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inkedells · 4 months ago

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pairing: old!logan x f!reader

Logan is sick and tired of you treating him like he's fragile. He'll ignore his relentless pain to show you what it's like to be taken apart, rough and slow, then fast and agonizing.

wc: 3.5k of pure smut

warnings: heavy smut, lap sitting, fingering, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), dirty talk, facials, p in v, ruined orgasms, snowballing, kind of angsty, the claws come out, logan is angry with you, kinda toxic, definitely mean, but still kind of sweet, pwp basically, blood, but it's not bloodplay, it's just logan not caring if he's hurt, if i missed any let me know.

Logan comes home and throws himself back on that torn-up leather sofa, thumb flicking his lighter while the other holds a cigar. It’s less of a distraction from the ache in his bones, and more of a device to push you away. Because if you think he’s tired or angry or hurting, you won’t ask him to fuck you.

It’s not like he doesn’t want you. Of course he does. It’s the sympathy in your eyes when he gets tired from just a couple of minutes of thrusting that he hates. The whispered, “It’s okay. baby, I can ride you.” The gentle touches across his body and his neck and his face and his beard. It all reeks of pity. And if you were to sit him down one day and ask him why he hates being taken care of, he wouldn’t have an answer. He would push the voice in his head down into the void that all the strength he had left fell in, the voice shrinking until it’s nothing as it screams, because I’ve never been taken care of, and I would’ve loved it back when being taken care of wasn’t my only choice.

But it’s fine. You wouldn’t ever ask him that question because he knows for a fact that you don’t know. If you did, you wouldn’t be climbing onto his lap quietly, hands rubbing his sides as you press kisses to his neck.

“I missed you, Logan,” You whisper. Your hips aren’t moving; He knows he sat here like this to avoid fucking you, but he almost wishes you were seeking exactly that. Sex, as embarrassing as it would be for him, is better than your sick love. He doesn’t think you love in the way lovers do. It’s the kind of love meant for sick puppies, or the lonely old woman sitting on the bus with all her belongings in plastic bags.

He turns his head to take a drag of his cigar. Silence.

You hold his face, forcing him to look at you as you kiss him. Slow, chaste, no tongue. He feels scrutinized by your touches, and something nervous seats itself deep in his belly.

“How was your day?” You ask, your gaze snapping between his eyes.

Logan closes them. “I’m tired,” He says flatly.

“I know. It’s okay.”

There it is again. Pity.

He scoffs. It’s quiet. Barely there. He didn’t mean to. He watches your face fall the smallest bit. A year ago, he wouldn’t have noticed, and if he would’ve, he would blurt out an apology. Now, he does notice, but he secretly wants to watch it fall even further if it means you’ll realize how much you’ve been hurting him.

You swallow, your thumb rubbing his cheekbone. “I found an American poetry anthology in the basement today. 20th Century. My favorite poem was in it.”

He mumbles, “In a Station of the Metro. T.S. Elliot.” Remembering the poem you told him about months ago sounds too much like sorry. He wishes he’d pretended to forget.

“Ezra Pound,” You correct. Your smile tells him he’s forgiven for an apology he never offered. “If you can recite it I’ll be impressed.”

“I’m not reciting a goddamn poem.” He sounds sarcastic, and it relieves you, but then you kiss him and he’s wound tight again.

You sigh as you pull back. “What’s bothering you, baby?”

“Nothing’s bothering—”

“What’s bothering you?” You interject.

He shakes his head, clenching his jaw. He makes the decision to sacrifice his dignity for the sake of stopping this conversation. You never could resist an orgasm, especially one caused by him. “Enough of that.”

“What?”

But he’s putting out his cigar and lifting you off his lap with a suppressed grunt, then pushing you down on the couch.

“Logan,” You protest.

He continues undoing the drawstring of your pajamas, with a kind of slippery urgency that tells you he's trying to shut you up more than he's trying to satiate his own desire.

You sit up straight, swatting his hand away. “Stop.”

