#thank you pin for this wonderful distraction

[yamcat]

i got tagged by the ever lovely @saltedpin to do the "ten songs you’re vibing to right now" meme, so here you have a list of them and a little spotify playlist to make it more accessible! i love all of these songs, mostly are just ones I've been obsessively listening to in the last few weeks lol hope you can find some tunes you enjoy!

1. Rire - Nu Genea

2. All The Things That Are Left Behind - Blue Rodeo

3. space girl - Frances Forever

4. Splash - Colapesce, Dimartino

5. Gilded Lily - Cults

6. Giorgio by Moroder - Daft Punk

7. Misread - Kings of Convenience

8. Would You Mind Please Pulling Me Close - Tasha

9. Gasolina - Daddy Yankee

10. Suavemente - Elvis Crespo

and one more because i can't count and don't want to sacrifice it

11. Last Words of a Shooting Star - Mitski

if you see this and want to have some fun, please consider yourself tagged!!

[soleilapproves]

Play fighting with Boxer!Sukuna

Note: Reader is referred to as girlfriend at one point.

Masterlist

“Babe.”

“Not right now.”

“Babe.”

“Sukuna, I promise I’ll be done with this book soon.”

He huffed and fell back onto the couch. He had been trying to get your attention for the past 30 minutes but you were adamant on finishing your book. This is all the fault of that damn community book club your coworker recommended you join. Now whenever, you’re off work and Sukuna doesn’t have to train, you’re reading. Usually the two of you spent almost all your spare time together but now you spent half of it reading your newest book for your weekly discussion. You always did your best to spoil him with kisses and cuddles but it was never enough.

Book club be damned, he needed you to be superglued to his side every single second.

“My girlfriend has a side man and he’s made of paper,” he huffed to himself as he watched you intently read. What was so great about your book anyway? Was it worth ignoring your gorgeous (and shirtless) boyfriend? He even had a tattoo of your name on his left pec and you were still choosing to smother a book with your attention.

Sukuna’s wallowing turned him creative- he stood in front of you, trying to make sure your guard was down. You didn’t look up which meant that you were still engrossed in your book. His hand swooped in and swiftly snatched the book from you. “Sukuna,” you groaned. “Give it back, I was at a good part.” You got up to grab it from him but he raised it above his head. “Kiss me.” You glared at him and gave him a quick peck on his lips. “Done, now give it.”

“No,” he nonchalantly replied. “But I kissed you.” You wondered why he was being particularly irritating today.

“That was me begging for a morsel of your attention. Now cuddle me if you want it,” he said and cheekily smirked.

You ignored him and hopped trying to get your book. Sukuna simply dodged your sad attempts and laughed every time you missed. “I don’t even know why you’re trying.” You gave him a pointed look at his comment.

“Okay, fine, you can have your book if you beat me in a fight.”

“What? That makes no sense.” You couldn’t believe this man. “It seems like a fair challenge to me,” he said as he walked to a particularly high shelf and placed your book on top of it. “You know I can just use my stepping stool for that, right?” you said before scoffing at him.

“Then it’s a good thing I hid it.” His sarcastic smile was now pissing you off. “But you literally fight for a living. You have the upper hand.”

“I’m in love with you. Use that as a distraction. Come on, let’s go to the ring.” You were speechless as he dragged you to the fighting “ring” (also known as your bedroom).

Since you had a smaller frame than him, he agreed to let you have the first hit. You sighed and braced yourself. You didn’t have much of a strategy except for charging at him with such a high speed that he’d fall on the bed and would accept defeat.

But as soon as you were in close distance, he caught both your arms, turned you around and threw you on the bed. He didn’t give you a second to get up before he straddled you. “Haha!” he exclaimed. Seeing you all riled up underneath him was a sight he was used to but it never failed to awe him.

“Feels familiar, doesn’t it?” he asked as he began to lower himself to face you. “This is so unfair! You’re like 200 pounds, I can’t even move you,” you said as you tried to push him off. Sukuna grabbed your hands that were fighting him and he playfully wrestled them. Who knows what would’ve happened if he used his real strength.

Thank goodness for your quick thinking because you remembered that Sukuna was extremely ticklish so you pulled your hand out of his grasp with all the strength you could muster up and started poking his sides. “Babe!” he yelled before toppling over to his side. It was your turn to straddle him and before you could pin his arms beside his head, he caught yours and pulled you down to him. He wrapped his muscular arms around you and tucked your head under his chin. Your cheeks were mushed against the very tattoo of your name.

You were literally stuck in one position. The more you tried to move the tighter he’d hold you. “Sukuna, you cheater. Why do I always do this to myself?” You sighed, accepting defeat.

Sukuna kissed your forehead and laid you both on your sides, still not letting you go. “Sweet, sweet victory,” he whispered to himself.

-•-

I need to be (lovingly) smothered by a beefy nerd. Someone like Clark Kent.

[tteokdoroki]

jock bf yuuji who’s tongue lolls out of his mouth when he feels u cum on his dick and then he ends up cumming when you suck on his tongue as it hangs out of his mouth <3 he’s a big manhandler and so unbelievably strong, has def broken the weak frame of your dorm bed at least once <3 loves sleeping over and then waking up to you in the early morning light, eats you out then has you ride him and you’re both thinking about it for the rest of the day <3 yuuji sends you the riskiest texts too, texts you that he can’t stop thinking about how good you looked when you sucked him off the night before and now you’re distracted in the library <3

ִ ࣪𖤐๋࣭ — JOCK BF!YUUJI ENTRY #6. pleasure prioritised.

about. just some scenarios of an incredibly strong jock boyfriend pleasing his girlfriend in different ways. thank you nonnie for driving me up the wall with this!!! ( 1K )

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact. nsfw, smut, college!au, characters aged up to 20s, creampies, messy makeouts, breaking the bed, strength!kink, unprotected sex, oral sex (f + m!receiving), jock bf!yuuji, weird + fem!reader.

everybody knows that yuuji itadori is strong, he wouldn’t be the star athlete in the soccer team if that wasn’t the case. 

with muscles that ripple when he moves, thick thighs that spread wide and flex on instinct and dark eyes that shine like gold while pulling you in — it’s no wonder why half of the campus wants a piece of him. luckily enough, yuuji itadori only wants to give himself to you.

yuuji only uses the full extent of strength when he devotes his body to pleasing you. when it’s lights out at your dorm go out, and the common spaces are vacant while your roommates party the night away and all that remains is a man who loves his girlfriend with all of his entirety. and a girl who loves him all too much, right back. he pins you to the bed, pelvis to pelvis as yuuji uses all of his might to pound into you.

his thrusts are usually heavy, but thoughtful and with meaning — designed to make you see bright, shining stars behind your eyelids and pull an angels song from between your lips. itadori doesn’t just fuck you —  his sweet girlfriend, his everything, his purpose. he makes love to you, makes the bed rock while his sticky tip stays tacked to your g-spot and safe, comforting brown his eyes stay locked on yours, reminding you of how much you are loved as you tremble and quake beneath him. 

there’s often a dull thump to the wall from where the force of yuuji’s hips drive the headboard into it. only you ever have the power to make your man that feral, have him drooling like a dog with its tongue in the wind whenever he has the chance to sink into your tight heat. it’s the way your snug little pussy ripples around the giant jock’s fat girth, his tummy smooshed up against your puffy clit does nothing to help him either. the more ecstasy he gives you, the more you clench down on your boyfriend and the further his eyes disappear into his skull. 

itadori just loves being inside of you, tucking his thriving dick away inside your velveteen walls, hearing your pussy suction around you and your cheap dorm mattress squeak in harmony with your hiccuped moans. yuuji, yuuji, yuuji. his name on your kiss swollen and tear glossed lips is enough for the pink haired man to break the bed from how hard and deep he thrusts into you. even when it does collapse in on itself, yuuji doesn’t dare stop until you’re cumming in sweet streams around him — painting his toned stomach and washboard abs in your arousal before he fills you up with his own thick white.

he usually cums with his drooling tongue in your mouth and an arm wrapped around your head, keeping you tucked underneath while he grinds his hips through your shared highs. sometimes salacious laments and high-pitched whines manage to slip through the cracks — which mean noise complaints from the Dean of your dorm and a call to maintenance in the morning to fix your destroyed bed (and walls).

mornings are no different (once your bed is fixed), yuuji itadori always fails to keep his hands to himself and if he’s lucky enough to stay the night — he uses those very same greedy and large hands to pleasure you all throughout sunrise. you wake up to find fingers on the swollen little nub tucked between your puffy pussy lips and his eager tongue swiping over the eight of your slit to catch any of your juices before they’re wasted on cheaply made college-friendly sheets. 

it’s a sight to behold, the way you arch your back from the bed and your thighs quiver either side of a head full of bright pink hair that tickles their insides. you can’t help but tug on the soft tufts — dragging yuuji further into your creamy cunt while accidentally kicking plushies galore from their place amongst your pillows and blankets. itadori remains a messy eater, slurping on your succulent folds, running laps over every inch of the heat between your glorious thighs. 

except you don’t get to cum on his mouth or his tongue on mornings like this — instead yuuji likes to really show off his strength. he likes you in his lap and seated on the swell of his fat, oozing girth. he adores plugging you full, watching you writhe above him for something, anything. any type of thrust or friction. yuuji can’t help himself, he’s always dying  to grope the globes of your ass when you’re riding him, using the strength in his arms  to hold over his bright red ans milky tip before pumping himself all the way into you in one calculated thrust upwards. 

both of you cum before either of your alarms go off, messy as always but content. you’re happy with yuuji and he’s always so happy to please you — it’s the least he could do for his precious girl. 

itadori always leaves you with a limp throughout the rest of your day — a comfortable pain in the base of your spine that reminds you of how deep he’d gone. there’s a dampness to your underwear during your classes too, reminding you of how much hot, oozing seed the jock had filled you up with. ‘keep it there,’ the pink haired soccer player tends to ask with those guilt-tripping puppy dog eyes of his. ‘want you walking around with my cum dripping down your thigh, so that everyone knows who you belong to.’

you often wonder what the campus would think if they knew how debauched their star player really was.

they’d have a field day if they saw the texts yuuji sent you while wiping the floor with his teammates during practices. pictures of his erection in the changing room mirrors and maybe some of your pretty face while he had you cumming on just his tip. sometimes paragraphs detailing how he was going to ruin your pussy, make you see god or even reach cloud nine. some tell you how much itadori misses your plush lips wrapped around him as he cums down your throat. 

but no matter what way you look at it, your jock boyfriend yuuji itadori always has your pleasure prioritised at the forefront of his mind. he’d use whatever part of his body, whatever strength he has to keep you satisfied. all alongside his insatiable appetite for you and only you. 

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[mariasont]

i loved lipgloss!!! i was wondering if i could pls request smth where spencer walks in the BAU unaware of the lipgloss on his lips from kissing bimbo!receptionist or on his cheeks from being kissed then everyone's like "👀☝️🤨" (english isnt my first language im sorry😭)

STICKY SITUATIONS - S.R

a/n: back with the lipstick trope yeehaw, can't tell you all how much i appreicate u all and how patient u guys are with me when i ghost for like 5 months at a time. thank you so much for the request sug <3

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

warnings: spencer daydreaming about inappropriate things! PDA!

wc: 1.1k

Spencer woke up feeling untouchable, like nothing in the world could shake him. The kind of invincible where even the sky didn't seem like a limit. You had stayed the night, as you often did, and yet every time he woke up with you beside him, it felt like walking on air. Today was no exception.

You made sure he was late today--both of you were. He blamed you entirely, though he didn't mind. You pinned him down with a thousand little kisses, laughing as you insisted that it's essential for a day filled with good luck, and how else was he going to catch all the bad guys without a little charm from you?

Spencer's body vibrated like it was attuned to some invisible, higher frequency, one you alone could set. The smile threatening to break free felt inevitable, like a law of nature, as his mind drifted to thoughts of you--so unavoidable it was as if trying to pinpoint an electron's exact position and momentum in time. 

He had half a mind to swing by the reception desk just to see you. Just for a second. He'd convince himself it was enough, even though it never really was. Today, though? There was no chance he'd make it to his meeting. Not when you were wearing that skirt--his favorite. The one that fit you like it had been hand-stitched by hand for you alone, showing off your thighs in a way that made him picture them around his--

"Reid, you're—," Hotch's voice snapped him back into reality, his brows down turning as he regarded Spencer with a curious frown before shaking his head. "Late. C'mon."

Spencer followed Hotch into the conference room, their entrance as routine as ever--or so he assumed. But the moment they stepped inside, something shifted. The air crackled with stifled laughter, a ripple of poorly contained snickers breaking out across the team.

He froze mid-step, confusion knitting his brow as he scanned the room. His gaze flitted from face to face, trying to uncover the source of their amusement. The laughter, he realized with growing bewilderment, was somehow aimed squarely at him.

His pulse quickened as self-awareness kicked in, and his eyes darted downward, trying to detect the anomaly that had captured everyone's damn attention. A loose thread? A stain? Panic bloomed in his chest as he mentally ticked through a list of possibilities. His sweater seemed intact--no wayward strings. His pants were fine, no errant coffee stains or wrinkles. And his hair--well, his hair always had a mind of its own, but it wasn't that unruly today. Right?

Bastards.

He cleared his throat. "Okay, what did I miss?"

Emily tried--and failed--to stifle her laughter, shaking her head in disbelief. "I think you might need to go to look in the mirror, lover boy."

Spencer didn't bother questioning her. No explanation would be offered, at least not freely. He knew he'd get no real answers from this group, and honestly, he wasn't even sure he wanted them at this point. Instead, he slipped out of the conference room and headed down the hall, his mind a muddled tangle of confusion.

He was so distracted--so consumed with trying to figure out what he'd missed--that he nearly missed the sound of quick, approaching footsteps. It was only at the last second that he looked up, just in time for you to collide with him. His hands moved instinctively, catching your waist as you stumbled forward, stopping you from toppling over.

Spencer's breath caught. Gods know if you'd fallen in those heels, you'd be lucky to escape with just a sprained ankle. But you didn't fall. Instead, you let out a startled giggle as you looked up at him wide-eyed.

"Whoopsie," you said with a smile. "Hi there, handsome."

The instant the words left your lips, you clamped a hand over your mouth, fighting back a high-pitched squeal of laughter.

Spencer, even more bewildered, furrowed his brows in confusion. "Okay, what?"

"Hold still," you instructed, though your voice wavered between stifled giggles. You reached up for him, your fingertips hovering near his face.

He followed your hand with his eyes, still clueless, until you gently cupped his cheek. Whatever it was on his skin drew another wave of laughter from you, and in response, he prodded at your sides, each poke sending you into another fit of delighted squeals.

"Hey, that's not holding still, Dr.!" you gasped, halfheartedly swatting at his hands while you finished wiping away the last bit of whatever had clung to his face.

"Whoopsie daisy," you said again, still brushing invisible flecks from his cheek, your voice reminding him of what he envisioned sunshine poured into a teacup would manifest as. "Aw, Spence, looks like I kinda-sorta-maybe left a tiny little lipstick stain behind."

Your tone was drenched in honeyed innocence, as if this kind of thing just happened and you had no earthly clue how.

Spencer's eyes narrowed. "Is that why I've been subjected to my team's thinly veiled harassment?"

Your eyes went wide, and you gasped as if you'd just witnessed a high crime. "They were giving you trouble? Oh my gosh!" You pressed your fingertips to your lips. "Do I need to have a word with them?"

The determination in your voice sounded all too serious, and he was a little scared that you were actually prepared to march back to that conference room in your pretty heels and give the entire BAU a piece of your mind.

Spencer nearly chocked on a laugh. Of all possible reactions, yours was the sweetest, most fiercely protective--and downright hilarious. He held up a hand in a placating gesture, lips curving into a boyish grin. 

"Hmm, I appreciate the offer," he murmured, gently tapping his chin with a finger as if considering it. "However, I think you might need to have a word with the real culprit who decided my face should double as her personal canvas this morning."

"Me?" You pressed a hand dramatically to your heart. "I would never! I mean, sure, I might've given you a million good-luck kisses before you left, and maybe one or two... or three of my lip gloss stains decided to stick around, but that's hardly my fault!"

You shifted your weight to the balls of your feet and wiggled your fingers in a helpless sort of gesture. "That's just how good my gloss is, y'know?"

"Right," he replied, voice quieter now, eyes warm as they traced your face. "Clearly the lip gloss is at fault. We'll have to issue it a stern warning later."

"Exactly! Don't blame poor, innocent me." You paused, lowering your voice conspiratorially, leaning close enough that he caught the faint scent of your perfume. "And if any of the team give you grief again, you know where to find me!"

Spencer hummed, placing a light hand on the small of your back, steering you gently away from the corridor.

"I'll keep that in mind," he murmured, smiling as if the world had just aligned perfectly in that very hallway. "But for now, maybe we should try to make sure I get back to my meeting... gloss-free."

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @r-3dlips @m-indkiller @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @reiderrambles @averyhotchner @hbwrelic @sky2nd @messylxve @alexxavicry @doigettokeepyou @pleasantwitchgarden @kodzukenmaaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spenciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @c-losur3 @theylovemelody @alahnizamolo @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @spiderladyleah @estragos @khxna @spencerssoup @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72

join my taglist here!

