hold on your wrist gets tighter and his whines get into your head.

„Je serai un bon garçon pour toi, mon amour“ (I‘ll be a good boy for you my love)

There are definitely more ways of showing appreciation…

HOW YOU GUYS FEELING ABOUT THISSSSSS? This was hunting me all week long after seeing the results of the race :(

Reblogs, comments & feedback are very much appreciated!

876 notes · View notes

fbfh · 5 months ago

Text

curiosity is a wonderful thing - ch. 9

wc: 3.2k

genre: slow burn, little angst, childhood best friends to lovers

pairing: slow burn bff!ben x fem daughter of alice!reader, previously audrey x ben, mal x ben???? apparently????

warnings: emotional damage!!! unusual behavior from ben, reader has a lil mini breakdown, reader is a just a tad autistic coded and has kind of a meltdown??? could also be read as emotional distress so interpret how you will

summary: ben gets weird during a tourney game and your gut is telling you something you probably shouldn't ignore.

song recs: twisted - aviva, cradles - sub urban, rabbit heart - florance and the machine, heads will roll - yeah yeah yeahs

a/n: YOOOOOOOOO IT'S GETTIN JUICYYYYYY. also our cat I mentioned in the an of chapter 8 has settled in well. he's so talkitive lol. I LOVE YOU GUYS I HOPE YOU'RE ENJOYING HAPPY PRIIIIIDEEEEEEE~~~~~ BEEEEE WHO YOU AARRRREEEE FOR YOUR PRIIIIIIIIIIIDDDDDDEEEEEEEE

tags @yesv01@magcon7280 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sunshineangel-reads @dustyinkpages @inejsknifes @tulipmagnoliaisme @ev3ningrain SORRY IF I MISSED ANYONE YELL AT ME IN THE NOTES AND ILL ADD YOU LOL

You take in a big lungful of the crisp, springtime fresh Auradon air as you crawl out of your rabbit hole and back into Overland. Roots and twigs and grass stick to your skirts, but you don’t mind much. You check your pocket watch in a panic, and scurry to the tourney match. You’re merely a pebble’s throw away, so you reach the bleachers quite quickly. Late, granted, but not too late. Not horribly, irreversibly, all-endingly late. You climb up to your usual spot in the bleachers, only a few seats away from the isle kids. Well, Mal and Evie, really, since Jay and Carlos are out on the field. You try to wave at the girls, but they seem much too preoccupied with the game to notice. You understand their fascination, tourney matches are simply addictive.

You yourself hadn’t been one for sports - aside from the occasional caucus race - that is, until Ben joined the tourney team last year. He must have spent every spare moment leading up to his first match trying to explain the rules to you with no luck, but the moment the referee blew her whistle, you were enamored watching him play. And it’s simply been that way ever since. No matter what it is, you know it will be a fantastical time if Ben’s the one playing. This seems especially true today.

Ben tears up the field like an absolute animal - no pun intended - and within minutes has scored yet another goal for Auradon. The Fighting Knights are pulling out all the stops, and through even your unwavering faith in Ben’s athleticism, it’s starting to look like a close call. You pull out a teacup from your bag, the china cool under your fingertips. It’s adorned with a white catchfly and chestnut print, but you don’t pay much attention to it.

Your eyes are locked on Ben as he races down the field, and you pour the spout of your tea pot shaped bag into the cup. Warm, perfectly brewed rooibos and nettle tea trickles from its spout. You shake it absentmindedly a few times, and some lemon slices and lavender sprigs fall in, floating atop the beverage. You take a sip of the warm, perfectly seasoned herbal tea, nearly choking on it as Jay drags Carlos across the field. You watch with bated breath as they move strategically, setting up Ben to score the perfect winning goal. The ball flies straight into the net, and you jump up, cheering and applauding, not even noticing the rooibos and nettle tea stain on your skirt. The crowd roars right along with you, applauding and cheering deafeningly while the announcer congratulates Auradon Prep on their win. Before he can even finish speaking, Ben grabs the mic from him.

You stop dead in your tracks, brow furrowed.

That’s not like him.

Not at all.

“Excuse me, excuse me!” Ben pants, still out of breath as he tries to get the crowd’s focus. “Can I have your attention please?”

The stands quiet as he speaks.

“There’s- uh, there’s something I’d like to say!”

What in the Knave’s good name is he doing? Your mind races, trying to remember if he’d said anything about something like this. Were there any speeches, any announcements, anything like that he was going to make after the game? You can’t remember him mentioning anything like that. Besides, he always runs his speeches by you first to make sure it comes across the way he intends it too. Even something as small as an opening statement or homework presentation, he always gets your feedback first. You watch the way his eyes dart around, the way he hesitates as he tries to figure out what he’s saying. Your stomach drops. He’s improvising this. This whole situation feels surreal. Most peculiar, and most definitely unlike him.

After another moment of floundering, he finally addresses the crowd.

“Give me an M!”

The crowd complies, shouting out the letter and mirroring the shape he’s making with his arms.

“Give me an A!”

“A!”

While the crowd complies yet again, throwing their arms over their heads in an A shape, your eyes fly over to Audrey. You’re afraid you know where this is going, even though it makes positively less sense than the most twisting turning riddles you’ve ever encountered in Wonderland. Your horrified, bewildered expression is the opposite of her hopeful one, and you realize you’re thinking the same thing. Your stomach sinks in a sick, twisting feeling. Your mind races in a dreamlike panic.

He can’t seriously be asking Audrey to marry him, could he?

There’s no way. There’s simply no chance that the Ben you’ve known for longer than you’ve been brewing tea would do something so… impulsive. Everything about Ben is calculated. Well thought through. Ben agonizes over each and every decision, he lies awake at night paralyzed by the potential consequences of each action, each choice not being thought all the way through and analyzed from every possible angle. If proposing to Audrey was even a thought in his mind, he would have told you about it.

There’s simply no other way. There’s no possibility this was even an option in his mind. Just last week when you had quietly implied that maybe he should consider ending their relationship, his silence spoke louder than any words could have. You had seen that. You saw it in his eyes. There’s no way he could be changing his mind that quickly, and not consulting you - or someone about it? You know you would have gotten wind if he even implied he was toying with the notion. Ben does not flip-flop. So what is… this?