He withdraws immediately, breathing hard through his nose as he looks down at the floor. He was wrong, before, about you not knowing. You definitely know, because you don’t place a loving hand on his thigh and you don’t kiss his shoulder. He’s grateful.

Instead, you observe his profile, then the quiet tremor in his hand. The impossible stillness of the rest of him. He tends to do that when his nerves are on fire. Thinks being a statue is what people who aren’t in chronic pain do.

“Don’t do that,” He mumbles, feeling your eyes on him. “I don’t need you feeling sorry, or whatever—whatever the fuck else goes through your head when you’re around me.”

You say nothing. That’s the most he’s said about his feelings in a while. He knows it, so he forces himself to say nothing, too. It doesn’t last long.

“I’m not dying.” His voice cracks a little at the end and he fights the urge to squeeze his eyes shut.

“I know.” The words come out in a tumble, as if you’re rushing to participate in his lie.

“Then stop looking at me like I’m dying.”

“Okay.” Tears prickle your eyes but you blink them away.

“Okay,” He repeats.

You take a deep breath. “But it’s okay to be cared for, Logan.”

He laughs incredulously, and suddenly his volume is rising and his voice is firm. “Would you just—Would you just quit being my fuckin’ mommy? Would you?”

He only lets your silence marinate for a second before he rushes in to kiss you, ignoring the cramps in his muscles as he tugs your neck forward roughly. You squeak against his mouth, fighting his impossible grip on you, but you give up with a shaky exhale through your nose when your efforts prove useless.

“I can take care of you, too,” He grits out. It would sound sweet if it weren’t for the frustration in his tone. He pushes you onto the couch the same way he did moments before as he opens your legs by your knees and settles between them. He sucks a dark mark onto your neck, his fingers digging bruises in your ribs.

“I know you can,” You reassure him. You can see where this is going. “And I love when you do.” You gasp when he pulls your shirt up over the curve of your breasts.

“No. You don’t.” He pinches one of your nipples and sucks the other into his mouth for a brief second. “It’s okay. I’ll show you so you don’t forget again. You won’t want to get ruined any other way.”

“Logan,” You sigh.

He hums against the soft skin just underneath your breast as his hands ravage your body. He begins to unsheathe the adamantium claws in one of his hands so he can rip your top open. It’s slow and excruciating, so he closes his eyes, but the pain is over too soon and his suspicions are confirmed when he opens his eyes to see them stuck halfway.

You don’t expect him to lean back and individually tug each blade free. There’s blood, and now it’s dripping onto your belly, and he mumbles something that sounds like an apology as he wipes the dots of red away with his thumb.

But the hazel in his eyes is alive again. You hope it’s you that did that. Hope it’s not the pain or the sight of his own blood. You want to ask him, just to make sure. You don’t like hurting, right? You just really like me—

He slices through your shirt, careful not to graze your skin, and you try to ignore the fact that he’s never that cautious with himself, but you can’t.

“Logan, you’re bleeding.” Your voice is unstable.

“It’ll heal,” He says quickly, passively. He wipes his burning palm on his wifebeater.

“But that takes a long time now.”

He meets your eyes, his movements frozen. He’s angry and you’re not stupid. You’re pitying him again. He needs you to stop fucking pitying him. When he speaks, his voice is deep and rough and slow, and you would be scared if he wasn’t your Logan. “Are you done?”

You don’t know what to say, so you just close your eyes and nod. You hear his claws retract faster than when they came out, and almost simultaneously, he’s shoving that same hand under your waistband as two of his calloused fingers push themselves into your cunt.

You arch toward him involuntarily, a ragged moan falling from your lips as he tugs your pajamas off your legs and spits on your pussy to ease the slide of his fingers.

Each groan he pulls from your throat is a step toward dispelling the doubt from your body. Doubt of his capabilities, of his strength, of his devotion to you.

“Beg me to fuck you,” He demands, fingering you roughly.

Your mind is cloudy at this point, from sadness or arousal or both, but you give him what he wants. “Fuck me,” You whisper, your eyelids about to flutter shut as you shed a tear.

But then you catch Logan smiling.