[lubdubology]

Til The Sun Turns Black

SYNOPSIS: Your soul is bound to his and you're destined to follow him across the multiverse. When the TVA finds you and sends you to the Void, you feel your chance of finding him has slipped through your fingers. But what you find there is more than you bargained for.

PAIRING: Worst!Wolverine x fem!reader

WC: 13.1 k I apologize for nothing

WARNINGS: smut 18+, mdni, mentions of drinking, angst, peril, some fluff, implied age gap (I guess?), mental trauma, miscommunication, Wade being Wade, dirty talk, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, cowgirl, missionary, cock warming, sex with feelings, unprotected p in v

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love on Soft Edges! I was not expecting that kind of response when I posted that story, so thank you <3. I had the idea for this story in my head since after I first saw the movie. I had no idea my one random runaway thought would turn into this. Also, this story would not have been finished if it weren't for @joelsgoldrush. She let me tease her for WEEKS with this and act as the ultimate sounding board. And she's overall just a delightful human being and I'm so glad I've found her.

The TVA agent sits staring at you, an odd and uncomfortable smile on his face. Like he isn’t quite sure he knows how to smile but had seen it once on TV.  You also don’t think he’s blinked in the past several minutes. It makes your eyes water just thinking about it. 

“I don’t understand why I’m here.”

“Ah, yes, well—“ the agent clears his throat and smoothes a hand down his chest. “You’re a threat to the multiverse.”

You squint your eyes at him and wonder if you’re lucid dreaming. Or trapped in some bizarre fever dream, but you can’t remember being sick. “The…multiverse? As in, more than one universe?”

He nods once. “Precisely.”

It’s your turn to stare as absolutely none of this is making sense. The morning had started off normal—wake up, shower, coffee at your favorite local corner store. You had barely finished your latte when you were apprehended and taken to this bland room by a man who must own insane stock in eyedrops. 

“You see, we’ve been watching you for quite some time,” he continues, oblivious of your growing confusion. “A handful of reincarnations, actually. And we believe we’ve finally pinned it down.”

His words sound insane. 

You were a low level mutant at best. You’ve been able to deeply sense and influence emotions in others since you were six—a standard empath if there ever was one. But reincarnation?

“Reincarnations? I’m sorry but—”

You feel it coming then, that all too familiar prickle of deja vu creeping up your spine and setting deep in your brain. The room begins to soften, the corners blurring and you feel disjointed, separate from the you sitting in the chair.

“Ah, see. We’ve pinned it down.”

The world tilts on its axis and your mind explodes into brilliance, the memories of hundreds of alternate versions of yourself firing down your synapses, leaving you as raw and exposed as a fresh wound. The pain is all consuming as you gasp for air and desperately try to quell the throbbing in your skull. 

Your hands grip the edge of the table, desperate to clutch at something solid to root you in reality as the kaleidoscope of memories swirl before your eyes, colliding and merging with one another. All the timelines converging down to a single point of existence within your mind. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve experienced this process, the return of your memories—the return of your consciousness—was always accompanied by a torturous sensory overload. 

“You see? You have extensive knowledge of the multiverse. And that kind of knowledge is coveted and dangerous.”

Your vision blurs as the memories keep slamming into you and you can’t help the primal scream that rips from your lungs, the pain in your throat a welcome distraction from the torture in your head. And then, amid the chaos, a single figure emerges in crisp focus, a face you’ve seen thousands of times.

“Logan.” His name comes out in a whisper, your voice trembling.

You know he’s not actually in front of you and instead a mirage, a figment of your overloaded neurons, but his presence calms you. 

“Yes, Logan. You two are quite fond of each other.” The agent stands and you squint up at him, wanting to be anywhere else as you regain your memories. “But never mind him. We can’t have you traipsing around with all that knowledge in your head.”

“No, no, no, please. Please just let me find him,” you beg, hating the desperation laced in your voice. 

The last thing you see before being sent out of existence is his creepy, uncanny smile. 

+++

The Void was bullshit. 

It had been a month since you were unceremoniously dumped here. 

Maybe. 

You weren’t really sure.  

Time had no meaning, each day seeming to stretch on for eons and simultaneously in the blink of an eye. And for every single one of those moments you’d been focused on one of two things: finding a way out and not dying. 

You quickly learned you had a better chance at survival if you stuck to the outskirts and avoided others. So you squirreled yourself away, sheltering in an abandoned cabin and hoping beyond hope you could figure out a way out of the desolate cesspool you found yourself in. 

Figure out a way back to him. 

Back home. 

+++

You don’t venture out unless you have to. 

The Void is full of phantom emotions left behind by its previous inhabitants and the cacophony overwhelms you. Rage, terror and despair so thickly envelope every surface you feel like you’re choking. It’s beginning to wear so harshly on your nerves you wonder if you might actually go insane here.

There was a tension growing in the Void. You’d heard whispers of unrest within the factions, Cassandra hungry for something to sink her teeth into. The undercurrent of rage has increased in the last couple of days and it’s enough to set your teeth on edge.

Stuffing a backpack with a few essentials in case you get stranded, you ready yourself for a supply run. The thought of leaving the perceived safety of your cabin has little appeal, but you’ve been putting it off for far too long. There was a small cache only a few miles from your cabin that other survivors kept stocked with extra provincials. You were hoping for something good, anything other can canned food or cereal. Or Spam. 

Tightening the straps on your backpack, you take one last glance around before stepping out into the forest. It’s eerily quiet, no birds or animals chattering to fill the silence, just the crunch of your shoes against fallen leaves. The Void has always felt oppressive to you, the air just a little too heavy, but there’s something lingering today that makes you feel on edge. Your skin prickles with anticipation and you pat your belt for the knife you’ve stashed there. 

Just in case. 

You’re half a mile away from the cache when you feel it—the inky slick of anger. It catches on the air and wafts towards you in waves. You slow your steps as you approach the road and come to a halt when the battered van comes into view. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. 

You’d recognize those claw marks anywhere. 

Your heart races as your eyes trace the deep, jagged cuts gouged into the metal and the large swathes of blood coating the ground and what you can see of the interior of the van. Instinctively your hand tightens around the hilt of your knife and you crouch down low behind a fallen log. You scan the area for any signs of movement and find none, but you know Logan is stealthier than you and wouldn’t give up his location willingly. 

The van door creaks open on its battered hinges and you inhale sharply as Logan stumbles out of the vehicle covered in dried blood and sweat and more knife wounds and bullet holes than you can count. 

The sight of him ignites a spark of longing that blooms in your chest and makes you physically ache. You can feel him. Your lips remember the hungered warmth of his mouth against yours, the way he’d nip at your bottom lip so you’d open up for him. Your skin remembers the calloused rasp of his hands and not just the greedy grabs when he needed to claim you, but the light brushes of his fingertips against your palm as he held your hand, just to remind himself that you were real. Your nose remembers his scent, woodsy and clean, like the earth after rain. 

Shaking your head, you push down the memories and peer back over the log. A slight breeze wafts through the air and you watch as he sniffs, his head turning in your direction. 

“Fuck,” you curse lowly, trying to crouch further out of eyesight. 

You hear the metallic snikt of his claws and your pulse quickens. There’s no point in hiding—he knows you’re there. You take a slow, steady breath before attempting to focus waves of calm in his direction, hoping to ease some of the anger wound around him. 

His eyes lock onto yours, sharp and predatory and he shakes his head, trying to keep you out. “Who the fuck’re you?” 

You draw back your power and raise your hands in surrender as you slowly rise to your feet. You toss out your name and silently hope for a spark of recognition. But he doesn’t know you. Not yet. 

“It’s not safe out here alone,” you start, moving out of your hiding place. You walk towards him, his eyes following your every move. “There’s a cache just up ahead—” 

The atmosphere shifts without warning, the anger you’d felt previously now melting into thick, cloying fear and desperation. You can taste the ozone and the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end as electricity sizzles across the sky. Glancing up, you see the dark, swirling mass of Alioth just beginning to form. 

You look at Logan, panic racing along your nerves. “I promise I’ll explain everything to you later, but I know you, Logan, and right now I need you to trust me.” 

Alioth’s presence is getting stronger and drawing closer, and every drop of tension and rage swirling within is beginning to weigh down on you, threatening to suffocate you. 

Logan’s eyes narrow, but there’s a slight twitch in his jaw and you know he’s considering your words. His claws retract, but his muscles remain tense, coiled and ready to attack. You grab for his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin and the hard muscle beneath your fingers. “We have to go. Now.”

For a moment, you think he might resist. But then with a low curse, he follows you, his stride matching yours as you lead him towards the cache. The trees blur by, the wind picking up and beginning to toss leaves and loose branches into the air. 

You’re operating on pure adrenaline and your heart pounds in your chest as you run, Alioth gaining speed and distance faster than either of you can move. Each gasp of air burns your lungs and your muscles ache with the effort of your sprint. 

Still a quarter of a mile away from the cache, you know you won’t be able to outrun Alioth. The storm has consumed the sky, the sun diminished to twilight, as the thunder and groans loom ever closer. You turn towards Logan and yell, “It’s too close, we’re not gonna make it!”

Logan’s eyes flash with anger as you stop and turn towards the oncoming destruction. He grabs for your wrist, pulling you almost nose to nose. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he growls, chest heaving with the effort to breathe. “We can’t stop!”

His proximity briefly disarms you, his fierce gaze igniting something deep within you, but you don’t have time to dwell on those emotions. You take a deep breath in an attempt to steady your nerves. “I’m gonna try and calm it down.”

“What are you going to do, think happy thoughts at it?” he asks, his tone biting and sarcastic. 

You know every cell in his body is begging to fight, aching to release his claws and tear Alioth apart with his bare hands. But this isn’t something brute strength can subdue. 

“Just trust me,” you plead, your eyes searching his for some indication that he believes you. “Please.”

His stare is hard, but eventually his eyes soften and he loosens his grip on your wrist. “Fine.”

Tearing your gaze from him, you turn back towards the storm, now a full blown maelstrom of anger and destruction hellbent on consuming you both whole. You exhale slowly, pushing your own emotions of fear and panic as far down as you can. Instead, you turn inward and concentrate on every feeling of peace, calm and stillness you’ve ever experienced and project it outwards. Waves of soothing energy pour from you, an almost ghostly aura emanating from you as your power continues to grow. Alioth continues to surge towards you, the wind now flattening trees to the ground and lifting debris high into the air. 

The fight is excruciating, every cell in your body shaking with effort as you continue to project outwards, the sphere of your influence growing. When the two opposing masses collide, you’re almost knocked off your feet by the force. You’re vaguely aware of Logan beside you, claws unsheathing as he steps closer into your protective shield. 

For a brief moment, you feel the power of the storm ebb before it seems to press into you harder. Your knees begin to buckle and your stance slips. “I…I don’t know if I can hold it!” you gasp. 

Logan doesn’t run but instead moves closer, giving you one solitary nod. You can feel Logan’s eyes on you, feel the doubt swirling behind them and yet he stays besides you, ready to fight. 

His silent encouragement is enough. 

You are not dying in the fucking Void. 

Gritting your teeth, you continue to push. A guttural scream rips from your throat as black spots dot your vision and blood drips from your nose. You dig down, channeling every last drop of your energy into a final wave, extending yourself deep within the core of the storm. 

The black of the storm begins to retreat and the wind begins to calm. As the first few beams of sunlight filter in through the treetops, your vision fades completely and the world goes black. 

The last thing you feel is a pair of strong arms wrapping around you before your mind goes blissfully blank and unconsciousness claims you. 

+++

You wake up in the cache. 

Dust motes dance in the sunlight streaming in through the broken windows. The light is soft, definitely not the early morning glow from before you left the comfort of your cabin and you wonder how long you were out. With a groan, you try to sit up. Your body is stiff, every muscle in your body aching with the effort you took to banish Alioth. Wincing, you swing your legs out of the makeshift bed, the effort taking your breath away and you can feel the sickly creep of nausea climb up your throat. 

A low voice cuts through the haze. “Take it easy.”

Logan. 

You blink, trying to adjust your eyes to the light and find him sitting on the floor, one leg pulled up to his chest as a bottle of whiskey hangs between his fingers. He takes a long pull and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“How long was I out?” you ask, your voice hoarse. 

Logan doesn’t answer immediately. He reaches over at a box beside him and then rolls a water bottle towards your feet before he finally mutters, “A day.” 

You accept the bottle with a nod of thanks. Taking a slow sip, you close your eyes as the liquid soothes your throat even as your body protests the movement. You’ve never used your powers to that degree before. Fuck, you didn’t even know you could. A perverse sense of pride licks at the edge of your exhaustion. 

Lowering the bottle, you breathe deeply in an attempt to settle the nausea rolling in the pit of your stomach. You glance at Logan and find him watching you, his eyes sharp, calculating. 

“You owe me some answers. You said you knew me.”

You meet his gaze, the weight of his words pressing down on you. After hundreds of encounters with different Logans, it was never easy explaining to him what you were. For a long time, you didn’t even have a name for it. All you knew was that your consciousness, all your memories, everything that you are moves across different universes and inevitably crosses paths with Logan. It always felt like an invisible string, guiding your soul to his. 

“I’m a temporal nomad.”

Logan’s eyes narrow as he glares at you. “A temporal what?” His tone is laced with skepticism. 

You take another sip of water, giving yourself time to gather your thoughts and push away the throbbing at your temples. “A temporal nomad. I don’t die, not in the way you think, anyway.”

Logan doesn’t move, but you see his grip tighten on the bottle in his hand, his knuckles going white. “You tellin’ me you’re immortal?”

“No, not immortal,” you reply, exhaling slowly. “When I die, my consciousness moves. I reincarnate in a different universe. Eventually I regain everything—my experiences, my memories, my feelings. It’s why—” you pause and take a deep, steadying breath. “It’s why I always find you.”

Your words hit their mark and Logan’s eyes flash with something you can’t quite decipher—shock, disbelief, maybe some anger. He sits up straighter, tipping the whiskey bottle to his lips without breaking eye contact. “You always find me?” he asks, his voice a low rumble. “We’ve met before?”

“I’ve lost count of how many time, actually,” you admit softly. “But in every reality, every universe, I find you. And we’re not just friends, Logan.”

Your words linger in the air between you and your heart pounds loudly in your chest. Logan stands suddenly, the now empty whiskey bottle clattering to the ground. He runs a hand through his hair before scrubbing it down his face, his jaw clenched as he paces within the small space. A mirthless chuckle escapes his lips. “This smells like bullshit, sweetheart.”

Your heart aches at his use of the word sweetheart. It’s one he’s always preferred for you, usually spoken with reverence, like a prayer falling from his lips. Except now it’s casual and cold, something with a sharp edge instead of softness. 

“I know how crazy it sounds. Believe me, Logan, it took me several lifetimes to wrap my mind around it.” You stand, your legs wobbly with the effort and you wince against the pull in your spent muscles. “But I know you.”

His expression hardens. “Yeah? Well, I don’t know you. And if you really knew me, you’d know to stay the fuck away from people like me.” Logan’s pacing grows more hurried, his hands clenching into fists. 

“I can’t,” you say softly, taking a tentative step closer towards him. “And I don’t want to. While I might not know the Logan in front of me or the nuances that make you different from the others, I know you.”

His nostrils flare and he lets out a low growl. “Stop.”

“I know the way you fight,” you continue, ignoring his warning. “I know the way you carry your pain as if no one else can possibly shoulder that weight. I know—”

“Stop!”

“—how you push people away to protect them, but that deep down you hope someone will push back. You may carry a lot of self loathing, Logan, but even you know you’re not heartless.” 

Logan’s fist slams into the wall behind him, the sound reverberating in the small room. He stands there, chest heaving, his knuckles bleeding from where they made contact with the rough wooden planks. You watch as the raw skin knits itself back together, his head hanging low. 

His jaw clenches as he wipes the blood from his hands, his breathing still ragged and posture rigid, itching for a fight. He glances over at you, his expression softer but still rough. 

“We’re done here,” he growls, but his voice soft, more broken than angry. 

Logan turns without another word and all you can do is watch him leave.

+++

You spend the rest of the morning dozing in bursts of fitful sleep, your confrontation with Logan taking its emotional toll. Your eyes burn with unshed tears and for the first time in your life, you feel as if you’re destined to wander this universe alone. 

But you can’t think about it. 

Not now. 

Ignoring the ache in your limbs, you pack up what supplies you can and ready yourself for the walk back to your cabin. The sun is a couple of hours from setting, the world bathed in golden light, when you set out. Walking down the steps, you pause at the distant crunch of boots on the gravel. You feel your pulse thrum in your chest as the sound gets closer and then he steps into view, his eyes locking onto yours. 

Logan. 

The sight of him standing there fills you with a rush of conflicting emotions. Relief, angry, anxiety and you’re not sure if you trust yourself to speak first. He looks the same—tired, disheveled, but steady and strong all the same. Neither of you moves, unspoken words hanging between you.

“I shouldn’t’ve left,” he says finally. 

For a moment you say nothing. Because it’s exactly what you want to hear from him. Except, because you’re beyond exhausted, mentally, physically and emotionally, you say, “No, you fucking shouldn’t have.” 

There’s definitely more bite in your tone than you intended, but the release of some of your pent up anger feels so good you can’t bring yourself to care. 