“Give me an L!”

Audrey’s face drops. Yours floods with relief.

He’s not proposing.

“C’mon, I can’t hear you!” Ben calls out into the mic, hyping up the crowd. They yell Mal’s name again at Ben’s encouragement. You think you see where he’s going with this. It makes sense - Jay and Carlos each got a big starring moment during the tourney game. Now, Ben is giving a shout out to Mal and Evie so they can share in the glory, and won’t feel left out. It’s a brilliant idea, you realize, but you still can’t figure out why he didn’t plan something like this ahead. Did he realize last minute that Mal and Evie might feel excluded? It’s possible. And right now, it’s the most rational explanation you have for this unusual behavior. Before you can feel too relieved, he leans into the mic. You wait for him to instruct the crowd to give him an E, beginning to spell Evie’s name, and-

“I love you, Mal!”

Your stomach drops. You freeze again, brow furrowed more than before. The world around you spins as you stand in the crowd, disoriented. He says it like a deathbed confession, the words tearing from his throat. Through your confused stupor, you can hear the sincerity, the yearning in his voice.

What?

You don’t even think to look over at Audrey, but you’re sure as anything her expression is exactly the same as yours - completely and totally shell shocked. Probably moreso, you think, she is his girlfriend after all. But is she? Anymore, that is. You can’t imagine she would want to be after a display like that, after Ben publicly-

Ben…

Ben.

His gaze flicks over to you for a split second, not even long enough for you to silently ask him what the hell is going on. But it’s just long enough for you to see a flash of something. A look in his eye. Fear. Confusion. Everything you’re feeling for him right now. His attention is ripped forcefully back to Mal. Whatever was there, you can’t see it now.

“Give me a beat!” Ben demands overzealously to the band. They start playing something for him, something loud and fast. Ben begins singing Mal’s praises. Literally. You’re still frozen, sick with a cold, confused feeling that makes the world around you feel like a strange dream. Unreal. You begin to question if you are dreaming. Through your dazed state - which you only later realize has begun to be accompanied by hot tears blurring your vision - you could swear you saw Mal and Evie share some sort of look, whisper knowingly. They giggle. Mal pulls a zip top bag of cookies out of her jacket pocket and they both start giggling. Laughing.

A noise catches your scattered attention and you notice Ben has launched himself into the stands, crowd surfing to get all the way over to Mal. He climbs down, grabbing her waist and pulling her close. It’s so intense, so passionate, so unlike him to do something like that in public. You start to gasp, but you can’t. The stands are so loud, each noise feels like a gunshot deafening you. Your lungs feel like they’re being squeezed from the bottom up like paint tubes, gripped by an artist desperate for the last drops of cadmium yellow deep.

His hand rests firmly on the small of her back.

Just like it does on yours.

Something sickening twists through you, contaminating your heart and sapping away at your strength. Audrey’s voice cuts through, piercing and shrill as she announces to Ben that Chad is her boyfriend now. You see them kiss in your peripheral vision, eyes still locked on the way Ben’s hand sits on Mal’s back. He doesn’t seem to notice Audrey either, or at the very least, he doesn’t acknowledge her. Normally you’d giggle privately at how much that would irritate her, but nothing so frivolous crosses your mind just then.

“I love you, Mal!” Ben exclaims into the microphone. “Did I mention that?”

He leans closer, aching for her, needing her. But she puts her hands on his chest, trying to keep more distance between them.

“Mal,” he begs, panting as his breath fans across her face, his cheeks flushed. He grips her tighter, leaning closer until he’s practically dipping her. The crowd watches, shocked at the sight of Prince Ben - who is known for his diplomatic reserve and continuous composure - acting so bold in public. “Will you go to coronation with me?”

“Yes!” Mal’s response comes a little too easily.

You stare off into space in his general direction, choked with disbelief. You feel so frightened and confused and unwelcome. It’s a cold, isolated feeling of strangeness you’ve been running from since you could walk. You knew what people said about Wonderlandians, what they whispered behind your back when they thought you couldn’t hear. It was always Ben who made that feeling go away. He had seen the change in you, too. The more time you spent together since you were littles, the more he included you and sent disapproving princely looks to anyone who dared to tease you or make you feel like you’re not a part of Auradon, the more it started to work. He saw you relax, saw you believe him when he said he was happy to see you. He saw the shame and paranoia from accepting the fact that everyone around you was teasing you behind your back, spreading lies and rumors fade away.

Ben watched you grow into yourself the moment he showed you that you were safe to do so. Now, after ten years, that horrible feeling is back and Ben is gone. You turn, rushing out of the bleachers, hopping down to solid ground and turning underneath the stands. You’ve barely stopped before the world caves in around you, and the familiar scent of earth and night and the good kind of confusion envelop your senses, like a hug from your mother.

You fall down the rabbit hole, and you weep. Shamelessly, loudly, uncontrolled. Your tears fly off into the air above you as you fall, no longer afraid of prying eyes. You cry and cry, losing your sense of time and space as you fall deeper and deeper away from the world that never seems to lose amusement in stinging you when you least expect it. You take in a breath, but before you can let it out as another aching sob, you’re plunged underwater.

Your eyes flare open in the deep waves around you, the black void of a sky above. You kick yourself up to the surface, gasping as you tread the current carrying you downstream. The water splashes around you, getting into your mouth, and it’s salty. A stork sails by on a little wooden raft, adjusting her captain’s hat. “Well, that would do it!” She exclaims in a thick, Wonderlandian accent. “I was wondering what caused these high tides.”

She maneuvers her raft towards you and hauls you onto it, her gangly legs wobbling awkwardly as she keeps her balance. She pulls a handkerchief out of her pocket and hands it to you, her long feathers tickling your fingertips.

“Dry your eyes there, dearie, or else we’ll be having to build a new dam!”

You sputter an apology, which she dismisses goodnaturedly, and begins singing a confusing sea shanty as she navigates the waves, coming and going as you try to calm yourself. After a few minutes, a particularly large wave pushes you two over the river’s edge and sends you spinning into the forest.

“Well, there you have it.” She says, taking off her cap and dumping out water, sand, a few shells, and a very irritable codfish. She unties the strings of her raft, gathering up the large sticks used to make it into a bundle, and tucking them under her arm.

“Quite useful, you know,” She says softly, before handing you a piece of nicely shaped paper. It reads The Two Blwo’s Shipping Survise. “And if you ever need something lickety split, I do hope you’ll give me a call.”

She tilts her hat and lopes off through the woods into darkness.

You plop yourself down on the nearest thing - a large, bioluminescent blue mushroom with little purple spots that makes a sound like a big deep drum when you sit down on it. Several smaller mushrooms varying in size scatter near the base of the one you’re seated on. As you pull your foot up to get comfortable, you graze a few of the litter ones, and let out different tones and types of drums too. Normally this would fascinate you. Normally you would be taking pictures, writing about them in your journal, and trying to learn how to play a song on them - if they’re in the right sort of temperament, of course. But today you don’t even notice.

Your mind is still spiraling, sucked down into a whirlpool of the day’s events. You go over and over what happened, hoping to make sense of it, but unable to really process anything. That was so strange, Ben is acting so strange. Why is he acting like that, you wonder. Did he hit his head? Has he somehow been possessed by a very extroverted poltergeist? Why would he do that? It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t even make nonsense. Even in Wonderland, there are still patterns, there are still rules and motivations for doing things. Even if those rules and patterns don’t make sense to anyone else, they’re still real. Wonderland is illogical and absurd, but it’s not purely random.

You rock yourself comfortingly on the bouncy mushroom, the soft noise providing an ambiance that helps you start to think again. There’s no feasible pattern or non-pattern or non-pattern pattern to Ben’s behavior. If there were one, you would be able to find it, especially if you know him as well as you do. And you do. You glance down and see some beetles marching in a line, carrying leaf umbrellas to avoid any more falling tears. You wipe them from your cheeks quickly.

“My apologies.” You say, your voice polite and fragile. The head beetle chirps, clicking his wings and tipping his hat. He ushers the others past your mushroom quickly, putting their leaf umbrellas onto an umbrella leaf bush nearby.

A few bread-and-butterflies flitter over, carrying a tray of tea and cakes. They place it before you gently, brewing you a cup of blackberry earl grey with extra honey. You thank them, and they nod, flittering off and leaving a trail of buttery breadcrumbs as their wings flap. They land nearby, listening to you mutter to yourself as the line up to form a loaf. The tea and cakes are delicious, full of jam and honey, and they steady your nerves. You take in another breath, less shaky this time, and begin to think. Not panic, really think.

“There has to be a reason,” you mumble out loud, “There simply has to be. Ben doesn’t just lose his composure like this. He’s not devoid of sensibilities and decision making. He’s worked so hard to hone his reputation as someone trustworthy, someone full of common sense and compassion, and that… being that person for Auradon is everything to him.”

You place down your tea cup firmly, brow furrowing as your confusion melts away to determination.

“Everything! He would never do something so… impulsive, and foolhardy, and- and… not like him!”

You stand up quickly, landing on your feet.

“I must get to the bottom of this.” You pause. “Or top. Either way.”

You gather your things, fix your hair, and wring out the water from your dress. Even if Ben doesn’t care about his reputation anymore, about his future, the very future of Auradon and all who reside within it, you do. Your loyalty to Ben simply cannot be broken by a day like today. You won’t let him throw away everything he’s worked towards for no reason. For any reason! If he’s just gone mad, that’s one thing to be dealt with. But there’s a good chance he’ll come back to his senses sooner or later, and you refuse to let everything to hell in a handbasket until he does.

You are going to figure this out. You’re going to do as much damage control as needed until Ben is back to you and Back to himself. And he is going to come back to himself. You’re sure of it.

Filled with tea cakes and determination, you summon a rabbit hole back to Auradon, and jump through. You flip and twist through the darkness, falling past a bookshelf that floats along with you for a moment, offering a few titles that might prove useful.

When light breaks the surface and you hear the cracking of polished stone floors, you climb through and emerge into the library. You dust the dirt off yourself and off your hands, setting down your books on a table. You begin to look around, rushing through the library and moving with purpose. You pull book after book off the shelves until you can hardly carry them to the checkout desk. Many of them will be fruitless, you’re sure, but anything is better than nothing in times like these.

“Doing some light reading, Ms. Liddell?” The librarian asks, chuckling at the imposing stack of books you’ve placed before her as she scans through them.

“There’s nothing light about it, I’m afraid.”She looks up, surprised by the unusual heaviness to your voice, the sharp, focused determination. “Thank you, madam.” You say, grabbing all your books and marching off to your dorm. You have a lot of reading to get through.

#curiosity #curiosity is a wonderful thing #ben florian #ben florian x reader #descendants #descendants x reader #daughter of alice #daughter of alice!reader #liddell!reader

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iplayghoul · 1 year ago

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𝗹𝗲𝗴 𝘂𝗽 ��𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗮𝘁. 𝗼𝗻𝘆𝗮𝗻𝗸𝗼𝗽𝗼𝗻

warnings: mentions of weed, reader is a dealer, black coded reader, strangers hooking up 🤭, squirtinggg, i like the word cock, sum dick in there too. pussy is refered to as a 'she', use of 'ma' and 'mama', p in v, thumb in ass shit, oral (f & m receiving), use of the n word

word count: 2.4k

notes: its ony's birthday! 🎂 ive come out my cocoon to deliver this delish lil smut for yall🤭 please enjoy, i havent written smut full out in a bit so! comments, rbgs wit comments all appreciated mwah

"𝗪𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵𝘂' 𝘀𝗮𝗶𝗱? 𝗣𝘂𝘁 𝗱𝗮𝘁 𝘀𝗵𝗶𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝗱𝗿𝘆?" 𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗮𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗱. "𝗧𝘂𝗿𝗻 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗽𝘂𝘁 𝘆𝗼 𝗹𝗲𝗴 𝘂𝗽 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗮𝘁."

"In five minutes? Oh yea', Con' I'mma do 'em up for you, real good. Mhm, you lucky Sash' my girl." Glossy lips smacked as you ended the call with Connie. Tossing your phone on your bed and heading to the small office space in your apartment. Various tools were laid out across the table. Humming a little, your lavender bunny slippers shuffling as you enter, you hook the handles of two pink glittery packets on your acyrlics. You weighed the packets again and checked the information Connie messaged you. According to Connie, his best friend 'Ony' wanted some good strains you were selling, so of course he hits you up to get the packs for his friend.