Logan’s eyes narrow as you move past him and keep walking. “Wait, so I come back here to apologize,” he begins, following close behind you, “and now you’re gonna just walk away?”

“You know, you never even thanked me for saving your ass,” you say, side stepping a downed log. “Just started demanding answers and then tucked tail and ran when you didn’t like what I had to say.”

He grabs your wrist and you stumble into his grasp, your breath hitching in your throat as you stand almost chest to chest. “I didn’t fucking ask for any of this!”

His anger bleeds into you, curling around your skin where his fingers press into your pulse point. You feel your nostrils flare and you’re itching for something to hit as you stare up at him, his jaw clenched. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest and you know you need to reign in your emotions or you’ll ignite the fuse between you. 

“You think I did?” you ask, pulling your arm from his grasp. Your voice is calmer, but just as sharp. “You think I want to relive the grief of mourning you over and over while also finding something new to love about you? You think I wanted to be banished to the Void all because my soul just can’t die when I do?”

Logan’s expression softens and he scrubs a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look. I’ve had a shitty coupla days here. And you’re saying a lot of shit I don’t understand.”

He seems weary, then, and any remaining anger you harbor towards him dies in your veins. You take a deep breath in and blow it out slowly. “You don’t have to understand right now. Just—just trust me. Please?”

You hate how your voice breaks just a little.

Logan nods then, the barest tilt of his head, but it’s enough.

He continues to follow you through the woods back towards the cabin and for a while neither of you speak. It should feel awkward, especially now, but it doesn’t. You’re so used to his brand of stubbornness and reluctance to see what’s right in his face that this is the most at home you’ve felt since you got here. 

“So,” you start after a few minutes of silence, “how did you end up here?”

Logan huffs. “Some asshole in red spandex dragged me here and I said I need to help save his universe.”

“And can you?”

His step falters and you pause to look a him, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the trees. “I couldn’t save mine.” The weight of his words linger, heavy with a burden only he alone has been shouldering. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he brushes past you and keeps walking. 

“Wanna talk about it?” you ask, catching up with him.

Logan growls. “No.”

“Alright, maybe later then,” you reply and he simply ignores you and keeps on walking. “Where’s this asshole friend of yours?”

“I left him tied up in the van.”

You had long passed the spot where you found Logan by the beat up van and the road was deserted. Based on the subtle smirk on his face, you figure Logan already knows that. Whatever his relationship is with the stranger, he seems somewhat happy to be rid of him and you don’t push him further. Although, you can’t help but wonder what happened to the van and whose hands it fell into. 

Logan’s gait slows as the cabin comes into view through the trees. He follows behind you as you clear the space, checking for any stragglers that may have come along while you were gone. Pushing open the door, you watch as he looks around, taking in the small space. 

“You’ve been living here?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it living, but sure,” you comment, throwing your backpack on the table as you sit down. You can’t help the groan that escapes your lips as your muscles relax. “You can stay here if you want. I didn’t just let you follow me for your sparkling personality, you know.”

Logan actually laughs at that as he sits down on the small couch. His face lightens up, eyes crinkling just a bit at the corners, and for the first time since you found him, he seems unburdened. A blossom of hope grows in your chest and you grasp onto it, holding tight to the one bit of light you’ve had in this month of darkness. 

“Thank you,” he says softly. 

You know he means for more than the offer to stay and you return his smile with one of your own. “You’re welcome.”

As the sun starts to dip below the horizon, you bring out some extra blankets and a couple of pillows and help Logan turn the couch into a makeshift bed. You turn to leave when you hear him ask, “You really find me in every universe?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds terrible.”

You give him a small smile as you lean against the doorframe to the bedroom. “Oh, it’s not all that bad. I get to fall in love with you all over again.”

+++

You wake in the middle of the night to the sound of low, panicked growls coming from across the room.

You quietly slip from the bed and tiptoe towards the couch. Logan writhes beneath the sheets, pain etched across his face as he wrestles the demons in his sleeping mind. Taking a deep breath, you center yourself and focus every fiber of your power in his direction, hoping the waves of calm can break through whatever battle he’s fighting deep in the recesses of his mind.

Logan growls deep in his throat, the sound guttural and raw, his claws unsheathing and tearing at the sheets beneath him in agitation. A fine sheen of sweat beads along his brow and pieces of hair are plastered against his damp forehead.

“Logan,” you say softly, trying to break through the fog of his nightmare. “You’re safe, Logan.”

Your powers are waning, the stress of fighting off Alioth having left you depleted. You push down the ache, the tug in your brain demanding that you draw back, and instead kneel down in front of him, trailing your fingers across his palm and over the pulse point in his wrist. He jerks at your touch, his claws coming close to your skin, but the contact is enough and you feel his pulse slow beneath your fingertips.

You continue to speak in hushed tones, your voice barely above a whisper. “There you go, Logan. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Logan’s breathing is ragged, his eyes squeezed shut. You can feel the tension in his body, his muscles rigid with the need for release. You keep your fingers against his wrist, your touch steady and calming, as you bring up your other hand to smooth the lines along his brow.

“There you go,” you continue to murmur, “Focus on my voice. Focus on my calm.”

Gradually, his growls subside and his breathing begins to even out as the nightmare loses its grip over him. His muscles lose their tension and relax and the frantic movements of his limbs subsides. With one final deep breath, he stills, his claws retracting and he settles back into a peaceful sleep.

You sit and watch him for a minute, taking in all of his features and simply admiring him for the first time since your last life with him. This Logan is different—they all are in their own way—but this one a little more than the others. He seems wearier, more worn down, his usual scowl lines etched deep. There’s an exhaustion in his eyes, too, you haven’t seen before and you wonder if this Logan actually ever rests. 

As you stand, you feel his fingers circle loosely around your wrist and give a small tug. You look down to where he’s touching you, his skin hot against yours, and you glance up to find him staring at you through half lidded eyes. 

“Stay.” It comes out in a low whisper and as you open your mouth to protest, he adds, “Please.”

You could never deny him in any universe.

The couch is barely wider than he is, yet he shifts to make a sliver of space for you to slot yourself into. It should be awkward, the way you press yourself between the couch and the solid warmth of his frame, but it’s not. You hitch your leg over his hip, forcing your legs to tangle, as you rest your head against his chest. His heartbeat is strong and comforting beneath your ear and you find yourself quickly relaxing into his touch.

As you fall asleep, you feel his arm curl around you, tucking protectively against your ribs.

+++

When morning breaks, you’re alone. The warmth of his body is gone and you find yourself shivering. Pushing to sit, you wrap a blanket around yourself before standing up. 

The cabin is empty.

You try and ignore the sliver of panic that threatens to slip its way down your spine. 

Opening the front door, you pause when you find him sitting on the dilapidated porch, staring absently out at the trees. He glances up at you and watches as you sit down beside him. You hug the blanket closer around your shoulders and sit with him in silence.

You don’t mention last night.

“So,” you start, “what’s the plan?”

Logan raises his eyebrow. “You planning on stickin’ with me?”

“If you let me,” you reply with a smile.

You listen as Logan explains the events of the past couple of days, including Wade’s abduction of him from his own universe and how they both became to be bloodied and battered in the van. Your ears perk up when he mentions Paradox and returning to Wade’s universe. 

“You think he can actually get back?” you ask, willing yourself to not hold onto too much hope. 

Logan huffs. “Probably not.” 

“And yet you’re out here trying to think of a way to find him,” you say. “Why?”

A frown tugs at Logan’s mouth and he looks down at his hands. Eventually, he reaches into the pocket of his suit and pulls out a crumpled Polaroid. He tilts it towards you and you look down at the group or smiling people. “He’s got something to go home to,” he says, thumbing the edge of the photo. “I got nothin’.”

There’s something soft in his gaze as he looks down at the photo, some lingering hope he’s too afraid to put words to. 

“I’m sure you have something, Logan,” you say quietly. 

His expression hardens then, jaw tightening, as he slips the photo back in his pocket. “Had. Past tense.” Logan stands then and looks down at you. “Get ready. We’re leaving in five.” 

+++

You get ready quickly, changing your clothes and splashing water on your face before making sure your pack was sufficiently stocked. You were hoping you wouldn’t be needing it for much longer, but you didn’t want to express that thought out loud. Despite Logan wishing to go back to find Wade, you knew he wasn’t convinced this would end well.

Logan’s already started down the path as you jog down the cabin steps, swinging your pack up onto your shoulders. Catching up with him, you hand him the Pop-Tart you pulled out earlier. “Breakfast? They’re unfrosted, because this is the Void, but it’s something.”

He looks down at you, a strange expression on his face, but he accepts your offer. “Thanks,” he says, taking a bite.

“So, where exactly were you headed when you both decided to maul each other silly?” you ask, keeping pace with him as you walk through the woods.

“Johnny had mentioned a resistance out in the Borderlands,” Logan answers, swallowing the bite of Pop-Tart. “Figured we might find some people who could help us get control over Cassandra.” 

You nod. “You’re not far from the Borderlands. Maybe four or so miles from he cache. I haven’t ventured out that far, but I’ve heard there’s a few outposts where others have hunkered down.”

“Then that’s where we go.”

You walk in comfortable silence, leaving Logan to his thoughts as you travel further away from safety and into the unknown. You stop at the cache briefly, pausing only snag a few water bottles before moving on. 

A couple of miles past the cache, Logan suddenly stops, sniffing the air. His posture goes rigid, on alert as he slowly moves forward, beckoning you to follow him. A few yards away, the beat up van comes into view, parked alongside a lodging that looks as if it was built into the very earth itself. 

Logan’s arm darts out, stopping you. “Stay close,” he commands quietly, stepping cautiously closer towards the structure.

You follow behind him, every sense on alert as you step inside. The place is quiet, but then you hear it—the soft rustle of snoring. And then Logan’s soft, “Ah, fuck me.”

Peering over his shoulder, you find a sleeping Wade spread eagle on the bed. Logan side steps the bed, ignoring the sleeping man, and begins rummaging through the place. Finding a bottle of whiskey, he groans in delight, twisting the cap off and taking a long pull. 

“Really Logan?”

He quirks an eyebrow at you, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “What else would you like me to be doing?” he asks, biting. 

“You came all this way to find him and now you’re gonna just drink?” you ask in disbelief. It gnaws at you, his indifference. You can feel little frissons of indignation licking at your skin and you have to tamp down your emotions before they bleed into him. 

Logan shrugs. “He’s asleep. I ain’t draggin’ him anywhere.”

You cross your arms, glaring at Logan in frustration. “I didn’t follow you here to watch you stand around and get drunk. Wake him up.”

He gives you a sidelong glance, his brow furrowing. You don’t relent, your stare pointed as he takes another long pull from the bottle. Muttering to himself, Logan makes his way over to the bed and gives it one swift, forceful kick. 

Wade jolts awake with a loud, exaggerated snort. He looks between you and Logan, his eyes finally settling on you. “Who’re you?” he asks, looking around as if expecting an answer. “When did the script get rewritten?”

You look at him quizzically, your eyebrow raised. “Who are you talking to?”

Wade huffs. “The audience,“ he says, gesturing towards the wall.

“Does he do this often?” you ask Logan in a whisper.

“Hasn’t stopped since he fucking dragged me here,” Logan replies. 

Your attention is diverted as Wade suddenly rolls from he bed, crossing the room and two large strides. He unsheathes one of his katanas, pressing himself against the wall and then he’s pinned on the ground as a woman pulls a blade of her own. After a moment, she lets Wade up and two more people follow into the room behind her. 

Logan eyes each one with suspicion as introductions are made and you can feel the tension growing within him as he continues to drink.

You jump as Gambit uses one of his playing cards to burst the bottle of whiskey in Logan’s hands. Logan ignores your pleading look and Wade’s admonishment as he grabs another bottle with a soft, “Boo boo boo.”

When Laura enters, you feel Logan’s interest pique, something heavy weighing on him. They both look towards one another, taking each other in and you don’t miss the recognition in Laura’s eyes.

“Do you know her?” you ask Logan, sliding closer to him.

Logan shakes his head. “No. But Wade’s Logan does.” He takes another long drink from the bottle, eyes still trained on her.

Wade continues to talk with the group, recapping their time in the Void and how they managed to escape Cassandra’s lair. Logan punctuates the conversation with vitriolic quips of his own, drinking more as Wade tries to get the group to form a team.

You try to send your power Logan’s way, trying to bleed into him some calm, but he shakes his shoulders and brushes you off. “Don’t fucking bother, sweetheart.”

“I can help you, Logan.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for it.”

As Wade rallies the group into a cohesive unit, gaining their support in taking down Cassandra, Logan huffs a bitter laugh. “You’re all fucking dead.”

“Oh, my god, read the room,” Wade chides. 

+++

Logan storms off, one bottle of whiskey fisted in each hand. You want to follow after him, but Wade stops you. “Let him go, cupcake. Peanut’s in a fragile state and you’re too pretty to become mincemeat.”

You shoot a glare at him and brush his hand away from your shoulder. “No, he only seems to sink his claws into you,” you bite back, but the anger leeches from your voice. 

“Spicy,” Wade comments, “I like you. The script editor worked overtime on you, I can tell.”

“Yeah, well the jury’s still out over here,” you say, but you can’t help the twitch of a smile tugging at your lips. 

You glance over at the door and feel Wade sidle up beside you. “Seriously, cupcake. Chasing after him is like trying to catch a raccoon with rabies. Might be fun, but it’s not worth the bite.”

“Oh yeah?” you ask, peering over at him, “And how long have you known him?”

Wade pretends to look down at his wrist and taps a non-existent watch. “Four days, six hours and thirty-two minutes,” he says with a smirk, “but I don’t really like to put a timestamp on friendship."

With a groan, you plop down on the bed and rub at your temples. “Is everything a joke with you?”

“Mostly,” he chirps with a grin. He leans back against the wall and crosses his arms as he watches you. “But I have been known to press pause occasionally.” Wade regards you for a moment, a slight tilt to his head. “Honey badger does it for you, huh?”

Sighing, you lay back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. “I have followed Logan through millennia, Wade. I can’t remember a time anymore where I haven’t loved him.”

“His mutant dick that good, huh?”

You half laugh, half snort and shoot him a pointed look. “Not everything is about sex, Wade.”

“Agree to disagree,” he says with a shrug. “We’ve all got emotional baggage, mine is definitely over the free to fly limit, but that guy? Literal mountains. Centuries worth, even.”

“Exactly,” you say, sitting up. “I’ve helped him carry more than you can imagine. Logan may push people away, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need someone to stay.”

Wade cocks his head, considering your words and his expression softens. “You know running after him isn’t going to fix him.”

“I’m not trying to fix him,” you reply. “He just needs to know someone is there for him.” 

“Well, it’s your funeral, cupcake,” he says with a sigh. “I promise I’ll give a really moving eulogy. But, I do think if anyone is gonna convince tall, dark and brooding out there to join us, it’s you.”

You give him a soft smile as you stand. “Thanks, Wade.”

“And just so you know,” he calls after you, “I’m open and willing to being your mutant dick rebound.”

You roll your eyes and walk out the door.

+++

You step outside and see Logan sitting by himself in front of a fire not too far from the lodging. Walking quietly, you stop when you see Laura approach him and sit along side him. You’re close enough that you can hear their words—hear Logan tell her about the suit, about how he found the X-Men, his friends, dead. 

The anger, the loathing, this Logan carries comes into focus and you can’t help but wonder how long he’s lived with this weight upon his shoulders. Suffering alone with only the bottom of a bottle to quiet the thoughts that scream in his mind.

As Laura eventually leaves, she catches your eye and gives you a small nod.

You feel a strange kinship with her. She too has memories of a Logan who no longer exists and who is radically different from the one she has now. You wonder what she’s thinking and have half a mind to follow after her when you hear Logan call out, “I know you’re there.”

You turn back towards where he remains sitting in front of the fire, the whiskey bottle now more than half gone. Closing the gap between you, you sit down alongside him and watch as he continues to stare down into the fading fire.

“How much did you hear?” he asks, taking a large swig from the bottle. 

“Enough,” you answer simply.

Logan grunts and takes a long pull from the bottle, his lips glistening as his swallows get sloppy. “Well, now you know. I’m the worst Logan,” he almost spits, his tone dark and bitter. “You drew the short straw with me, sweetheart.”

“You know I don’t think that,” you say softly. 

Logan doesn’t respond and instead finishes the rest of the whiskey, tossing the bottle somewhere behind him. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he looks over at you. “You actually gonna join them tomorrow?”

“Are you?”

“It’s a fucking suicide mission,” he answers. “You want to walk up to your death, be my guest.”

“If you’re so convinced this is a suicide mission, why don’t you want to go?” you counter, his ire beginning to bleed into the space between you and creep uncomfortably along your skin. “You afraid you might come face to face with actual death and realize that’s not really what you want?” 

Logan’s gaze flicks up to your face, his eyes dark, dangerous. “You’re fucking pushin’ it.”

“Good! Someone fucking should be!” you exclaim, standing from the fallen log. Maybe Wade was right—maybe this was futile. In every universe Logan could be a stubborn ass, but this one was particularly obstinate. “Do you really believe you’re so unredeemable, Logan? That you’re just a vile mutant who doesn’t deserve sympathy after his friends were brutally murdered?”

You can feel his rage boiling just under the surface of the thin veneer of calm. His eyes pierce into you, pinning you in place as he stands to his full height, his fists clenched tightly. 

“You don’t know shit about me, sweetheart,” he growls. 

Anger simmers in your veins, threatening to burn you from the inside out. “Oh fuck you, Logan.”

He takes a step closer, his eyes narrowing as his lips curl into a cruel smile. “Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Me sinking into your cunt while you picture whatever version of me you think I am.” His voice is a low rumble, adding to the tension threatening to suffocate you. 

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, and it isn’t desire that courses through you, but rage. Your skin prickles and his vitriol ignites something deep within you, something hotter and brighter than you’ve ever felt before. 

“After all this time and everything I’ve told you, you honestly believe that’s all I want from you? You’re a fucking pathetic asshole,” you snap, your voice sharp and laced with venom. 

Logan’s expression darkens, the smirk slipping from his face as his jaw clenches. “You got some balls sayin’ that shit to me,” he spits. 

A small part of you is terrified of him, afraid that he might actually snap. Might actually unsheathe his claws and send you onto your next life without ever having truly lived this one. But you know him, you know him. His pain and rage isn’t towards you, but himself. 

You risk a step closer to him, narrowing the space between you and you can feel the heat radiating off of him, mingling with your own fury. “Yeah, well at least one of us has a pair.”

Logan doesn’t have time to react before you channel your powers towards him, unleashing an explosive burst of energy that sends him staggering back. And then you smother him, smother him in thousands of years of memories, thousands of years of every single feeling you had ever felt for him in every universe you’ve known him. 

The weight of your emotional onslaught brings him to his knees, but you keep pushing, switching from your feelings for him to his feelings for you. All the affection, all the love, all the comfort the two of you shared in every version of your coupling across space and time floods his mind. 

You watch as his expression melts from anger into one of overwhelming vulnerability and pain. His hands, still clenched into fists, tremble beneath the weight of your power surging through him. He looks up at you then, his eyes pleading and your resolve breaks. Tears burn in your eyes and trail down your cheeks, wetting your lips as a scream rips from your lungs.  

Your hold on Logan dissipates as you reign your emotions back under control. You stagger on your feet as your power diminishes, your chest heaving with ragged breaths and broken sobs. You can’t look at him, not yet. If you do, you might actually break. So you do something that you never thought you would do—you leave.

+++

Night in the Void is cool, almost bordering on uncomfortable like everything else in this godforsaken place, but for once it doesn’t bother you. You gaze up at the sky, the haze of distant stars and planets blurring together the more you try and focus on just one. 

You’ve always loved looking at the stars. There was a comfort in knowing you could look up at the sky and see the same constellations in every universe, that there was always one constant among all the variables. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting before you hear the crunch of his boots on the earth, dried leaves and twigs snapping under his heel. Logan joins you on the ground, sitting with a heavy sigh. The maelstrom of emotions swirling within him bleeds into the space between you and you can feel it, thick and heavy and suffocating. 

You risk a glance at him and he looks…defeated. His eyes are red-rimmed and raw and you see something in those hazel eyes you rarely see—fear. Not fear at you, although your guilt would rather have you believe that, but fear of himself, fear of feeling what you’ve shown him. Logan’s breath is slow, controlled, but you can hear the slight tremor in it. 

“I promised myself I would never use my powers on you” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know what it feels like to experience that onslaught. It feels like drowning.” Your voice cracks and you fight to keep the guilt burning in your chest from consuming you whole. “And that was just a fraction of what we’ve felt across lifetimes, Logan.” 

Logan stays silent but gazes at your face, eyes flicking across your features, drinking you in. The scrutiny makes you shiver. Before you isn’t The Wolverine, the X-Man people in his universe loathe, but a man left raw and vulnerable. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says slowly, his voice rough as the words are pulled from him. “You shouldn’t have shown me that.”

You flinch, the weight of his words are a punch to your gut. “I know,” you whisper, wiping tears from your eyes. “I know and I’m sorry, I—”

Logan cuts you off with a shake of his head, his eyes now locked onto yours. “I already knew, sweetheart,”he murmurs, his voice low. “You feel like—you feel like home.” 

Your heart stutters in your chest and for a moment you can’t breathe. The words hang between you, heavy and raw, the sound of them something you’ve been craving to hear. 

“I am your home,” you reply softly. 

Logan shifts beside you, closing the space between you as he slips his hand behind your neck and pulls you in. His mouth crashes to yours, his kiss urgent, rough and desperate. 

You reach for him, gripping his shoulders as you kiss him back, the Void slipping away. There’s only the heat of his mouth, the rough scrape of his beard against your skin, the way his other hand tugs at your waist in an attempt to pull you closer. 

It’s messy and intense and you don’t want it to end. Logan kisses you like a man starved, like you’re his last breath of air. 

A whimper falls from your lips as he finally breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. You’re both breathless, his nose softly nudging yours. 

“Please come with us tomorrow,” you whisper against his skin. “Let me take you home.”

He nods once and that’s all you need. 

+++

The morning comes quicker than anyone would like. 

Nervous energy bleeds through the group, everyone knowing they’re on the precipice of life or death, that this may be the last day they ever inhale air into their lungs or feel the warmth of the sun on their skin.

Logan’s quiet, already tucking into Gambit’s liquor, as you sit down beside him. He looks down at you briefly, taking a long long pull before offering you the bottle. You take it from him and take a swig of your own, the amber liquid burning a path down your throat. 

“What are you thinking?” you ask, handing him back the bottle.

He stares down at his feet, swirling the liquid around in the glass. “I honestly don’t even fuckin’ know.”

You reach for his hand and give him a comforting squeeze. He stares down at you for a moment and then drags his gaze up to your face. “Whatever happens Logan, I’ll be right there with you.”

Final preparations complete, everyone piles into the van, you tucking alongside Logan in the hatchback. The ride is mostly quiet, punctuated only with the few occasional quips by Wade just to ease the tension. You brace yourself, gripping Logan’s calf as Blade sends a rocket launcher through Cassandra’s front gate and Elektra floors it through the explosion. 

The others leave the van first, forming a line of defense. You look up at Logan and lean forward to press the faintest of kisses against his lips. His fingers curl around your neck and pull you closer, deepening it just enough to taste your mouth. 

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, pulling back. “Stay by me.”

You swallow hard, loathe to let him go, wanting to stay in the perceived safety of the van, but you simply nod and follow him to join the others.

Fighting erupts all around you and you stick as close to Logan’s back as you can. It’s a symphony of chaos—rage, fear and determination all swirling heavily in the air. You feel your power thrum underneath your fingertips as you channel those emotions back towards whoever Logan is fighting, hoping to disarm them—even if temporarily—with their own vitriol in an attempt to give him an advantage. 

The air burns in your lungs as you move through the fight, your mind spinning as you gain distance towards Cassandra’s lair. You can see the others move around you—Elektra and Blade slicing down enemies with their blades; Gambit disarming others with his explosively charged playing cards; Laura fighting in a style all her own, yet so much like Logan’s; and Wade cutting down others like he’s having fun.

A clear path opens up to the ramp leading up to Cassandra and the others swarm behind you, allowing yourself, Wade and Logan to break free from the melee. Logan looks back at you just long enough for you to see the fear in his eyes. You try and remain stoic, even though your mind is racing with all he the ways this could go wrong, and give him a small nod of encouragement. 

You stop short in front of Cassandra as she sits sipping tea, seemingly disinterested in the battle happening just outside her stronghold. “You two escaping I could live with, but coming back willingly…” she trails off, “Boys are so silly.” Her eyes dart towards you. “And you brought a friend!”

“I just need to get home,” Wade says, his tone serious. 

“I’m afraid that’s not an option.”

Cassandra flicks Wade aside effortlessly and Logan’s instantly on alert, claws extended at his side. You attempt to direct your powers at her, trying to defuse the anger simmering below her surface. She rolls her neck and glances at you, intrigue in her eyes. 

“Oh, aren’t you interesting,” she says, effortlessly flicking your powers aside. “I wonder what treats you have hiding in that mind of yours.”

Cassandra steps closer to you, her calculating stare flicking over your face. She lifts one hand up to you and from behind her, Logan growls and moves to attack. You watch, powerless, as she pins Logan to the ground with his own claws. 

She tsks and looks down at him, “That’s enough out of you.”

And then, she’s in your mind, every nerve ending in your body on fire, ready to consume you whole. 

You’re standing in a library, Cassandra at your side. Shelves extend as far as the eye can see, fading into an infinite distance. You walk aimlessly along the shelves, pausing at the entrance of a room simply titled “Logan”. 

“Oh, now this is something,” you hear Cassandra say from beside you. “This is quite the collection you have.”

Your fingers reach out and touch the spines, the briefest flickers of memories emanating from their covers. “I’ve known him for so long,” you murmur. “Been with him through so much.”

You pause in front of one book, the urge to open it nearly overwhelming. Pulling it from the shelf, the pages flutter open and you gasp, the memories of that life flooding your brain. 

You and Logan were married in this life. He worked a simple job, construction. There were no X-men, no missions, no danger. He kept his mutation a secret, showing only you when the memories got too rough, too unmanageable. You were his anchor. You had two kids—girls. And oh, how he loved them. Both of them wrapped effortlessly around his heart from before they were even born.

Tears spring to your eyes as the warmth of those memories flood through you. “I loved that life,” you whisper, putting the book back on the shelf.

“And who wouldn’t?” Cassandra agrees, placing her hand on your shoulder. “So effortless his love for you. So different from now.”

You glance over at her, confusion drawn on your face. False empathy tugs at Cassandra’s sympathetic smile. “Are you even sure he cares for you now? This Logan is so broken, more broken and unloveable than all these other Logans, hm?”

Shaking your head, you try to resist her efforts to batter you, to convince you your soul’s purpose is not worth it. Not worth him. “That’s not true. They’re all worthy. All capable and deserving of love,” you say, your fingers trailing along another spine. “Even this one. Especially this one.”

Cassandra’s face contorts then and…

She’s wrenched from your mind and you fall to your knees, blinking up as you see Wade holding Cassandra from behind, one hand holding Jaggernaut’s helmet to her head. 

Your mind still spins as Logan and Wade confront her, their conversation a jumble in your mind. But you don’t miss her saying either they kill her, or she kills them. Finding the strength to stand, you rise and place your hand on Wade’s arm.

“If I stay,” you start, focusing only on Cassandra and ignoring the press of Logan’s gaze into your skin, “Will you let them go?”

Logan reaches for you and you pull your gaze from Cassandra long enough to press your palm against this chest. You meet his eyes, silently pleading with him to let you continue. 

“Will you?” you repeat, unable to keep the pleading out of your tone.

Cassandra laughs bitterly. “You love him that much? To sacrifice yourself to save him? That Logan, out of all of them?”

You nod, feeling the tears burn in your eyes. “I love him that much,” you reply softly.

Logan grabs your hand then, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t,” he chokes out, voice thick with unspoken emotion, “Don’t do this.”

You smile softly as you reach up and cup his cheek, his beard rough against your palm. You don’t miss the way he briefly nuzzles into your touch, eyes fluttering shut as he sighs. “I love you, Logan. In all my lives, in this one and in the next one, too.” The first tear slips down your cheek as you look up at him. “I promise I’ll find you again, Logan. I always do.”

You press a kiss to his mouth, soft and gentle. It lingers for a moment, a desperate, bittersweet exchange as Logan tries to memorize the feel of you. His hands grip your waist, clutching almost hard enough to bruise, but you relish the pain. 

Wade stands beside you both, uncharacteristically silent, his hands still holding Cassandra in place. His usual banter is gone, the weight of the moment not lost on him. “This is the worst fucking idea anyone has ever had,” he mutters, but his tone is soft. “And I’ve had some pretty terrible ideas.”

Cassandra regards you with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “If I let them go, you’ll stay here with me in the Void. Be my ally.”

You nod, “Yes.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrow, calculating, weighing her options. Finally she sighs, “Fine. But you know…no one will remember this little sacrifice of yours. The next Logan won’t even know you.”

Logan growls and you squeeze his hand in gentle reassurance. “It’s okay,” you whisper, your voice finally breaking. “I’ll remember enough for the both of us.”

You step away from Logan, your heart shattering with every step. Wade lets go of Cassandra and you feel the weight of your decision settle heavily against your shoulders. 

Cassandra pulls something from her pocket, slipping it onto her fingers. Before you, a portal opens up, just outside the boundaries of the room. Outside, the raging storm that is Alioth grows near and in that moment, you realize Cassandra was playing a game of her own.

“I figure,” she says, straightening the lapels of her jacket, “that they have approximately four seconds before they’re through.”

Your eyes flick to Logan and you memorize every detail, every emotion written across his face. With one final nod, he tears his gaze from you and he runs towards the portal, Wade alongside him.

And then, darkness consumes all.

+++

You’re unsure how long you’ve been out. The last thing you remember was Alioth screaming towards you, giving you barely enough time to cocoon yourself from his rage.

Cassandra is gone.

Wade is gone.

And Logan—Logan is gone.

You open your eyes and find Remy standing above you. He offers you his hand and helps you to stand. “C’mon, chère,” he says, nodding towards the open portal behind him, “Let’s go home.”

You’re not sure where home is any more, not without Logan, but you don’t have the strength to argue. From the moment you wound up here in the Void, you’ve been looking for a way out. Now that you have one, you know you need to take it. 

Accepting Remy’s hand, you join him through the portal.

You stumble into a familiar room and are greeted warmly by a smiling TVA agent. She’s unlike the first TVA agent you met, her presence comforting as she says your name. “We heard you’ve had quite the adventure.” She looks over towards Remy. “Mr. LeBeau, if you’ll follow this agent here.”

Remy leaves with he other agent, turning towards you with a wink. “Enjoy your man for me, yeah?”

Your heart flutters in your chest and you look towards the agent, trying to suppress the hope you feel in your chest. She smiles and rests a comforting hand on your shoulder. From her pocket she pulls out a small device, pressing a few buttons on the pad. Before you a different portal opens and she gestures towards it.

“Welcome home.”

+++

You stand in front of the apartment door and hesitate before knocking. Your nerves flutter uncomfortably in your belly even though it’s been less than two days since you last saw Logan in the Void. But you’re out now—you both are—and the fear nags at you that maybe this isn’t what he wants. That you aren’t what he wants. 

You stuff that thought down with a shake of your head. Raising your hand, you rap against the door three times and let out a shaky breath. When he opens the door, you feel as if the air has left your lungs and you forget to breathe. Your heart aches at the sight of him. 

Logan stops short, his face falling into one of pure disbelief and all he can do is stare at you.

“Is that my stripper?” you hear Wade call from farther into the apartment. Logan continues to stare at you as Wade pops up behind him, his face lighting up in surprise. “Oh, hey cupcake! Didn’t expect to—“

“Get out,” Logan growls, turning his head slightly in Wade’s direction, his eyes never leaving yours. 

From over Logan’s shoulder, Wade wiggles his eyebrows. “Ah, looking for some afternoon delight?” he coos, slinging his arm over Logan’s shoulder and patting his chest. “This guy has been jerkin’ it constan—“

You hear the sknit of Logan’s claws as they unsheathe into Wade’s thighs. “Ah, fuck! Fuck!” Wade curses. “You’re supposed to be penetrating her, not me!”

“Get. Out,” Logan repeats, retracting his claws. 

“Fine.” Wade pushes past Logan’s frame, limping slightly as his wounds heal themselves. “You’re lucky Blind Al’s already out playing Bingo. Or selling herself for blow. I don’t actually know her schedule,” he comments as he walks down the hallway. “Glad you’re home, cupcake.”

Logan barely waits until Wade is out of sight before tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling you towards him. Your gasp dies on your lips as he drags you inside, shutting the door with his foot and pushing you up against the rough wood. Then his mouth is on yours and it’s warm and wet and wonderful. 

His hands cup your face, fingers moving to tangle in your hair and you feel him everywhere. You whine as he nips lightly at your chin before trailing his lips back up your jaw, licking into your mouth as he kisses you deep. 

Your fingers scramble for purchase, fisting themselves into the fabric of his button-down flannel. 

There’s a desperation and urgency bleeding from him, as if he can’t drink you in fast enough, or hard enough, or long enough to satiate the longing that’s within him. And you’re feeling it too, an ache growing deeper in your belly, a need to be consumed by him fully and you whine into his mouth because he’s not nearly close enough to you.

A thigh slips between your legs as he kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat, a moan falling from your lips as you greedily seek friction. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Logan husks against your shoulder, pulling your hips harder against his clothed thigh. 

Your hands cup the sides of his face, your fingers scratching lightly against his beard. You force him to look at you, his pupils blown wide. “I always come to you,” you say softly. “I always come home.”

He kisses you softly then, his mouth slow over yours and he drops his thigh from between your leg. You whine at the loss and he pulls back. “C’mere,” he says, grabbing your hand and leading you further into he apartment. “I’m not fucking you for the first time against a door.”

You follow him to the bedroom, your chest heaving with ragged breaths and you can feel the prickle of anticipation along your spine as he turns back to look at you. His eyes never leave yours as he shrugs off the flannel and pulls his t-shirt over his head. Your eyes trace the lines of his chest, the strong definition of his muscles, following the line of hair that leads to the top of his jeans. As you bite your lip, you hear his chuckle, “My eyes are up here.”

“Mmm, yeah they are,” you start, tugging your shirt off and shimmying your pants over your hips, “but the view down there is nice, too.”