Your doorbell went off once, hurrying you to hop down the stairs, holding down your braless, pierced tits behind the thin strapped tank you had on. You peeped at who was outside your apartment, staring for a long two seconds at the buff, darkskinned man with a nose piercing and a fade. The white wife-beater paired with a grey hoodie that matched his sweats, ain't do his muscles justice either! Bejewled teeth bite back against your lips, and you swing the door open, slightly pulling your care bear themed shorts down. His lips grabbed your attention immediately.

Actually, you had to take in his presence quick. His bottom lip was a pretty pink and his top lip dark. His hands were big and so was the broadness of his shoulders. He looked a little nervous too. "You Con's boyfren'?" His lips curled a bit, "Fuck did that nigga tell you ma?" Shit. He spoke so softly you could barely hear what he had to say, only the low base of his voice helped you hear him. You bounce onto your other leg, swallowing hard, "'M just teasin', you 'Ony'?" He licked his lips and hummed with a nod, "Yea, 's Onyankopon." Not one for small talk? "Yea, come in n' lemme get it for you." You eye him and try your hardest to make small talk as he puts his hands up on your door frame, you already had to look up to see his face.

The packets were in the pockets of your shorts, really, with free stickers in 'em too! But you were not about to fumble some potentially lethal dick. You gulp feeling the softness of his body brush against yours as he accepts your invite in, the music from your speakers gracing his ears as you follow him to the living room. You pat the couch for him to sit and walk to the half bath, wasting a few seconds to 'get the packets'. With each interaction you became increasingly aware of what you were wearing. You peeped in the mirror and the heart shaped print of your nipple piercings becoming more prominent.

"Ya'know, youn' really talk dat much... or loudly, do you?" You shuffle back into the living room. He rubs above his lips and manspreads, hands moving to rest beneath the band of his sweats. "If I'm bein' deadass, I'ain got much to say, Con' ain't tell me you was cute ma. Ion really ever like raising my voice eitha'." Somehow, your body temperature just kept going up and your eyes kept drifting back to his lips. You plop down onto the couch, "You got a bitch ri-now?" He leans his head back against your couch and your peer at the way his lips purse out, and his adam's apple bobs. He seemingly manspreads wider, his large build making your couch cushions seem tiny. "Nah, why?" "Jus' wonderin'." Your lips began to feel shaky with every word. The entire encounter was like a meaningless dance around the elephant in the room. And fuck, you were gonna' fuck Constance punk ass up when this night was over. "So listen, I can give you the packets now, 'n you can pay me," You toss the packets onto the coffee table, his eyes remain trained on you. "Or, you c'n getcho dick wet." You mumbled, eyes drifting to connect with his.

A sharp inhale and you see the way his eyes open slightly to peak at you. Fat thighs squeezed together as you sat back with your socked feet up on the couch. "Don't that sound good, Onyankopon?" The way his chest rose with his breaths paused for a minute, reveling in hearing your sweet voice utter his name. His hands push further into his sweats, giving his dick a few long strokes before slipping it out his sweats. It was heavy, so heavy that he held it up for you and let it rest on his wife beater, on his belly button. Being the 'pretty dick' fiend you were meant you needed him in your mouth, immediately.

Quickly lurching forward, you press glossy lips to his pretty cock. His dusted pink tip was fat, and as his dick got darker down the shaft so did it get fatter. The nigga was HUNG, and you could mearly slide your tongue around the circumference of his cock head.

"C'mon mama, do watchu wanna do." It was enough incentive for you to swallow his dick down, relishing in the way it squished down your throat as your held your breath. With each stroke that relieved your airway you took a breath, folding your lips in to glide across his cock as globs of spit dribble across the shaft. You slurp and gag a little with each slip of his dick in your mouth, his hips gyrate and buck up. Ony keeps his eyes on you. Frowning as he interlocks his hands behind your neck, stuffing and forcing your face down on his cock. His head drops back against the couch, fucking his dick up into your mouth with heavy groans filling the room, even above the slow beats of your music. You needed him to tear your shit up within the next two seconds before you start to go crazy.

"Fuck, take all dat shit off, ma." Ony grips your jaw as he pulls you off his dick, spit dripping down your chin and lips plumped up. You wobble on your knees to stand up and undress yourself while he shrugs off his hoodie and wife beater. Tattoos decorated his pecs and arms, the dark ink prettily accentuating his melanin. He nods his head to the side, "Lay back right there, pretty." Plump pink lips pout a little but you follow his directions regardless, laying back into the cushions and spreading your legs. "Ain't nun' wrong with puttin' it in dry," you mutter below your breath when his lips connect with your clit. He mumbles something like 'don't piss me off' and his tongue is all over you.

His hands are big enough to grip the entire spread of your thigh, forcing your leg back as he worked his tongue in circles around your clit, sloppily spitting through your folds and caressing your hole with his tongue. He ate it like a starving man, his frowning and groaning into you growing more frequent as he pushes his face deeper. Your nails ghost the back of his neck, feeling the vibrations of his groans while the other played with your nipple. He tilts his head at an angle, flattening his tongue against your clit and you flinch, the electric pleasure shooting through your tummy and he smiles.

"Right there?" He peers up at you just as your eyes started springing tears. He bites down on his lips, and gives your clit a few kisses. You gasp and start pushing on his shoulders, understanding where he was going . Ony, undisturbed, curls his tongue into your clit, sucking and spitting on your cunt and maintaining the angle. Your tummy begins to tighten, clit pulsing with every lick, holding your breath and arching up into him. A sharp smack on your clit forces a cry out of you, "Stop holdin' yo' breath or imma' leave you right here," Fuck. You let out exasperated breaths as you desperately gyrate your hips into his mouth. Your clit, swollen and fat started to feel almost numb, you can't help but slap his shoulders and whine. "Shit, shit, shit— Ony, that's enough." It only edges him on, sucking up your creamy releases and forcing himself impossibly closer to you. You head was already pressed up against the armrest leaving you no escape, eyes rolling in different directions and mouth agape. Ony's mouth is latched onto you, bouncing your entire body into the couch cushions. You could only moan 'yes, yes, yes' with each rocking of your clit in his mouth.