Logan reaches for you, his large hands skimming over your hips, over the flesh of your ass and under your thighs, lifting you up and forcing your to wrap your legs around his waist. With an easy flick of his fingers, he’s unclasped your bra and you toss it aside with the rest of your clothes. 

Kneeling on the bed, he lays you down, kissing his way down your stomach, his nose nuzzling along the top of your panties. “Do you have any fucking idea how sweet you smell?” His mouth is hot against your skin and he laughs as you tilt your hips up towards him. “You want me to fuck you with my tongue? Lap at you until you’re seeing stars?”

Molten desire shoots down your spine and you can feel the slick between your thighs. God, the mouth on him was going to be the death of you. 

You prop yourself up onto your elbows and look down at him. “Just fucking touch me already,” you whine, and you hate how desperate you sound. “Haven’t we waited long enough?”

He presses a wet, open mouthed kiss to your inner thigh before dragging his nose along the center of your clothed cunt. You inhale sharply as he kisses over your clit before trailing his fingers along your hip bones and pulling the fabric down. His warm hands palm along your thighs and he opens you up, staring down at you with hunger in his eyes. And then his mouth is on you, his tongue licking a hot stripe through your folds before sucking your clit into his mouth. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moan as his mouth continues to lap at you, pleasure tingling low in your belly and spreading through your limbs.

Logan hums. “Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted, sweetheart.” His tongue dips down, collecting the arousal at your entrance. “I could die happy between these thighs.”

You trail your hands down over your chest, briefly palming each breast before you continue down and sink your fingers into Logan’s hair. His groan rumbles through you and you don’t miss the way his hips start to rut against the mattress, seeking friction. 

His mouth and tongue continue to move over you, long, slow licks punctuated by gentle sucks and flicks over your clit and you can’t stop the grind of your hips against his face. You feel his smirk against you as one thick finger finally sinks inside your walls, nudging that spot deep inside that makes you squirm.

Another finger slips inside you and a low whine spills from your lips. 

“You’re beautiful like this, you know that,” he says, voice rough, thumb replacing his tongue against your clit as his fingers continue pumping. “All blissed out and needy and desperate to come on my fingers.”

His words zip through you as he fuck you with his hand and you bite your lip. “C’mon,” he purrs, “let me hear all those pretty sounds you make.”

Soft whimpers spill from your throat as he continues to work you, that pull in your lower belly growing stronger and stronger. His hand never stilling, he kisses his way up your body, pulling a nipple into his mouth and then you’re coming, cunt clenching around his fingers. 

Logan licks into your mouth to steal your cries as he continues to work you through your orgasm. Your thighs clamp around his forearm, the pleasure overwhelming. 

He finally stills, pulling his fingers from you and you whimper at the loss. You watch through half lidded eyes as he licks his fingers clean of your slick and you feel that flame reignite in your belly. 

“Take your pants off,” you demand, breathless, pushing at his chest. 

Logan laughs, but allows you to push him onto his back. “You always so bossy after you come?”

You fumble at his belt, undoing his buckle and unzipping his jeans before shoving them down his hips. “Make me do it again and find out,” you taunt as his cock springs free.

He kicks his pants the rest of the way off and you sit back on your heels and admire him for a moment. Your eyes trail from his broad shoulders, down the contours of his chest and follow that line of hair down his stomach to between his thighs, where his cock stands, thick and ready. 

“I will never get tired of looking at you,” you sigh, raking your nails down his thighs, deliberately not touching him where you know he wants it the most. “You’re so beautiful, Logan.”

Whatever response he has, dies in his throat as you finally wrap your hand around his cock, giving him one long, firm stroke. He’s hot and heavy and you’re aching to feel him inside you. But not yet. Leaning down, your eyes meet his and you trace your tongue along the underside of his cock, tasting the salt on his skin.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Logan curses, unable to stop the thrust of his hips, chasing your mouth. 

You wrap your lips around the head, swirling your tongue over the slit and collecting the precum there before taking as much of him in your mouth as you can. Logan hisses through his teeth, fingers winding their way into your hair to help guide your movements. 

“You’re so warm and wet, sweetheart,” he groans. “But I don’t want to come in your mouth.”

You give him one last stroke as you release him from your mouth and climb up to sit on his thighs. Logan pulls you forward by your hips and you gasp as your cunt slides across his cock. 

“Line me up,” he instructs and you obey without hesitation. 

Gripping him in your hand, you guide him to your entrance, notching him inside before slowly sinking down atop him. A sob chokes in your throat at the thick feel of him inside you, stretching you, making you feel complete. Your entire existence boils down to where he’s joined with you and you relish the burn.

His hands are everywhere as you start to move, caressing your thighs, your hips, up to your breasts and back down, tracing a map on your skin only his fingers can read. Praise falls from his lips in an almost nonstop litany, telling you how wet you are, how tight, how warm, how good you’re making him feel.

“Do you want to know how you make me feel?” you ask, breathless. You look down at him through half lidded eyes and find him just as flushed and wanton as you. “How you’ve always made me feel?”

You continue to rock back and forth on his cock, slow, deliberate movements that leave you wanting, needing more. Logan shifts his hips and finds the leverage to fuck up into you, the deep drag of his cock against your walls making you throw your head back and moan. 

“Fuck,” he growls, his fingers sinking deeper into the flesh of your hips, pulling you somehow impossibly closer. “Show me, sweetheart.” 

You brace your hands against his chest, raking your fingers through the damp hair there, feeling his heart beat beneath your palms. Leaning down, you capture his mouth with yours, the kiss sloppy as he continues to thrust up into you. You move your hands up his neck, your fingers collecting the sweat along his jaw and then, “Feel, Logan.”

It starts slow, an almost faint heat spreading from your fingertips as they ghost over his skin, your power beginning to pulse in time with your heartbeat. Logan gasps and his rhythm falters as the first wave of emotion hits him. You slow, too, your hips barely moving as you run your fingers down from his jaw, over the column of his throat and back to his chest. 

Your palms rest against his ribs as you continue to pour into him all the love and passion he’s ever shown you over centuries. Logan stares up at you in reverence, his face soft as he runs his hands up your sides, over your breasts. He tugs you down towards him, his mouth hovering over yours.

“Do you feel, Logan,” you ask, your breath hot against his lips. “Do you feel how much you love you have in you?”

He draws your bottom lip into his mouth, biting softly once, before capturing your mouth fully, kissing you deep. You hum as his tongue swipes against yours and his fingers tangle in your hair. 

A gasp pulls from your throat as Logan wraps his arms around you and flips your position, forcing your legs around his waist as he begins to thrust into you again in earnest. You feel him deep in this position, each thrust of his cock against your walls hitting that perfect spot inside of you. 

“It’s too much,” he groans into your skin. “Never…never felt like this.”

You rake your nails along his back, relishing in the growl that falls from this throat. “It always feels like this,” you gasp, drawing your power back. 

His arms slide under your shoulders, anchoring you in place as his hips continue to thrust into you. It’s lewd almost, the slapping of skin against skin and the wet noises from where you’re joined. His breath is hot and damp against your skin where his mouth hovers over the pulse point in your neck. 

Your fingers snake into the short strands of hair at the back of his neck and your other hand slips in between your bodies, reaching for your clit. 

“That’s it,” he moans, “use those fingers to get yourself off on my cock.”

You can feel where he’s sliding thickly into your cunt, the wiry hairs at the base of his cock damp with your arousal, and you begin to rub in time with his thrusts. Pleasure zips along your spine, every cell in your body afire at his touch. You feel that telltale tug low in your belly and you know you’re not going to last much longer. 

He slides his hands down from your shoulders, following the curve of your spine, forcing you to arch your back. Taking the opportunity before him, he swirls his tongue over one nipple, then the other as he palms the flesh of your hips in his hands, angling your hips further up into his. A keening whine falls from your lips as he somehow thrusts deeper into you, making your legs shake. 

Logan nudges your hand away from your clit, replacing your fingers with his own as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. His eyes are focused on the sight of his cock thrusting into you and the slick smeared across your thighs. 

“Logan,” you gasp, “I’m so close.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he rasps, dragging his gaze up to your face, “I got you. Takin’ me so well, so tight. Gonna spend the rest of my life tellin’ you how fucking good you are.”

His words tip you over the edge, your orgasm rolling through you as you spasm down on his cock, his name falling from your lips. He fucks you through your orgasm, each thrust of his hips sending aftershocks of pleasure along your limbs as he chases his own release. Logan’s thrusts grow erratic and you reach for him, grasping at his forearms, pulling him down to you. 

“Come for me, Logan,” you murmur in his ear. “I wanna feel you come.”

With one final thrust, he comes with a groan, forehead pressed against yours as he spills himself deep within you. You can feel cock spasm as he lazily thrusts through his orgasm, using your body to wring out the last of his pleasure. You hold him close, pressing open mouthed kisses to his jaw as he finally stills within you. 

Careful not to crush you, Logan pulls you to him as he rolls onto his side. He doesn’t pull out, tugging your leg over his hip to keep you close and full. 

You smile up at him, brushing the damp hair away from his forehead. He sighs at your touch, a content sound that tugs at your heart. 

“You really love me in every universe?” he asks softly, brushing his nose against yours. 

“Yes.”

“Even this one?”

“Especially this one.” 

You don’t know what the rest of this life holds, but you do know one thing—wherever he goes, you’ll be right there with him. 

[sugawarassoulmate]

bad boy! akiteru fucking reader on top of the hood of keis car

ooooh i am Unwell about this sksksk

words: 631

cw: fem!reader, unprotected sex, public sex, dubious consent, coercion (kinda?), secret relationship, minors dni

if the two of you don't make it home soon, kei is going to wonder where you are.

"aki, aki someone's gonna see," there were so many emotions swirling your brain. the fear of being caught, the guilt from doing this on kei's car, and the pleasure from akiteru taking you in public.

akiteru had only intended on taking his little brother's car to be serviced thinking it would only take a few hours.

but when you decided to tag along, akiteru didn't know how long he could keep his hands off you.

"nobody comes here, baby, it's okay," he purposely drove to a secluded area a few miles off the main road. you had worn a cute outfit today and were yapping your head off about something during the drive—akiteru had to get his cock in you.

as soon as the coast was clear, he pinned you to the hood of the car and flipped your skirt up before pushing your panties to the side. akiteru would love nothing more to shove his tongue inside your cunt but you were already uneasy on the idea of fucking out in the open.

but once his cock was inside you, most of those fears seemed to subside.

you gasped from the painful stretch of akiteru's cock sinking into your warmth. to distract you, he latched onto your breast, wrapping his tongue around your pert nipple.

he can feel you tighten around him, a smug grin growing on his face when he realizes you're about to cum already. "you're so sensitive today, baby. you wanted me to fuck you, huh?" he says in between suckles, making a mess of your chest.

akiteru feels a surge of pride when you nod. "bet you only joined me on this errand hoping you'd get dick. that's all you really care about. go ahead and cum for me, baby, i'll just make you do it again."

any reservations you had about doing this on kei's car, let alone out in public were gone when you had your release, fingers curling into the fabric of akiteru's shirt and wailing into his chest.

he only gives you a few moments to gather your bearings before fucking you again, causing your legs to tremble. "aki—fuck—gimme a sec," you cry, not sure if your cunt could take more.

"no, baby, i need you to cum again and then i'm gonna dump you full of my cum 'til it's spilling out of you, okay?"

you tried to argue, complaining that it was already too much but akiteru shut you up with a hard thrust. "mmm, we don't want to keep kei waiting anymore? he'll get suspicious," akiteru coos, leaning in for a deep kiss. "lemme have my way with you, honey, it'll feel so good."

it's hard to deny akiteru anything when he looks at you with those warm, brown eyes.

"what took so long?" kei groaned as soon and you and his brother walked through the front door, taking the keys from akiteru's grasp.

he doesn't notice you practically leaning on akiteru for support, focusing his attention on his new car. "the mechanic wanted to be thorough," akiteru explains, sneaking a glance at you.

"well thanks for taking it, i guess. i had a lot of studying," kei said with an eyeroll. "why did it take so long to get back?"

he stares at you, eyebrows quirking at your cross legged stance—completely unaware that you were internally begging that akiteru's cum wouldn't run down your leg.

"traffic," you answer too quickly but kei seems to accept it.

as kei leaves to inspect his car, akiteru takes the opportunity to sneak you to his room under the guise of you looking like you "really need to lay down."

©sugawarassoulmate 2024 all rights reserved - please do not repost/translate my work on other platforms!

[lilaceatingsnow]

What if the fae boys go into heat unexpectedly and the reader is the only one that can help their problem?

╰┈➤ ❝ [Heat] ❞ 【Headcanons】

Summary ► characters get into heat! how do they get help with it?

About Reader ► AFAB, people use they/them to refer to you.

Warnings ► smut, receiving oral, period sex I think, fingering, author never wrote about heat

Characters Featured ► Malleus Draconia, Lilia Vanrouge

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

NOT PROOFREAD.

Malleus Draconia ►

it was early in the morning when you got a text from THEE Malleus Draconia. asking you to come and meet him up for something in his dorm room.

“Child of Man. I need you to come immediately to my room. it is an emergency.”

naturally, you were concerned about the matter in your hands early in the morning. so you rush out of Ramshackle to meet up with the dragon Prince asap.

once you reach Disomnia, you immediately run to Malleus' room and knock on the door to his room before he allows you in.

“Malleus, I got your message! What's the matter!?”

“....I've gotten into heat. I need your assistance with that.”

this caught you off guard, but you didn't complain, no. who would complain when a dragon Prince is begging you for help.

“Of course, I'll gladly help you out!”

the dragon Prince smirks and gives you a come here gesture with his finger, which you immediately obey and come over.

“Strip for me, my dear.”

the tone of his voice melts in your ears at how soft it was. his words and tone make you want to obey his every word, and so you strip off your clothes as you look away from shyness.

he grabs your hand and pulls you in his bed as he begins to shower you in kisses on your whole body.

whole body means pussy included. and so he loves the smell of your arousal. dear Sevens, it's such a sweet and addicting smell for him addicting enough for him to eat you out.

his forked tongue teasing your clit had you seeing above and beyond. it was such an addicting feeling that couldn't help, but grab his horns as you ride his face.

he didn't mind that you wrote his face, no no, he was so happy as he got to eat, lick and suck you of your juices.

his tongue did wonders and tried to reach such levels that no normal human would. it was an amazing feeling to feel him eat you like a starved man, like you were his last meal.

his hand was groping your chest for the sake of keeping his hand occupied as well as kneeding your ass gently.

your orgasm didn't take too long to happen, thanks to his tongue teasing your clit so much. though he doesn't give you the chance to let out your orgasm, he backs away halfway there.

you whine, and he laughs at you for the state he brought you through.

“Forgive me, Yuu, but I am far from done, and that means you too are far from done.”

Lilia Vanrouge ►

it's that time of the month when the smell of blood is around and a vampire such as Lilia could smell it around.

and who else other than you would have a smell such as that? the smell of your cycle was strong enough for Lilia to go into heat.

he needed to feast, breed. he needed to do so much with little time. and he makes sure not to waste any time by asking you to meet up in his room.

having to deal with a raging boner during school hours was impossibly hard for him, but he made it through out and that's what matters.

upon meeting him, Lilia apologized for his behaviour and, of course, asked you for permission to do as he wished. when you gave him permission, he was so happy to have a mutual understanding.

he immediately pins you down and bites your neck to suck some of your blood. his eyes rolled all the way back at the taste of your blood. he almost nutted right then and there.

he knew that cycles were a pain, and so he decided to ease that pain by teasing you. while he drinks your blood, his hand is in your pants, drawing gentle tight circles on your clit, making sure it was enough to distract you from your cramps such a nice gentleman.

not only was his thumb glued to your clit, but his fingers were inside you, taking the pain off for your mind.

he's an old man who knew how to treat you so well.

he makes sure to be very gentle with you.