Your toes curl and you're pushing his head into your pussy, chasing a bigger release than the one you just had. "Fuck, yeah, eat it just like that, baby," Your grip on everything begins to loosen and your lower body feels like static; milky slick squirts out of you as your body begins to relax and you hold Onyankopon's head in place as he drinks it all up. "You're fucking insane," You huff out at him when he lifts his head up to look at you, your release dripping off his nose and chin. "Watchu' said? Put dat shit in dry?" he rasped. "Turn over and put yo leg up on the seat." You give a start and look at him, feeling a mess.

"You not gon' let me recover, bitch?" He licks his lips and sits up on his knees, grabbing your ass like he was preparing to put you in position if you didn't do it. Consistently maintaining eye contact. "Don't call me no bitch," You hear him say low, "And turn the fuck over," He gives your ass a hard shove. You flop over onto your stomach, arching your ass up for some backshots, before sitting up to pull your right leg from out under you and kicking it up onto the top of the couch. You feel your inner thigh burn from the near split position, gripping onto the arm of the couch. Ony's fingers toy with your cunt and spreads you about the length of his dick, pumping it a few times before moulding circles around your clit with his tip: movements calculated. "Shit," You mumble softly, noticing the ever-increasing slip of your pussy. He slows the teasing of your clit, a large hand gripping your ass and pushing you down simultaneously. He lets his tip catch your sopping entrance, pushing in slightly and ignoring your whines as he basks in the wetness pressinh on his tip. "Ony stop playin' 'n put that shit in, God." He pulses his tip back and forth, slowly sinking deeper but not deep enough for you to even get two inches of his cock.

He whispers something lowly and you're unable to hear him. Just as you opened your mouth to ask 'Watchu sayin' nigga?', so did it hang open when he stuffed his full length into you swiftly. "Holy fuck," Was all you could force out of your mouth, his girth pushing against your walls as he sit in it. His hand spreads your ass and you feel him sink his thumb into your ass, his grip on you tightening. Your eyes already start rolling back into your head with the slight movements of his dick in you while he shifts to adjust his knees on the couch. You grip the couch hard and press your head against it when he starts using your ass to gain leverage, momentum.

"Think you c'n take sum fat dick?" Onyankopon mutters above you, the hand with his thumb in your ass slowly dragging you off his cock and back. "Yeah, yeah, gimme— gimme whatever you want, baby." You swallow, attempting to comprehend his question amidst the aching of your pussy that hungrily slobbered all over his dick. Maintaining the slow drag, he reaches down with his other hand to grip your neck, giving you a few tugs to manhandle you into a comfortable groove; before finally hammering his hips into your ass.

Ony groans and curses low while you struggle to hold onto the couch, his strong arms on your neck, forcing your ass back onto him. "Fuck! fuck— fuuuck, Ony," You let out a sob with each stroke he put on you, feeling incredibly full with just his thumb and girth combined. Your pussy was spread and aching around him, slippery and loud and nasty. "Fuck— she talkin' to me?" Onyankopon grins above you and only snaps his hips down into your ass harder, letting it sting. Your pussy was dripping, strings of slick falling from your cunt onto the couch and dripping down to tickle your sensitive clit with each stroke.

You were a mess, with every curse and 'ah!' came drool spilling from your mouth, slobbering about the couch and spreading it down to your fattened nipples. Your hand toyed with the piercing and you only felt more full, your tummy swelling more with each invasion of his dick against your walls. "C'mon take it, take it," Ony removes his hand from your neck to slap your ass hard, forcing his other thumb deeper in you, moving the other to play with your clit. White, foamy, release plops down like whipped cream onto his fingers as he rapidly and roughly guided them around your swollen clit. The same realese making his cock hot and melting in your pretty pussy, coating his every inch and forcing low moans out of him. "Ain't this watchu wanted? My dick wet as fuuuck, mama," You moan back some unintelligible response, you could barely hear the words coming out his mouth. Your entire being was totally focused on the way you began to tremble and squirt small spurts of cum gliding down your legs.

Onyankopon holds you still, hiking one of his legs up and fucking into you unimaginably deeper, sloppier, nastier. You squeal and grab his hand that's at your clit, slapping his arm and biting the softness of the couch's limb while your cry and whine. Ony ignores your attempts to tap out amidst the convulsing of your legs and hard quivering of your body. Your head was pounding now and you go completely blank for a split second, your full releases forcing itself out of you for the second time without your consent, in thick streams.

Your gasps and desperate as you attempt to get yourself together, all while Onyankopon can't help but nut deep in you before pulling out and slapping your clit a few final times with his dick. Your body refuses to move from the complicated position, Ony silently pulls your leg off the seat and carefully moves you onto your back. He wipes some tears off your fucked out face, hesitating before getting up and digging in your fridge for water before returning with two bottles. He opens one for you, feeding you the cold comfort that soothes your thoat while you hold onto his wrist.

"You straight?" He asks before leaning to dig in the pockets of his sweats and pull out a bit if cash. "Mhm," was all you could muster, watching him throw the money on the table before grabbing his phone. "Shit," He half grumbles with a soft chuckle before showing you the bright screen. Six missed calls from Connie.

#onyankopon x reader #onyankopon smut #onyankopon #aot connie #aot x reader #aot smut #aot x black reader #attack on titan #onyankopon x black y/n #aot onyankopon #onyankopon snk #onyankopon x black reader #﹒﹒﹒💗 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦: 𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢 💌 𓂃 !

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strwbnnie · 11 months ago

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‎✧ lovesick!chifuyu x hyperfem!bimbo reader : A jealous, pining Chifuyu finally gets the courage to approach you after watching you fraternize with Mitsuya ♡

black fem reader, chubby bimbo reader, reader is a fashion girlie! not really mentioned but chifu studies literature, semi-public sex (I think), kinda whiny reader, kind of a shift at the end. lovesick!chifuyu, reader is a maneater not a mean girl! (jk) Mitsuya & Takemichi make an appearance! There’s like one b*ji spoiler, standing doggy, slight choking, pussy eating, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), excuse any mistakes, MDNI

author’s note: for my bby @prtttycocobuttvr 🫶🏾chile this has been in the drafts for idk how long 🥲 extra long for literally no reason, the bulk of it isn’t even the smut…the ending is so abrupt 😭 but I really needed this out my drafts

wc: 3.7k

─────────── εїз ───────────

Every now and then Chifuyu thinks back to the day the two of you met.