A/N ► sorry that Lilia's part was short, he's like a grandpa figure for me so idrk how to write for him— also this is like the first fic I write after my surgery and it being smut is WILD. hope you enjoyed it tho :33

[adoregojo]

secret admirer.

hihihihihihihihi, i cannot believe i actually slept for two days in a row? wth? and also that i never did this kind of posts? im such a lazy bum mb yall, I promise I'll write a real fic soon. summary: bllk characters as your secret admirers: isagi, bachira, chigiri, reo. how they fell, what do they do, how did they confess.

isagi.y

him. just him.

you once held his shirt collar to stop him from planting flatly on the floor.

and when you walked away, you walked with his heart in your palms.

yea, just like that

but honestly, isagi himself didn't knew he was such a big sap inside

and the moment he realised you two shared a few classes was the second he almost kneeled and thanked the sky itself for this.

an absolute swoon from looking at your side profile.

he once was long gone within the abyss of daydreaming about you, he genuinely just couldn't look away.

then got called out by the teacher for being too distracted.

definitely prayed that you didn't see that.

writes your name unintentionally in his notebook.

gets so embarrassed about it later and rips the paper.

still dose it again the next day and almost ripped the whole book apart form cringing at himself.

he once was musing over you too much to the point that your name slipped out unwittingly on the dinner table.

his parents couldn't stop teasing him about it, wondering when they would see you walking down their house door.

leaves love notes in your locker almost everyday.

it's something short and simple like: "you look pretty today."

then when he goes home he'll realize how dumb that was because you literally look the prettiest everyday.

dumb, dumby.

takes time to make the first move though.

he just feels like you're way, farther away from his reach.

it's okay, he still considers himself lucky to be one of those who got admire you.

he just hoped you saw him behind all of them, even if it was a glance.

chigiri.h

omgg pretty boyyy

despite chigiri being a confident and self-reliant, the trigger words of his old injury was like a pulling a pin of a grenade to his still-raw sorrowness. something that'll always haunt him.

and what dose he dare to say when they were nothing but truthful? like a salt to his wounds, he tends to just take it and suck it up, or at least try to ignore it for his sake.

but everything flipped when you stood up for him.

from that moment on. chigiri knew that he was far a goner.

out of everyone here he's definitely the most romantic one.

reads all your favourite books and analysis it.

probably named a cat after you.

like isagi he writes love letters for you.

just a little too poetic..

it it's short then it's something like: "loving you is like breathing." or "i hope your days are filled with the same joy you give me with your existence only."

but mostly is: "my definition of love, i see the true meaning of living behind your hue of life. you shall lighten my soul with your existence alone, i was born to see you shin each day, witnessing you is a blessing from heaven itself. the day that i stop seeing you as the owner of the stars is the day my body shall vanish, yet my soul will know it way back to you. from your only and one your admirer."

what a lovesick clown.

he might be a smooth talker on the outside, but trust me the butterflies of sentimental keeps on swirling in his stomach on the sight of you.

told his mother and sister about you.

it was his biggest regrets.

because the next day his sister shouted your name in a demand for you to spend the night for the 'meeting of the future in law'.

he had to physically drag her back to the car, freaking embarrassing.

couldn't meet your eyes for a while after that.

wants to hold your hand.

like, really badly.

it's just that feeling your skin against his cold, pristine hands must've feel like the loveliest, cosiest thing.

the thoughts alone are making him go crazy.

he confessed first, just couldn't help himself.

he just hoped if you would go to the end of the world alongside with him.

bachira.m

the sunshine boy himself.

the definition of fell first AND fell harder.

it all started when the class was ordered to work as duo for a project, something he always despised.

you may say that because bachira was definitely not having the word 'smart' in his book, you'd be right actually.

but mainly since no one really wanted to group up with him.

it was embarrassing, to just sit there and wait to be picked was putting him under the lights that pointed him out as the most pitiful creature in the room.

then you pocked him on the shoulder, and asked him if he wanted to be your partner.

and when he didn't see the sarcasm reeking from you, he knew he tripped hard, and couldn't find it anywhere in his feet to back him up.

it was strange, bachira never had a company, let alone a crush.

but the signs were there, and were painfully vulnerable.

painted you in art class multiple times; you with a smile, you reading a book, you sniffing a sunflower.

maybe also you and him... holding hands or hugging...

stares at your face a way, way too long.

he tells himself it's to crave your features better and detailed.

even he doesn't believe that however.

he draws your eyes a lot.

his second favourite colour is your eyes hue.

he was never the best at writing romantic poems, and his hand writing is just........

so he insisted gets you a gift!

which is a rock.

yes you heard me, rock.

he would even paint a little face with a smile on it and leave it on your desk by the end of the day.

almost went bald from joy when you had it hanging as a small march on your bag.

and when you had a bad day, that goes unnoticed by him.

so imagine your surprise when you would find two pairs of rocks, one kissing the other who had a sad expression on it face.

that somehow that foster a blissful smile on your face. like that little action extinct any remains of the past negative you carried.

and bachira was more than happy to be the reason for your happiness.

definitely rambles about you to his mom.

and his monster.

he once ha a dream about you two smooching.

cried when he woke up because he wanted it to be real more than anything.

you two confessed first, at the same time.

and boy was he dancing on cloud nine at it.

he almost smooch you that moment and then.

reo.m

it's mister perfect everyone, cheer.

you fell first, he fell harder.

no, literally. you fell. tripped flat on the floor.

and somehow, that made the reo mikage heart move.

?????????

love at first (fall??) sight.

he definitely leaves a trail of gifts for you everywhere.

your chair, desk, locker, bag.

he switches between chocolate and flowers to letters and perfumes, necklaces, etc..

you say how he picked them?

easy, see something that reminds him of you, he buys.

and it's pretty foolish since he sees you in almost everything.

reo is convinced that you're within everything that shins beautifully.

he actually paid the teachers to let him be in the same classroom as you.

paid even more to get a seat next to you.

rip to whoever was sitting next to you.

he once heard that a guy was bothering you.

the next day the guy was the talking of school because he suddenly moved out of town due to his dad losing his job.

hm, must be karma then.

has a shrine of you.

but you didn't hear that from me.

talks about you none stop to nagi and ba-ya.

genuinely sobbed when he imagined you with someone else.

has a flight under your name.

made a makeshift doll of you so he can practice his confessions on.

had a mental breakdown of the idea of you rejecting him.

reo can the most horrible, miserable day to a human kind to live.

then he sees you smiling

BOOM

he's all happy and smiling again, also a little giddy.

you once greeted him good morning, the next day he was planing what ring would suit you the most.

had two planes to write on the sky: 'will you go out with me?' and your name next to it in a shade of a heart.

now, you definitely cannot reject that. (Please don't)

have a nice day everyone.

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - nsfw, LOTS of fingering, overstimulation, gojo being mean, geto being touchy, and threesomes.

thinkin' about gojo and geto and their big, stupid hands today.

gojo's never missed a manicure. his nails are a pretty pale pink color and filed to perfection (plus the occasional layer of clear topcoat, if he knew he won't have a mission for a while). his fingers are thin and long enough to hit the back of your throat when he shoves them sloppily past your lips 'cause he got distracted while you were talking about your day. thanks to his infinity, he doesn't have any prominent scars, and i just know he's got a closet full of those scented, expensive moisturizers. it's clearly more than any one person could ever use, but he's still gonna ask for a kiss in exchange if you ever ask to borrow one.

geto, on the other hand, is a little rougher around the edges. his fingers are short (compared to gojo's, at least), blunt, and so thick that you'll struggle to take more than two no matter how many times you've already come undone on his tongue. his palms are scarred and calloused from so many years of handling curses, and he likes to keep a hand either on your thigh or cupping the nape of your neck, his thumb idly rubbing circles into the tender patch above your spine. he's contact heavy - prone to squishing your cheeks or squeezing your ass whenever his mind starts to wonder and he needs something to do with his hands. you can scold him for it, but it don't keep him away for very long. he can't keep his hands off of you, and you're going to have the bruises to prove it.

gojo likes to keep his long, pretty fingers wrapped around your neck, keeping you pinned to his chest while four of geto's thick, calloused digits bully your poor hole, his tongue occasionally peeking out to lap up your excess arousal. he's just a little too harsh with you, each flick and twist of his wrist brutal and sudden, and gojo mocks your little, pitiful, pitchy noises. when you try to shut yourself up, all he has to do is pry your mouth open and slot his thumb against your tongue, maybe stealing a kiss or two while you struggle to whimper and moan. his middle and ring fingers circle around your stiff nipples, occasionally pinching and pulling just to see your back arch and feel your body squirm against his. geto's free hand is clamped stiffly over your hip, keeping you immobile as his pace picks up and his rough fingers curl inside of you, as he brushes against something soft and sensitize inside of you and oh, now you're cumming around his fingers, gojo's grin growing that much wider as you moan unabashedly into his hand, his mouth. you only get a second to breathe before they switch places, gojo's finger soon splitting you open while geto's are thrust into your mouth - forcing you to taste yourself on his skin.

they'll keep going until you pass out, but don't worry. you're in very good hands <3

[pathologicalreid]

fluorescent | S.R.

in which spencer rambles about rocks and you get distracted

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: fluff

request: yes!

@midnight--raine: could i please have a spence x female!reader where one day they're having a conversation and obviously he starts rambling about some facts or something and the reader kinda zones out while he's talking because shes so focused on the way he gets so passionate about what he's talking about and suddenly she's staring at his lips and is overcome with a POWERFUL urge to kiss the life outta him.

content warnings: kissing, concussion, that's it, this is really just fluffy.

word count: 758

a/n: thank you for the request! i hope to update my pinned post to mention requests soon. I hope you enjoy!

“It’s actually really interesting to see if you ever get the chance,” Spencer told you from his chair. “It’s been discovered that over five hundred minerals fluoresce when they’re exposed to ultraviolet light.”

Both you and Spencer had been left out of the takedown of the unsub. Him because he was still using a cane to get around and you because you were recovering from a concussion, and Hotch didn’t believe you when you said you were fine. Typical.

You sighed and hoisted yourself up so you were sitting on the edge of a desk in the local police station, tilting your head to the side while you watched Spencer talk about rocks. All you had done was ask him if he knew what his birthstone was, and you completely lost him while he started rambling about fluorescent minerals.

It was one of those connections between topics that you’d have to be inside Spencer’s head to fully understand how he had gotten from point A to point B.

It was endearing, the way he got so passionate about things. He didn’t even have a degree in geology, and yet he knew so much about minerals like fluorite and calcite. It wasn’t even what he was saying to you found so captivating, it was how he was saying it.

Spencer had a tendency to speak with his hands, the bigger the movements, the more excited he was to be telling someone about the subject. So, if he was nearly knocking things over with enthusiasm, who were you to interrupt him?

Suddenly, his hands stilled, and your eyes flicked up to meet his. “Y/N, are you okay? Is it your head?” He asked leaning ever so slightly closer to you, as if you were two children sharing a secret.

Your face burned as your skin flushed, but Spencer didn’t seem to notice. “I’m alright, Spence. What were you saying about the color?” You urged him to keep going, keeping your question vague enough so that he wouldn’t be able to tell you had gotten so distracted by his ardor.

He pursed his lips for a moment before they parted again, “common opal doesn’t have any iridescence. Most fluorescent common opal is considered amorphous.” He told you, quickly jumping back into his topic of choice.

Smiling, you watched him talk as the words started to float over your head again. Specifically, you watched the way his lips moved as he shared the information with you. Sometimes, he stumbled over his words because his mind was moving faster than his mouth could. You felt honored every time he shared a part of his brain with you.

The fact was, Spencer Reid has pretty lips. They were a pretty pink color, the kind of color that people wanted as lipstick but could never find an exact duplicate of. They were soft. At least, they looked soft.

You couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss him. Spencer never talked about relationships as openly as the rest of the team, especially not the way Morgan did. Very quickly, you realized you had no idea how he would react if you kissed him. Would he pull away? Would he push you away? Would he kiss back?

Spencer was still talking about opals when you moved closer to him, set your hands on his shoulders, and pressed your lips to his.

A soft, surprised noise came from the back of his throat before he kissed you back. He reached his hands up, so they were resting on your waist, no higher and no lower.

It was no small victory that you discovered his lips were as soft as you thought they were. Under your hands, you felt that his heart was pounding as hard as yours was. His lips parted slightly under yours and he pulled you closer to him.

A small crash caused you to jump away from where he was sitting, in your peripheral vision, you could see that his cane had fallen to the ground. For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, wide-eyed and still trying to catch your breath. “Thank you,” he breathed, not taking his eyes off of yours.

“I- For what?” You asked, appalled at the fact that you had done something so brazen, potentially ruining one of your closest friendships. 

You crouched down and picked up his cane, as you handed it to him, he elected to answer your question, “No one’s ever asked me to shut up so nicely before.”

[hivemuthur]

Can u request something with modern au with viktor where there’s an established relationship between reader and him and readers an artist? You can write whatever you want whether it’s dating hcs , fluff, nsfw !!

Dear Anon, I took the liberty and added a small, but significant detail to this request - the Reader is visually impaired. It is not implied why, as it wasn't relevant to the one shot, but you can imagine their vision to be compromised to the point of having to use a walking cane and being able to only recognize shapes/shadows. The picture for it is Hephaestus, as he is the godly representation of Viktor for me, just read about him. Having said that, here is: Hand of the Beholder

viktorxgn!reader mature! some suggestive content, Reader has a sight disability, Viktor is their muse :') A small fic, in which Viktor discovers that softness feels nice.

edit/author's note: I treat Elliott as a gn name in general (I might be wrong, but well). And Bono the dog's name - it's a reference to a pin Sinead O'Connor was wearing during one of her interviews after she had met Bono. It said Bono in short legs shock! and I think it's hilarious :)

word count: 3,3K

—

A loud thump, followed by the clatter of something wooden on the pavement. Then, “Are you blind?”—a voice exclaimed with utter irritation, one very familiar to you—followed by a gasp. You always loved that part.

“Partially. Getting there,” you replied, flashing a sweet smile in the direction of the voice. Kill them with kindness—that was the usual strategy.

What was odd was that the voice—and the vague shape you assumed was its owner—didn’t move from the spot where your clumsy dog had knocked them. Either you’d made an astonishing first impression, or they were too stunned to move.

“Forgive me, I—I am usually less… rude.”

“That’s alright, no need to beg for forgiveness on your knees,” you said, offering a more genuine smile. “I’m sorry about Bono; he’s a bit awkward in crowds.”

“This is embarrassing, but I might need your help getting up,” the voice admitted, followed by an awkward chuckle.

Once he accepted your hand and scrambled to his feet, he kept hold of your palm just long enough to give it a quick shake. “Thank you. I’m Viktor.”

You almost introduced yourself when your friend Elliott emerged from whatever pound shop she had left you in front of. “Oh God, this dog! He’s going to get you killed one day,” she huffed, grabbing the leash from your hand.

“Bono. So… are you a U2 fan?” Viktor asked. Smooth, Viktor. Very smooth. He felt his face twist in cringe but decided to own it, smoothing his clothes with his hands to distract himself.

“Ah, definitely not. But I’ve been told he has short legs, so there it is,” you replied with a chuckle, crouching to give Bono a pet and a treat. The dog licked your face in return, and you groaned in mock offense.

“Alright, is everyone fine? Can we get moving?” Elliott pressed, clearly eager to move on. Her ‘just a second’ stop had already turned into twenty minutes of snooping through junk.

Viktor, utterly confused, felt words pushing their way out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Or, I could buy you a coffee? For the inconvenience? If… you’re not busy?” His voice rose slightly with each question, and again, he decided to own it by gulping down on this weird lump in his mouth and producing a smile.

“I feel like I should be the one buying you a coffee, Viktor. But yes, sure,” you replied casually, though truthfully, you just wanted to hear that warm, accented voice for a little longer.

Later, at the café, Viktor found himself absolutely baffled by your bluntness and the merciless jokes you’d thrown in his direction. He wondered where the hell his sass had gone. His legs were continuously bumped by Bono, who had clearly taken a liking to him and wouldn’t stop drooling onto his lap. When Viktor tried to joke about service dogs, usually more collected, he learned that Bono was, in fact, just a dog, and his only service was being a good boy.

Everything about this was so surreal and unlikely that his curious mind wouldn’t let him not ask you out again.

And this was how you met, two years ago, give or take. Two three-legged creatures connected by another, four-legged one, whose short legs seemed to give him matchmaking superpowers.

What had been the strangest feeling in the world for Viktor was being seen in a way he had never been seen before. Without a single question about his looks, without prying touches or purposeful exploration, you had managed to put together all the pieces that made him who he was. And suddenly, his cane didn’t matter, the way others looked at him didn’t matter. What mattered was the warmth of his hands, the tone of his voice, the feeling of soft jumpers, and his mind—the most brilliant thing you’d ever had the pleasure to explore.

And Bono got so many treats for it, his legs seemed even shorter as he grew fatter.

Which is why Viktor agreed to do something that, ordinarily, he would nervously laugh off before fleeing the country. His wobbly legs carried him to the sculpture workshop, late enough for it to be private and unoccupied.

Seeing you setting up the materials around an inconspicuous clay figure, he walked up to you from behind and draped himself over your back, his arms cradling your shoulders, palms connected at your sternum. You could feel his heart thundering against your spine and asked, “Are you nervous?”

“A little,” he murmured, pressing his nose into the crook of your neck. “Is this me?”

“Not yet, for now it’s a dummy. Though, the frame was constructed to depict your figure,” you said quietly, placing your palm over his hands, your head leaning back to place a kiss on his temple. You could feel his scent filling your nose­—clothes that are just clean and a faint smell of shampoo lingering in his hair.

“Is it empty inside?” he asked, and you only nodded, brushing your nose against his cheek.

“Hmm, philosophically ironic, don’t you think?”

“Love, if I were to sculpt your liver, I doubt this experiment would prove useful,” you chuckled, hearing Viktor let out a bemused huff. “Besides, it would be very heavy.”

“Pity. I’m sure my liver is magnificent,” Viktor tried to deflect, but his breath betrayed him. The room was unbelievably warm, and he could feel his hands starting to sweat.

“And where do you want me?”

“Right beside me. We’ll do a lying pose, with your hands on your chest. I’ll show you, roughly,” you said, your own nervousness beginning to grow as you realised this was probably far more intimate than anything you’d experienced together before. Suddenly, all the sex you’d had in strange places didn’t seem so insane.

After a short presentation and a couple of awkward chuckles, Viktor splayed himself on the couch beside you, while you sat down by the worktable. You needed to mark the key points of his body to keep the proportions intact, so the first obvious choice was his face.

You placed your hand on his cheek, and he hummed softly, relaxing into your touch. Your fingers traced the structure of his bones, his nose, eyelids, the curve of his mouth, assessing the distance between them with one hand and marking them on the dummy with the other. You couldn’t help yourself and exclaimed, “Oh Viktor, you are so beautiful! All this time and I had no idea.”

Viktor let out an uninhibited cackle and playfully bit your fingers. “There it is—superficial vanity. And here I was, hoping someone would finally love me for more than my looks,” he said in mock offence, making you bite your lower lip to stifle a laugh.

“Of course I do. But at least now I can say things like, ‘Thank God you’re pretty,’” you grinned at him mercilessly, and he laughed again. When the laughter faded into a comfortable silence, you took a deep breath and made sure once more. “Are you absolutely confident you’re up for this?”

“Positive,” he said firmly. “Should I—?” The unfinished question was answered by his hand landing on his shirt, pinching it expectantly—a force of habit stronger when his nerves showed.

“Just the torso for now. It’ll take a couple of sessions, I think. And after that, who knows? Maybe you’ll abandon me and become a world-famous model,” you mused, attempting to hide your own anxiety.

Viktor only huffed in response and obediently slid his shirt off. Taking your palm, he placed it flat against his chest. “For some reason, I feel very close to a heart attack, but I have a feeling you do too,” he said gently, the brave honesty in his voice completely disarming you.

You exhaled softly, leaning in to kiss him on the lips—a lingering, delicate gesture meant to reassure rather than ignite. “Thank you,” you murmured against his mouth, your voice warm and sincere. “Remember, we can stop at any moment. Just say the word.”

Viktor nodded, though words seemed to escape him now. His eyes followed your every move as you shifted closer, warming your palms by rubbing them against each other. You began your work, one hand ghosting over the sharp line of his jaw, the other placed on the dummy to mirror his shape.

Your touch was deliberate, slow, and almost reverent. Your fingers started at the hinge of his jaw, ghosting over the texture of his skin. Most of it was smooth, with the tiniest bit of grain, like a piece of glass worked by the sea over the years. You paused, mapping the angle where his jaw met his neck—the hardness of bone giving way to the flexible tendon beneath. You tapped on it delicately to test the bounce of his muscle—here his skin was silky, and firm and you could smell the faint scent of cream he applied after shaving. You gave it one more lingering touch, before moving to the earlobe, tracing it with your thumb, your fingers brushing against his hairline. Viktor let out a breathy exhale, and you smiled under your nose.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Mmm, you have no idea,” he hummed, placing his palm over yours instinctively. His hands were warm, and you could feel the heat radiating off his cheek onto your wrist.

You slid your hand toward the hollow beneath his cheekbone, pausing on the beauty mark under his eye to mark it on the dummy. It had a faint rise over the rest of his face, and you did your best to depict it’s shape. You could feel his cheek rising in a smile.

Moving to the slight curve of his lips, your fingertips lingered there for a moment longer than necessary. You pressed on the plushness of his mouth and felt Viktor leaning into your touch, his hot breath fanning your skin. Your finger trembled, when you found the tiny bump crowning his upper lip and Viktor pouted slightly, as if leaving a peck against your skin.

“Your bone structure is ridiculous,” you murmured absently, your voice hushed as though you were speaking to yourself, your fingers still pressed where they were.

Viktor’s throat worked as he swallowed, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm he was no longer in control of. “Ridiculous good or ridiculous bad?” he asked, his tone half-teasing, though the rasp in his voice betrayed how affected he was. You could feel the movement of his lips under your hand and a hot breath coming out, warming you up.

“Ridiculous perfect,” you replied simply, fighting your brain to focus on the clay in your right hand rather than on Viktor’s soft mouth under the mercy of your left.

You took a steadying breath and worked your way up to his brow, your thumb grazing the bushy ridge, your palm cradling the side of his face as you turned it slightly to study the other angle. You could make out the first wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, and the more prominent ones of his forehead, reinforced regularly by a thoughtful frown he wore so often.

His skin warmed under your touch, the heat blooming wherever your fingers roamed. Your other hand shaped the first layers of the structure of Viktor’s face in clay, its coolness a stark contrast to what your left one was going through.

As your hand slipped down to trace the lean column of his neck, Viktor couldn’t help the quiet exhale that escaped him. The feel of your fingers—gentle but firm, your nails just barely skimming over sensitive skin—caused him to tense up in places he didn’t expect himself to, not in this context. Your thumb and index finger examined his Adam’s apple, and it slipped away from your touch as he swallowed and chuckled awkwardly. The pulse in his neck quickened under your hand, and you paused for a moment, your lips curving in a soft, knowing smile.

“You’re doing great,” you whispered, your voice soothing, though you couldn’t help the subtle tone of praise he had granted you so many times when his hands travelled across your body with equal care. “Just breathe.”

“I am,” Viktor replied, his breath there, yet hitching as you moved to his collarbone, the tips of your fingers brushing the hollow above it before trailing the length of the bone. His skin prickled under your touch, and he found himself sinking further into the couch, his limbs loosening as if you had found a secret way to unlock him.

You kept working, holding on to your focus, but Viktor couldn’t take his eyes off you. The way your hands moved—deliberate, confident, as though you were committing every inch of him to memory—was so utterly erotic, so private. The soft furrow of concentration in your brow, the way your lips parted slightly as you worked, the occasional tilt of your head as you checked your progress against the clay—all of it was unbearably intimate, the dummy becoming a labour of love under your steady hand.

His own reaction caught him off guard. His breathing grew heavier, less controlled, his chest rising and falling with a rhythm he couldn’t mask. A flush crept up his neck, and he wondered if this was what you felt like when he had you pinned to the mattress.

You paused, brushing your thumb against the side of his throat. “You’re warm,” you remarked softly, tilting your head toward him. “Is this too much?”

Viktor smiled stupidly to himself, though his voice was low and rough. “Not at all. Just—unexpected.”

You chuckled lightly, your breath skimming his cheek as you leaned closer to reach the other side of his neck. “Unexpected— good or bad?” you asked, echoing his earlier words.

“Unexpected perfect,” he murmured, placing his hand over yours and craning his neck to kiss your jaw. It was utterly disarming—what it felt like to be touched for the sole purpose of being memorised.

You smiled to yourself as your hand moved lower, homing in on the flow of Viktor’s form. The tips of your fingers trailed down his chest, pausing to trace the curve of his clavicle before brushing over the flat planes of his sternum. You gave it a firm press, mechanically forcing out the breath Viktor had been holding. You could feel his heart thundering under your fingers, and it made you lick your lips. Here, his skin was thinner, more flexible, with a speckle of tiny bumps you knew to be his freckles.

Viktor exhaled under the pressure of your palm, and you could hear him chuckle nervously. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you allowed your hand to ghost over the defined ridges of his ribs, your fingers tracing just enough to make him shiver under the tickle. The motion was slow, deliberate, your palm spreading over the warmth of his chest as though mapping the heartbeat beneath.

“You’re tense,” you murmured, your eyebrows arching, cheeks rising in an involuntary smirk.

“I wonder why,” he replied, his voice softer now, laced with dry humour and vulnerability he judged was not worth hiding anymore. He felt himself slowly being disassembled to parts, the tiniest fractions of his being, each held to the light in the safety of your hands.

His cheeks were burning and his forehead dampening as you took your time, letting your hand move lower to the flat plane of his stomach. His muscles tensed instinctively, his tummy sucking in as if too shy to be touched, his body responding before his mind could catch up.

“Relax,” you coaxed, your voice as gentle as your touch, and he let out a quiet, shaky exhale as if obeying your command.

The curve of your fingers moved over his stomach to the sides, giving him a firm squeeze to follow your words. His breath steadied only for a moment before you slid your palm flat on the V-line of his underbelly, tracing the trail of hair disappearing under his trousers. Viktor let out a breathy moan, his spine flexing into your touch as he murmured an embarrassed, “Sorry,” the sound catching in his throat. His hands gripped the edge of the couch, his knuckles pale as he worked to steady himself. “I don’t believe I’ve been this flustered in years,” he laughed breathlessly.

“I shall make a mental note of that,” you whispered with a smile, and you could hear him chuckle again.

Your fingers continued their roam, brushing along the sharp lines of his hips, where the bone protruded just enough to catch the light. The fabric of his trousers shifted slightly under your fingertips, and Viktor shifted with it, a quiet gasp leaving him before he bit down on his lower lip.

The warmth beneath your hand grew, heat radiating from him in waves. His chest rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm, and his eyes—half-lidded and hazy—watched your every movement as if he couldn’t look away.

“You’re quite sensitive, you know,” you teased softly, the curve of a grin in your voice. You could feel the dummy slowly giving in, moulding into the shape of Viktor, his curves and sharp angles, as you mirrored each of your movements.

“Sensitive, am I?” he rasped, though his tone lacked its usual sharpness. It was warm, pliant, as if every word came from somewhere deeper than his throat.

Your fingers brushed the ridge of his hipbone, and Viktor’s breath faltered again, his hands twitching as though he wasn’t sure whether to still them or reach for you. “You’re certainly proving it,” you replied, your voice low, tenderly teasing.

Viktor swallowed thickly, his head tilting back against the couch with a soft thud. “I think I need you to kiss me,” he murmured, his accent thickening as his restraint faltered further.

You chuckled quietly, withdrawing your hand but letting it rest lightly against his side. “Hmm. Do I have your consent?”

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. “W-what? I just asked you.”

“Well, I’d rather make sure. I am no Picasso. This was supposed to be professional; I will remind you,” you said, your feigned seriousness accentuated by taps of your finger against his belly.

Viktor’s eyes darkened slightly at that, his gaze dropping to your lips as he said in a pained voice, “Please don’t tell me you would touch anyone else like this, because I will lose my mind.”

You leaned back, your hands stilling for the first time. “I would never,” you whispered. You pulled out your clean hand to caress his cheek, but his arms were faster as he yanked you into a hungry kiss, smearing some of the cold clay on his chest.

Still holding you close, Viktor let out a soft laugh, running his fingers through his hair as if to ground himself. “I think I would be a terrible model,” he joked, though his voice carried the faint tremor of someone not quite recovered.

“I think you did wonderfully. And I’ve learned a thing or two,” you hummed, your lips finding his nose to place a peck on it. Which reminded you, “Oh. I forgot to trace your nose.”

“Shall I book an extra session for that?” He teased, his tone coming back to himself as his hands slid up and down your back.

“Definitely. Though I think this particular session we should move home. I am feeling very inspired.”

[woso-dreamzzz]

Natalia II

Hardersson x Daughter!Reader

Natalia Guijarro (OC) x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adeventures Universe

Summary: Talia and her obsession with your hands

For as long as Talia can remember, she's noticed people's hands first.

Usually, it's as simple as a handshake.

You can tell a lot by people's hands, Talia thinks. If they're rough and calloused or soft or if they're big or small. The way people throw. The way they catch. The way that someone squeezes her hand slightly when they shakes.

There is a lot about hands that Talia finds interesting.

Yours especially.

She has different answers to questions depending on who asks. If someone asks her your prettiest feature, she'd say your eyes. If you asked her that same question then she'd say the way you smile when you see someone you love.

If someone asked her your hottest feature, she'd say your abs. She's not wrong. You have good abs, from all the sits ups and planks you do at training. If you were to ask her then she'd confess and say it was your hands.

You have large hands. A big palm topped off with long fingers. They're rough but not too rough, rough enough that on the occasions where you pin her down, she can feel each callous. They're strong too. Strong enough that you can dangle from the climbing wall with one hand and strong enough to squeeze her throat just how she likes when you fuck her.

They're a little bit veiny too, enough that she can see them clearly when you flex and Talia can always count on being distracted by them when you do weights.

Your hands are the most perfect hands in the entire world and she will die on that hill.

She'd noticed them when you first met all those years ago, pulling off your gloves to shake her hand. They'd been less rough then, less strong and less big but she'd still been impressed by them.

Still been impressed enough by you to go back to the hotel and watch your matches with Linköping again and again. Impressed enough to follow your career at Arsenal.

The birth of her secret fan account happened then. It started off as a burner Twitter account that had been sparked when against Aston Villa, you pulled off your gloves and ran a hand down your throat.

To this day, Talia can't thank that camera man enough for staying on you.

You'd dragged your entire hand down the expanse of your throat and Talia was treated to the slight flex of it as you curled your fingers around your own neck for reasons unknown.

Her burner Twitter account very quickly became a little shrine to you and your games that carried on even after you'd come to Barcelona. The TikTok account using the same handle had been born during the World Cup.

Talia hadn't really been expecting much when she randomly posted an edit about you but it had blown up a little bit and as Sweden's first choice keeper, she was given a lot of video footage to go off of.

There was even a shot of you at training with your team as they poured water all over you and you stripped off your shirt displaying your abs.

That had been a very popular edit.

"You're both quite popular on TikTok," Pernille mentions one evening over dinner.

You're all at home a day after a match, enjoying one last meal together before your parents fly home.

Prins sits at your feet happily, mouth open waiting for any food to drop while Reina lazes on the back of the sofa and Kung bounces around the room with a stick of celery.

"What? With the edits?" You ask," Yeah, I've seen a few of them. I think they're kind of cool."

"I don't." Magda, as always, sounds grumpy and Talia wonders briefly if she was this grumpy when you were growing up. "You're a baby. You shouldn't have people thirsting over you."

"I've not been a baby for a while," You reply but Magda just huffs.

"You're my baby," Magda insists," And I've had enough for edits showing up of your abs."

"She has good abs," Talia can't help but put in and she smiles as the tips of your ears turn red. Only for a flush to go through her body as you pick up her beer bottle and flick off the top with one hand.

It's unbelievably hot when you do that and you don't even know it.

"Of course you would say that," Magda replies before somewhat smugly saying," She got them from me."

Pernille rolls her eyes. "Yes, Magda," She says, slightly patronising," You have good abs too."

Talia would usually tease Magda for the way she turns red after the compliment but she's once again focussed on your hands as you easily lift Prins up onto your lap, your good boy wagging his tail happily at being included.

"It's the hand edits though," Magda continues," I just don't get the hand edits. They're just hands. I think I've saved one to show you."

Talia's heart drops as Magda shows the table what edit she's talking about.

It's one of hers.

Very clearly featuring a game a few weeks ago when you'd gotten uncharacteristically wound up and had fisted the shirt of an opposing play and dragged her away from you, pushing her further back to keep some distance.

Again, the camera man was a godsend because the image was still clear even as Talia zoomed in on your hands.

You watch the edit, unaware of the crisis that Talia's currently in next to you.

The caption is even more embarrassing.

'I'd let her manhandle me like that any day 🥵🥵🥵'

Just when Talia thinks it can't get worse, it does. Magda starts scrolling through the account and each caption is worse than the other.

'Just want her to pin me to the mattress 🥵🥵🥵'

'I'd love to have finger shaped bruises from her 🥵🥵🥵'

'I bet she spanks super hard 🥵🥵🥵'

You stare down at your hands in confusion, clenching and unclenching them as Talia tries very hard to stop the blush from her chest rising up to her face.

"Are they good hands?" You wonder aloud, brow furrowed. You turn them over to inspect before getting distracted with Prins trying to lunge forward to lick the sauce off your plate.

"They're reliable hands," Pernille replies before turning to her wife," God, Magda, it's just an edit. People are allowed to thirst over her hands if they want."

"No they're not! I won't allow it!"

"Unless you're going to cyber stalk the owner of the account, Magda, then there's not much else you can do."

A thoughtful look appears on Magda's face.

"No, Magda, you can't cyber stalk the account owner."

"But-"

"No."

The conversation, thankfully for Talia, is dropped and by the time Magda and Pernille leave for the airport, she thinks you've forgotten about it.

Out of nowhere though, you slip onto her lip, pulling her into a heady kiss.

Talia gasps into it when you slip your tongue into her mouth as one hand tugs her back by her hair as you have more access.

By the time you pull away, that hand has migrated to exactly where she wants it.

Wrapped around her throat.

"So," You say, whispering in her ear," You'd let me manhandle you any day?"

"You-?"

She can feel your grin against her skin. "It's the same username as that Twitter account you've dedicated to me."

[arcait]

vi spitting on cait in s2 ep6 from cait's pov... (horny, 18+)

~

Caitlyn presents as all business: perfect hair, ironed shirts, laced boots. It's become all the more important that she does lately. It's integral to look the part one plays, especially in a position such as Caitlyn's.

Vi looks her part as well - a hardened member of the undercity, the exact type of person everyone in Piltover felt threatened by. Caitlyn hadn't truly realized how coifed she'd gotten until she pinned Vi under her arm. The contrast of her sleeve and Vi's bandaged chest almost makes her pause.

"You look like an angry oil slick," Cait had chastised Vi, then proceeded to ogle over her. She much preferred Vi's natural hair, but this new shade - for whatever reason - made Cait think of their kiss. The way Vi had pressed against her, and how her calloused hands slipped up Cait's coat to touch the bare skin of her waist. If Vi had wanted to, Caitlyn would have taken her right there, disgusting Zaun piping system be damned.

If Vi made a move now, Caitlyn would do the same here. Which is dangerous, because she's on a mission, she has been for months now, and Vi is a distraction and an oversight and -

And she's calling Cait cupcake, just like she used to. She's angry at Caitlyn, but the softness of her tone tells Cait she's hurt and misses her. The heaviness between them is palpable, and Cait feels it in the eagerness of Vi's gaze, the quiet hitches of her breath.