He fucking hated you at first, he’s ashamed to admit. Was it really hate though? Could’ve been annoyance, jealousy maybe? A lil bit of both is what he’ll chalk it up to. It was love at first sight for him, meanwhile you never gave a second glance in his direction.

He started seeing you more as the weeks passed, the two of you had no classes together, but he still saw you around far too often. You smelled just like marshmallows or vanilla, something sweet that demanded his attention every single fucking time you strutted past him.

It became a routine—class, cafe and lastly the library where he’d find you doing anything but reading.

Once a quiet safe haven for him to relax with a good book, now overtaken by the clicks and clacks of you touching up your makeup, or the rustle of a potato chip bag while you sit there with your pink Hello Kitty headphones watching some Netflix drama, even the constant sucking and the jumbling of ice as you slurp down every drop of your boba coffee while waiting for your newest minion to finish your homework.

That day was supposed to be no different. You and one of your minions were heading to that same table, around the same time you always arrived. You looked so damn good too. You always did.

He was obsessed with your new hair color, black girl blonde is what he learned it’s called. Ash blonde with dark chocolate roots and it’s just so damn pretty he’s losing his fucking mind. Your face is fresh and bare, no makeup aside from a dark blackish-brown lip liner and gloss. Lashes full and fluffy, you must’ve gotten them filled over the weekend.

His eyes are trailing your every move, waiting for the glimpse of your backside that never came.

“Hiiiii Mitsu & friends!” You leaned down to drape yourself over the lavender’s shoulders. Chifuyu tries to keep his cool, brows furrowed and eyes almost as wide as saucers as he watched this strange display.

And friends? How fucking pathetic is that. Granted, he didn’t know your name either, often referring to you as “that pretty girl” when he spoke about you to Baji’s grave but fuck, that made him feel like shit.

It’s the first time he’s heard that cute voice of yours and it’s when you’re greeting Takashi fucking Mitsuya?? You guys seem well acquainted and it burns Chifuyu up inside, when the fuck did you two get all buddy-buddy? And what the fuck did Mitsuya have that he didn’t?

He wonders who initiated the first contact, wouldn’t be surprised if it was Mitsuya, he’d always had the confidence a loser like him lacked. He was also very good with women, unlike Chifuyu. Then again, you seem very bubbly and outgoing so it very well could’ve been you who approached him.

“Here are those fabric swatches I was telling you about. If you decide to use any just let me know! I have tons of rolls and I can bring you some yards.” You hand him a couple of squares of fabric. At least ten 4x4 squares that you took the time to cut and string on a little o-ring like paint swatches. So cute.

“Thank you, y/n!” He smiles. “I’ll surely let you know.”

Just like that, you’re heading over to your table, minion hot on your heels.

It’s a quick exchange, and it should’ve been harmless, but boy does it boil his blood. God, did you speak to everyone but him?!

“Y/N,” Damn, he learned your name, heard your voice and watched you diss him all in one sitting. It was insane. “You know her?”

“Yeah, we’ve only spoken a few times but she’s super friendly. She’s an exchange student from the states, a fashion major too, we have classes together.” Mitsuya spoke as he sketched out a few designs for a project.

“This would make a nice jacket.” He shows Takemichi the blush pink corduroy square for him to feel. “Maybe pants too if she has enough. It’d look nice on Koko, he’s my model.” “It would! It’s nice and soft, like velvet! Koko’s super pretty too, it’ll look great.”

He steals glances at you every now and then.

“Just talk to her dude, she’s literally so sweet.”

He doesn’t raise his head, still sketching away, but it’s clear who his words are directed to. Mitsuya has known him for quite some time, of course he knew how to read his pragmatic friend.

“Yeah! Unless you’re scared.”

He cuts his eyes at the crybaby blonde. Of course he wasn’t scared, just a bit apprehensive is all.

He looks your way one last time.

Your back is to him and you have your MacBook open in front of you watching a recap of celebrity metgala looks. You’re enamored by your fashion content, even taking notes in your cute notebook with your adorable pom-pom pen. You’re too oblivious—too much of an airhead in your own dumb little world to notice that simp eye fucking you.

Dude’s practically drooling while staring at your tits. It’s disgusting, enraging even. It boiled his blood, so much that he’s scooting his chair back to approach the both of you. Takemichi and Mitsuya watched him with careful eyes, since he didn’t say a word before he made his move. Fuck it, his pride was already shot and he didn’t have shit else to lose.

You didn’t even notice him at first, both airpods in, now staring into your hello kitty shaped compact mirror while reapplying that sticky beauty supply lipgloss all over your plump pout.

Before he could even stop himself he’s snatching up your homework sheet, scanning his eyes over this chump’s work. Wrong. Wrong. Most were either fucking wrong or incomplete! Complete bullshit and he was gonna let you turn that in?!?

“Get the fuck outta here.” He’s speaks so calmly, it’s all the more sinister.

The four-eyed geek is snatching up his bag and calculator so damn fast you’d think Chifuyu had a gun to his head.

It pissed him off so bad! But why did it piss him off so bad?

Probably because you’ve approached everyone but him as if he’s not one of the smartest people on this fucking campus. Probably fucked them all too, so why were you being so damn stingy with him? And why the hell was he so worried about it?

Chifuyu motions to sit down next to you, thighs spread with his hands clasped between them. He run’s his sweaty palms along his pants every now and then, trying to build the courage to speak to you.

You give your lips one last smack, capping your lipgloss and shutting your compact. “Hey, you’re Mitsu’s friend! Do you know where…nevermind. I don’t even remember his name.”

“He said he had something to do, I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.”

“Oh okay. What’s up?” You finally give him your undivided attention, dropping your stuff into your little designer baguette bag, turning in your chair until you’re facing him. You’re almost instantly entranced by those striking eyes, iris’ the color of sea glass. The dark locks of his undercut styled messy and wild. He’s cute. Real cute.