When they've come up with a plan, Cait binds Vi's hands together, and is shocked to find the insides of her wrists are soft. Cait doesn't understand it, and she falters, her thumbs tracing Vi's lifeline. She wonders what the rest of Vi is like, and starts to feel sick. The image of Maddy flashes behind Caitlyn's eyes. She exhales harshly.

"You alright?" Vi's voice cuts through Cait's anxieties. She meets Vi's gaze, and for a moment, her sobs echo through Cait's ears. "You know, of all the things you could feel guilty for right now, tying me up when I agreed to it is probably pretty low on the list." Cait allows herself a short laugh.

"I'm fine. Thank you," she says sincerely as she ties off the knot. She tugs a burlap sack over Vi's head, her gaze fixed on the other girl's lips until her entire face is covered. Only then does Cait breathe a sigh of almost relief.

~

It feels like everything comes to a head when Vi spits on Cait.

Caitlyn is shocked. She admires Vi's dedication, Ambessa is clearly convinced the two hate each other. And that's good, it means she doesn't recognize Cait's body reacting. To Ambessa, she simply tenses, but Cait feels like it's obvious she clenched.

Her eyes flicker down to meet Vi's as she wipes the saliva off her cheek. Cait wants to lick it, or make Vi. It's vile, but the thought makes Cait slick. By the time she's running out the tent, Cait is telling herself to keep it fucking together. Now is not the time.

With the two of them, it never seems to be.

[octopus-punching-union]

Tokyo Debunker characters + MC who talks to cats

(specifically, praising the campus cats for being cute hard workers)

Jin: Obviously he's not giving you enough work if you have time to waste with the cats. (But secretly, he's cranky that you're too nervous to be like that with him. He doesn't get much genuine praise and has been telling himself that he doesn't need it... but hearing you so freely praising the cats makes him feel things that aren't entirely pleasant.)

Tohma: "They have jobs, you know." If you're so bored that you're distracting others from their work, he has plenty for you to do. (He actually finds it really amusing.)

Luca: "You're right, they really do work hard." He's not the type to fawn over animals, but he doesn't find it at all unusual when you do. He very earnestly thanks them for all their hard work.

Kaito: Sits down and joins you petting and praising the cats. It's a rare moment in which he's not feeling self-conscious or worrying about impressing you, until you accidentally bump hands and he starts freaking out.

Alan: He backs off as soon as he notices what's going on — he doesn't want to ruin the moment. Later, he makes sure to tell you that you're doing a good job (but without context, it feels like it's coming out of nowhere).

Leo: "It's just a cat. You know it doesn't understand what you're saying, right?" He starts to say something rude in a sugary-sweet tone. "Don't listen to him," you say, covering the cat's ears so that it won't hear. (The cat, disgruntled by all the movement, hops out of your lap and trots away.)

Sho: "You're so weird, senpai," he says, not even trying to hide his smirk, but you can tell he's not serious. He pretends to be reluctant to join you, but he really just wants to hear you ask for him again.

Haru: He stops briefly to say hi, but doesn't have much time to spare. He'll take care of some of your tasks, though, so that you can have a peaceful moment without worrying about anything. (If you want him to take a break with you, you'll have to sit on him or something.)

Towa: A sudden burst of rain scares the cat away. Towa appears moments later with flowers for you, and the weather has turned sunny and warm — perfect to dry out your damp clothes. He lies down in the grass next to you as you relax.

Ren: "Gross. You don't know where that's been." He grumbles about how people lose their minds over cats just because they're cute (he definitely doesn't want to hear you say that he's cute) and makes you wash your hands after the cat leaves.

Taiga: He either wants to eat it or wants to chase it out of his room with gunfire — you have to distract him while the cat makes a hasty escape. He pins you to the wall, musing about how he'll punish you... He runs a finger down your cheek just to feel you tremble. You're his favorite toy.

Romeo: He hasn't given the cats a second thought until this exact moment. They do their jobs competently and he can't exploit them, so what else is there to care about? He has never in his life praised someone for doing a good job, and he thinks you're excessively soft for doing so... but that's not the real reason it bothers him. You've always refused to call him Fico or stroke his ego, yet you're heaping praise on a cat? Ludicrous.

Ritsu: Initially not interested, as cats aren't subject to labor laws and standards. When you wonder out loud if Sinostra could get in trouble for animal abuse, he immediately goes off to investigate.

Subaru: He enjoys the moment with a smile. You're sweet and encouraging and way cuter than any cat, and he counts himself lucky that he gets to spend time with you.

Haku: He ruffles your hair and, mimicking your tone, says that you're cute and hardworking and doing a great job. "Don't make fun of me," you protest, pouting. "I'm not," he replies.

Zenji: Joins you, far more eloquently. After the cat leaves, it's your turn to be praised! He makes sure that you know exactly how important and admired you are.

Rui: Feels really silly for being so envious of a cat. (He's cute, too! He works hard and has great hair, and he wants to cuddle up to you while you praise him and run your fingers through his hair...) But, as long as he's cursed, he can't have what he wants. It's better to keep things lighthearted so that he can see you smile. (Maybe someday, when both of your curses are broken...)

Lyca: Growls. The cat is not intimidated; it escaped Sinostra unscathed, after all. Lyca's not sure what to make of it, but he settles next to you, wary. If it makes a move, he'll be ready.

Yuri: He's so busy and deals with so much weird stuff that it doesn't even register. If he needs you for something, he'll just grab you regardless of what you're doing. You protest as the cat tumbles out of your lap, but he's already three steps ahead.

Jiro: Observes carefully, as he would with any experiment. Are Darkwick's cats smarter than normal cats? You're making it sound like they are, but he doesn't have any other memories of cats as a comparison. Later, he watches some cat videos. For science.

[aisiedaisie]

hi <3 this is super self-indulgent haha…but would you be willing to write a poly!wolfstar with a reader who still has their like raggedy lovey stuffed animal from when they were a baby that maybe they were hiding from the boys and how they react to finding out? xx

Hello hello~! This is absolutely adorable! I’m definitely guilty of holding onto childhood plushies too, so this is a bit self-indulgent for me as well. I really hope you enjoy!!! 

Poly!Wolfstar x Fem!Reader WC: 1.1k

You flop down onto the fresh, unfamiliar bed, surrounded by boxes and bags, the remnants of your old flat strewn across the floor. Today was all about hauling practically everything from your last place into your boyfriend's house—your new home.

You’re grateful for this room of your own. It’s small, but that was your one non-negotiable condition. You love them both fiercely, but there’s something about having a sanctuary to retreat to, a space that’s just yours.

Their bed may be huge, but you know yourself: the thought of sharing it every night feels a bit too close for comfort, especially with everyone's mismatched schedules.

Plus, you’ve learned the hard way about Sirius’s habit of kicking in his sleep. He’d boot you clear off the bed at four in the morning if you gave him the chance. And Remus? He’s a snuggler—a heavy, unyielding snuggler. When he wraps an arm around you, it’s like being pinned by a warm, affectionate weight. Charming, absolutely, but not so convenient when you really have to pee in the morning.

So here you are, content but completely drained, with the three of you spending most of the day heaving boxes into the car and scrubbing down your old flat.

“Oh, it feels good to just lie down,” you groan, the ache of a long day catching up with you.

“I told you to wear comfortable shoes, dove,” Remus says softly, leaning against the doorframe and watching you with a fond smile.

You turn your head, flashing him a tired grin. “In my defense, I thought these were comfortable.”

“And is our princess now resting in her royal quarters?” Sirius quips, appearing just behind Remus, fresh from hauling a load of flattened boxes down to the bin.

“Absolutely,” you tease, shaking your head at his playful tone. “Thanks for helping me out. I’m sorry Marls had to back out last minute.” You sigh, thinking of how your best friend had called that morning with the news: her girlfriend had been in a minor accident at work and had to be rushed to the hospital. You could hardly blame her for canceling; if either of your boys were in the hospital, you’d drop everything to be there, too.

“Anytime, darling,” Sirius murmurs as he strolls into the room. With a dramatic flop, he lands on his back on the far side of the bed, letting out a soft “oof.” It’s an endearing sound that makes you laugh, even as you feel the day’s exhaustion settling in.

“Well?” You turn to Remus, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Planning to join us?” The question comes out with a flirtatious smile, hinting at just how much you’d love him to join you and Sirius.

Remus rolls his eyes, but there’s a softness there, too, as he lets out a gentle sigh. Shaking his head with a small, amused smile, he pads over to the foot of the bed and settles down, reaching for both of you. His hands find their way into your hair and Sirius’s, brushing through in a familiar, calming rhythm, almost like he’s petting two contented cats.

Sirius stretches his arms, accidentally knocking one of the many decorative pillows off the bed. With a groan, he slides down to his knees to retrieve it, grabbing the plush white pillow and tossing it haphazardly back onto the bed. But as he does, something else catches his eye—a faded mint-green fabric peeking out from an open duffel bag beside the bed.

“Siri?” Remus calls out, noticing that Sirius hasn’t returned to join them.

Curious, you sit up, wondering why he’s so distracted. Army-crawling to the edge of the bed, you spot his gaze fixed on the bag, and your heart skips a beat as you realize what he’s staring at.

Panicking, you scramble off the bed and slide down beside him, nearly losing your balance in the rush. Remus’s concerned voice cuts in as he leans over, “Dove, you alright?” But you’re already reaching for the item that has Sirius’s full attention, fumbling slightly in an attempt to tuck it out of sight.

Sirius’s brows lift with curiosity. “What are you hiding?” he asks, a mischievous grin playing on his lips as he tries to gently wrestle the object from you.

“Nothing!” you whine, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

Remus raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “That doesn’t look like ‘nothing,’” he says with a smirk. “Especially if you’re going to all this trouble to hide it.”

You squeal, feeling a mix of embarrassment and nervousness as you pull the plush tightly to your chest.

Sirius’s hands stop their playful struggle, but he keeps them on your back, rubbing soothing circles as he softens his tone. “Baby?”

You groan, sitting up and holding the well-loved, slightly worn mint-colored bunny in your arms. The little plush flops over as you look down at it, feeling a bit sheepish.

"My mom got her for me when I was a baby," you explain, your voice quiet but steady. "I know it's childish to still sleep with plushies at my age, but... she's just always been there for me. Through everything—moving around, tough nights, even all the times I was scared or stressed. It’s like… having a little piece of home with me."

Sirius's expression softens, a warm smile tugging at his lips. "That’s not childish at all, Love," he says, rubbing a gentle hand over your back. "Everyone needs something that makes them feel safe."

Remus nods in agreement, reaching out to touch the bunny's worn little ear. "And besides," he says with a grin, "if anyone gives you trouble about it, just remember who they’re talking to. You’ve got two knights here who’d defend a bunny’s honor, no questions asked."

You laugh, feeling a rush of relief. Hugging the bunny a bit tighter, you feel their arms wrap around you, holding you just as close.

"I love you both so much—" your voice comes out soft, but the warmth in it is unmistakable. You don’t even get a chance to finish before Sirius practically pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms tighter around you with a grin that practically lights up the room.

"Good," he says, squeezing you reassuringly. "Because we're not going anywhere."

Remus leans in on your other side, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with that gentle smile of his. "We love you too," he murmurs. "And that bunny? She’s part of the family now."

You can’t help but laugh, your heart feeling lighter than it has in ages as you sit there, held in the arms of the two people who mean everything to you, with your cherished bunny nestled close. In that moment, you know for certain that home isn’t just a place—it’s right here, with them.

[exhaslo]

Over-Time Ch12

(CEO!Miguel x Shy/Clumsy!Reader)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4,Ch5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8, Ch9, Ch10, Ch11

Warning: MINORS DNI, sexual thoughts, slow-burn, mentions of sex, bullying, cussing, fluff, touch starved

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"I'd like to first of all, thank everyone for coming to tonight's event. We, at Alchemax, could have never gotten this far without all of your ongoing support."

Miguel was just as charming as he spoke to the crowd before him. You couldn't help but adore him from your corner, silently cheering him on. You could never give a speech like Miguel could. You would freeze up in place.

As Miguel keep speaking, you glanced over at the crowd. Some were staring at you, probably wondering who you were. Lowering your head, you tried to ignore those looks. Miguel had mentioned that people were going to expect Lyla.

They probably thought of you as a stranger.

"Now, we shall start with some awards. (Y/N), if you would?" Miguel motioned towards you.

Unable to hide your creeping blush, you stumbled towards him. How embarrassing. Miguel just smiled as you handed him the tablet, his hand resting on your lower back.

How could Miguel act so normal? As if he didn't just make a complete moaning mess of you a few minutes ago?

As if he didn't just tell you that he was going to fuck you senseless right after this event? Just the thought of Miguel pinning you against the bed, thrusting his dick into you started to get you wet again. Oh how his fingers felt as they stirred you up inside.

"Mhm,"

The sound of clapping snapped you back to reality, causing your face to burn up. Now was NOT the time to be thinking about such dirty, yet delicious, thoughts. This was a professional setting and you needed to behave!

Miguel was starting to give out awards to some of his associates. Taking the awards from Miguel, you smiled as you held them while the named associates came on the stage to shake hands with Miguel. Your palms were getting sweaty.

How could you act normal after what happened? Standing next to this God of a man, whom had such a strong desire for you.

"And the next award-"

Handing the first award, you gulped as the person stared at you. Playing with your fingers, you started to feel the pressure again as you took the next award.

Trying to distract yourself, you looked back into the crowd. As you did, you noticed the woman from earlier in the bathroom. She was making direct eye contact with you. Actually, it almost felt like she was glaring at you.

"(Y/N)?" Miguel whispered towards you.

"S-Sorry!" You stuttered as you handed out the next award.

This was embarrassing.

"Seems like my lovely assistant is getting bored, haha. I must do better, but we can all agree she is more subtle than our dear Lyla." Miguel chuckled.

The crowd laughed as Miguel smiled towards you. He was trying to make this as comfortable as possible. You owed him for sure.

---------

Miguel had you pressed against the wall as he ravished your mouth. His hands holding your ass up as he grinded against you. After his speech, Miguel spent no time wanting another taste of you. It made your heart flutter and your cunt wet.

"(Y/N), you make me crazy. What were you thinking about up there?" Miguel asked as he kissed your neck.

"Y-You know what," You stuttered, gasping softly as you held onto his shoulders, "M-Miguel...w-we shouldn't-"

"I know. I just need this," He groaned lowly before setting you down, "I'll behave. I'll enjoy my feast after this."

You shuddered at the thought before following Miguel out of the room. Once you did, the two of you were met with that woman from earlier.

"Tch," Miguel's face turned sour.

"Miguel! What a wonderful speech!" Dana smiled, "So many people couldn't help but congratulate us. Now, I don't believe we have properly introduced each other. I'm-"

"Dana. Leave." Miguel spat as he stood in front of you, "You don't need to keep this petty shit up."

"Ha, Miggy, you're cruel side is showing. You know that I don't mind, but the little mouse behind you might not."

"Miguel?" You whispered, confused.

"(Y/N), was it? Hello, I'm Dana, Miguel's fiance-"

"Ex" Miguel spat.

"Just a hiccup in our relationship."

"There is no relationship." Miguel hissed and grabbed your hand, "If you know what's best, Dana, you would leave."

You felt the air grow tense between the two. This was the first time you have ever seen Miguel so angry, so scary. He grabbed your hand as gently as before and dragged you away.

Dana's smile felt cruel as she glared towards you. Following Miguel out of the hallway, you went to reach for him. Miguel flinched at first before sighing heavily. His hand went to stroke your cheek, his smile looking pained,

"Sorry, mi amor (my love). That woman just...brings out an ugly side of me." Miguel sighed heavily, "Would you like me to take you home?"

"But don't you still have more-"

"Don't worry about my work. I want to make sure that you're okay."

Your heart started to flutter again. Grabbing Miguel's hand, you couldn't help but smile.

"Thank you, Miguel. Um...If it...really is okay, I'd like to go home."

"Of course,"

Miguel kissed your hand before taking you by the waist. He held you close as he brought you outside. Even with all that anger, he was still such a gentlemen.

Although, judging by his attitude, Miguel might not be in the mood to continue where the two of you left off. That, and you were a little concerned about this 'Dana' woman. She was his Miguel's ex-fiance, so what happened?

Why did Miguel let go of such a beautiful woman?

And if something where to happen between the two of you, would he be as cruel? Just the thought hurt your heart.

"(Y/N), I can see you getting tense," Miguel whispered as he opened the car door for you, "Please, don't fret too much about Dana. I will tell you about her...when I'm ready," Miguel said with a soft sigh.

"Okay,"

"Just know, that she is a vile woman." Miguel shut the door, pulling you onto his lap, "Don't let her put things in your head. I don't want her tainting you."

"Hehe," You chuckled softly, wrapping your arms around his neck, "I trust you."

"What did I do to deserve you?"

Miguel pecked your lips, his hands roaming your waist.

His touch easing your worries.

His warmth comforting you.

"Miguel..." You whispered as his kisses grew more intense, "Want to stay over?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

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Next Chapter

Going on a small Birthday Hiatus!! See you all beginning of September!!!

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