“I like you.” Chifuyu has never been one to beat around the bush, even though his heart was nearly beating out of his chest right about now.

“You don’t know me to like me, so if you wanna fuck me, just say that.”

You say it like it’s nothing. Must be used to it by now, constant fetishizing instead of genuine attraction. But the way he’d been pining over you was much deeper than someone who just wanted a quick fuck. You plagued his mind—his thoughts, all you.

He runs his tongue over his lips, not in a creepy way, but because he’s nervous and they’re dry. Either way you still notice it, it’s kinda hot honestly.

“I do. I mean I would, but I don’t want to-I don’t have to,” He’s stumbling all over his words and it’s fucking embarrassing. Word vomit, is what Mitsuya calls it, it starts and there’s no telling when it stops.

“Regardless, I wanna know you–I think you’re so pretty, I like your style, the way you dress and stuff. And I’ll do your homework, if you want. Or I can actually show you how to do it, cus’ if you turn this garbage in you’re sure to fail.” Chifuyu tosses out. He barely wanted to do his own, so why the fuck was he offering to do yours? Was he that desperate for your attention?

You’re twirling your hair around your finger, head tilted. You’d never had one of them offer to teach you, just always offering to do it just to be in your space.

“Hmmm..so you wanna be my tutor. I guess, but what’s in it for me?”

The blackette could feel his eye start to twitch, there’s no way you were serious. “I’m doing your homework and tutoring you for free, what the fuck else do you want from me?” He scoffs.

Greedy bitch.

“Boy please, I can have any of these other guys doing my homework. You obviously want something from me and I just wanna know what you’ll offer me in return.”

“I don’t want anything from you, I’just want you.”

You stare at him and he stares back, that adorable face of his morphed into a slight pout. He holds eye contact the entire time, it’s almost intimidating, but his aura is so light and genuine.

He’s a strange boy, you’ve concluded, but it’s intriguing.

“Why?”

“I don’t fuckin know,” He truly doesn’t know, you’re just a dumb girl he happened to see at school. Not the first and definitely not the last, but you’ve been on his mind since he first laid eyes on you. “But I like you, a lot. I’ll do whatever you want.”

He was infatuated and he didn’t know why.

You divert your eyes, tapping your puffball of your pen against the wooden table. “What if I want you to fuck me?”

There’s a pause, you look at him and he looks at you before he sucks his teeth. “You’re joking.” Even still, he feels the blood rushing from his cheeks to his cock.

“You said whatever I want.” He needs to make sure he heard that correctly. Was it a test? A prank? Because you’re obviously just fucking with him. “But if it’s too forward, we can just study I guess.”

He’s silent and so are you but the way he’s boring into your soul makes you wish you never brought it up at all. “You serious?”

You nod, batting your fluffy mink lashes at him and as lame as it sounds, that’s all it took.

Next thing he knew, Chifuyu was eating his crush’s pussy in one of the private study rooms. He’s almost embarrassed at how quickly he fell to his knees, eager to slurp on your pretty, plump cunt.

The library is old. One of the oldest buildings on campus, hasn’t been renovated since it was built. A private study room was the perfect place—just a windowless, concrete box where no one could see or hear you leaned on your back with your feet in the air while he sucked on your pussy.

Your clit is juicy and suckable, the pink nub catches his attention the minute he slid your panties down and spread your thighs open.

He’s used to keeping his face stuffed in a book back here, now he’d much rather have his face stuffed between your thighs every second of the day.

You’re a sight to see right now, tits spilling out from under your top, panties looped around one of your ankles and your skirt is flipped up and out of the way, away from the mess he’s making between your thighs.

He’s so messy with it, spitting on it and slurping it back up, licking stripes up your sweet pussy until your clit is peeking out of its hood.

“So good.” He breathes out, spreading you wider. From your hole, all the way up and back down again, his tongue leaves no part of your cunt untouched. He’s dragging up one last time before sucking your cute little clit between his lips, running his hands up and down your plush thighs and belly.

After a while you lean up and your shaky hands manage to pry those supple pink lips away from your clit, his lips leaving your pussy with a loud, wet ‘pop’. “Waittt, I never got your name.” You whined.

As if names, or lack there of, had ever stopped you. But you desperately wanted to know his and you wanted to scream it when you came—which would be very soon if he kept sucking on your clit like that.

He’s gazing up at you with those dazzling seafoam green eyes, silvery strands of your slick still connected to his lips when he pulls away from your pussy.

“Chif-fuck...” He’s huffing and puffing trying to catch his breath, resting his head on your thigh for a moment. Your hand is running through his hair, back and forth petting motions until his breathing slowed. “Chifuyu. Matsuno..Chifuyu.”

He rarely gave his full name, at least not to people he held no respect for. But you were different, he just knew you were. He’d never been this intrigued by another person since middle school when he met the infamous Baji.

“Chi-fu-yu. Chif-uyu.”

You test it on your tongue, wanting to get every syllable right. It makes him fucking melt, the sound of his name flowing from your glossy lips is so pretty. Fuck, he needed to hear you moaning, screaming and babbling it like a little slut. His little slut.

He wastes no time pressing his lips back to your pussy, licking thick stripes up and down, fat tongue relentlessly teasing your entrance and dragging back up to your clit.

“F-fuck how are you so good at this..” It catches you off guard. His head is sloppy and nasty, but not too wet with just enough teasing to drive you insane. It’s almost as if he’d been acquainted with your pussy before this, but you know there’s no way.

You barely notice how your body subconsciously rocks against him, rubbing your pussy up and down his face, your clit bumping his little button nose every single time.

Your question falls on deaf ears.

The once bright-eyed boy is now staring at you, his eyes alarmingly low and glossed over as he loses himself.

He’s too far gone now, lost in absolute bliss between your thighs—the taste of your gooey, sticky cunt, your moans, the feel of your thighs trembling. Pussydrunk wasn’t even the word.

He lets you use him. Lets his tongue hang slack against his chin for you to grind your puffy clit against it. His face is wet and sticky and he’s covered up to his cheeks in your slick. He can barely breathe, you’re rocking far too fast for him to get a breath in, but even still Chifuyu would eat your pussy until he was blue in the face if it meant pleasing you.

Every inhale is laced with your scent and it’s like an aphrodisiac. Everything about this was so perfect. He can feel the shivers running up and down your body—you’re close, he knows it and that’s when he gets relentless.

“G-nna cum for you baby..can I cum?”

Christ, the way his dick jumped should’ve been a sin. Chifuyu hums against your clit, groans his approval so his lips don’t have to abandon your perfect pussy again. You can feel every single lick & suck and even the puffs of air he breathes out of his nose as he slurps on your cunt, teasing your sensitive clit with the tip of his tongue.

“Oh fuck, I’m cumming Chifuyu. Mmm, I’m cumming. Chifu-”

Your climax hits you like a punch to the gut, knocks the wind out of you and has you doubling over with your hands tangled in his dark locks, your trembling thighs squeezing against his neck.

Your moans and pants are so sexy, he loves you like this. You don’t even realize you’re running from him until he grips your hips tighter, pulling you forward and holding you taut.

He’s desperate to drink up all you’ll give him, thick tongue gliding over your hole before he’s shoving it inside. Not a drop of your lovely essence goes to waste as you let him get his fill.

The chime of the desk phone startles you and forces him to part from your cunt. He looks at you and you look at him, you make no move to get it forcing him to.

“Chifuyu!” The librarian calls, he frequents this place so often that the two of them have gotten quite familiar. “Sorry to bother you and your girlfriend, but the library closes soon-“ She’s checking her watch. “In about ten minutes hun.”

“Ah, okay! Thank you Miss and she’s not-” When he catches the dial tone he places the phone back on the receiver.

“She says we have ten minutes until the library closes.”

Before he can even finish, you’re already on your knees shoving his joggers and underwear down in one swift move. His dick is gorgeous—thick with a pretty pink tip. You’re not sure about the size, seven maybe seven and a half inches. Either way, it fills your mouth perfectly, big and heavy on your tongue as you lick the precum dripping from the tip.

The minute he feels your mouth on him he nearly loses all control, knees threatening to give. Chifuyu grips your jaw, popping his cock out of your mouth with an audible ‘pop.’

He notices a dip in between your brows. A frown?

A pouty frown on your pretty face accompanied by a roll of your eyes. So cute.

“Chifuuu,” You whining his name is tearing him apart inside, staring up at him with those doe eyes. “We only have 10 minutes. I wanna make you cum.”

He’s pulling you back up, spinning you until your ass is pressed against his crotch.

“I know pretty…I’m gonna fuck you.” His voice is breathy, desperate. “That okay?”

It’s soft but he hears it. The soft ‘yeah’ tumbling from your lips, the small gasps of anticipation as you raise up on your tip toes to meet his height. He’s sliding his length through the junction of your thighs, coating himself in your slick.

It’s so good, this little crevice between your thighs and cunt feels like heaven. Like the warmest hug embracing him with every push and pull of his hips.

He has to force himself to pull away. He wouldn’t be able to face you again if he came from fucking your thighs.

Blunt fingertips melt into the plush flesh of your ass, spreading your cheeks to watch as he slides past the tight ring of your entrance, a loud squelch greeting him when he bottoms out.

You’re the epitome of enticing, a pretty bitch with a perfect pussy, and honestly he feels undeserving. He feels his infatuation for you growing deeper, except this is something he wants, no, needs forever.

He’s so gentle, stroking slow and stretching you out just right cus it’s a tight fit.

Despite the wetness dripping down your thighs, you feel every single inch of him. The burn of the stretch, the slight ache as he kisses your cervix with every clumsy thrust. Your pussy feels so good around him, like it was made for him. Made to take his dick.

“I didn’t—I didn’t think you’d be so b-big.”

Snaking his hands around your neck, he’s pulling you up so your back meets his chest, rolling his hips so the thick head of his dick mushes against the gummy walls of your g-spot. Your legs are trembling but he holds you up. Heavy breaths against your ear as his chin rests on your shoulder.

“Mmm, yeah? You don’t think much of me at all, do you? Think you’re too good for me?”

“Noooo! I don’t think that.” He’s not letting up, stroke after stroke, until you’re creaming all over him, and even then, he still doesn’t stop. “W-would never… think that.”

The thick white fluids settling at the base of his cock, the slick gush of your pussy every time he fucked into you. It was driving you mad.

“I don’t exist in your world,” Thrust after thrust. “But you consume mine, I want you so bad.”

Your brain is fuzzy, just barely able to make out what he’s saying. “I-ah want you tooo…y’know just h-how to handle me baby.”

“Yeah,” He breathes out. “Of course I do.”

You’re not sure if it’s the sureness in his voice or the sweet kiss he presses against the bare skin behind your ear that sends you over the edge but your climax hits you like a train carrying the sweetest bliss. You don’t utter a word, just deep breaths and pants, a quiet belt of his name towards the end as you melt into him with every buck of his hips. He feels it—the spasms, the trembling, the cozy warmth you coat him in, an impromptu reminder that he’s unprotected inside of you. Still, he fucks you through it, just until he’s close enough-

“F-f-fuuuck.” The groan rips through his throat as he reaches his end, the grip on your neck loosens as he pushes you down and spills his seed all over the cheeks of your ass.

He’s so unprepared it’s a shame, forced to use the inside of his turtleneck to clean the mess he made, even going as far as to place you up on the table and wipe between your thighs.

“Oh you didn’t have to- I have wipes..”

“No big deal, didn’t wanna dirty your skirt. You made this, right?” He rubs the hem of the frayed pink denim, recall’s seeing a square of this same fabric on the ring you gave Mitsuya.

“I-I did. How did you know?”

“I remember seeing you sketching it out. Glad it turned out nice enough for you to wear. It’s cute..” He trails off when you avert your gaze.

“Thank you. I’m glad too…” You trail off and you avert your gaze.

“Don’t go acting shy on me, y/n.” It’s the first time you’ve seen it, something akin to a smile on his cute little face, his eyes are as bright as stars as he stares down at you. It’s odd, almost as if the roles had changed.

“I’m not!” You whine. “It’s just strange, you’re strange Chifuyu.”

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