He grabs your jaw with his free hand, and you look at him immediately. “You’re gonna let me use it, right? Get myself off?” You lazily trace his features with your gaze—His nose, his wrinkles, his beard—because you know if it were your fingers instead he’d mistake it for tenderness and get mad again.

You nod, but it’s weak with how hazy everything is.

“Good girl.”

“Please,” You sigh, “I need you inside of me. I need to—I need it.”

“I know. I know what you’re feeling before you feel it.” He lets the pad of his thumb draw quick circles on your clit. “What? Thought I couldn’t hear you playing with yourself in the shower? If I can hear your heartbeat when I walk through the door, what makes you think I wouldn’t have heard you whining my name?”

“Logan,” You sigh, your hips lifting off the couch, coaxing his fingers deeper for as long as possible before he’s shoving you back down with the heel of his palm.

“I’m gonna play with you now. I’ll fuck you after, don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

“What do you mean, play with me?” You breathe, fighting to keep your eyes open as he finds your g-spot.

He grins dirtily, in a way that makes your head spin and your thighs clench around his hand. You’re barely processing his words as he bends down to mumble in your ear, “Right when you’re about to make a mess on my fingers, I’m gonna stop. Then I’m gonna go down on you. And I’m gonna lick your pretty pussy, maybe even fuck you with my tongue if you’re good. And guess what? Guess what I’m gonna do when you’re this close?”

“You’re gonna stop,” You whine.

“I’m gonna stop,” He nods, and it’s mocking, but it’s gentle, and he’s fucking killing you with the way he’s talking right now. “But I’m not mean. I’ll give you a break. You can calm down when my dick is in your mouth, okay?”

“Okay,” You breathe, your hips unabashedly grinding on his fingers. But you want to reassure him he is mean, and you especially want to tell him how much you love it. “Logan, I’m gonna—”

He withdraws his fingers from you so fast it almost burns. You clench around nothing, your lower half spasming as your orgasm barely approaches before falling away again. Only a hint of pleasure is able to make it through the cracks, and you cling onto it, hoping if you focus hard enough, the wave will come back. It doesn’t. You should regret warning Logan that you were about to finish, but all you feel is comfort now that he’s finally proud of you again.

Another tear streams down the side of your face, landing in your hair. Logan’s watching you as he pets your thigh, his lips parted when he leans down over you. He kisses your wet cheek softly, his beard rough on your skin. It’s unlike him to offer you affection this gracefully during sex. It’s always shaky limbs and suppressed groans and dirty kisses. Both of you know it.

He moves down your body, until his face is hovering over your cunt. He doesn’t have his reading glasses on, so he has to pull his head back and squint as he spreads your folds with his thumbs, studying what you look like. He licks a stripe over you. A second, longer one, before he zeroes in on your clit. You can do nothing except lay there and take it as your hips twitch from overstimulation under his firm hands.

“Oh my god,” You whisper, your fingers twisting in his hair. “F-Fuck.”

He moans at that, pressed right up against you, the sound deep and delicious and vibrating. “Feel good?” He asks teasingly with a nip to your inner thigh.

“What do—What the fuck do you think?”

He breathes a laugh. It’s short and airy, not frustrated like before, and a warmth ignites itself in the back of your mind. It’s overpowering even the feeling of his mouth licking and sucking your most sensitive area; It’s the relief that he’s still hiding the Logan you fell in love with somewhere in there.

You wind your fingers in his hair and scratch his scalp. You try to do it lovingly, although it comes across as sexual and Logan’s breath hitches in pleasure against your pussy instead. So as you suppress a gasp from the pure skill of his tongue, you show your affection differently—you hold the wounded hand he has resting face-up beside your hip. The cuts embedded there are easy to avoid as your thumb rubs the lines of his palm, because even though you can’t see his hand, the puffiness surrounding each slash on his skin are your cues.

He doesn’t move his hand away, but his tongue falters for a fraction of a second before slowing down.

The kind of love you’re pressing into Logan’s skin with each gentle stroke is unrecognizable to him. It’s not the pitiful love he’s so used to. He thinks it might be the opposite. Admiration. Reverence.

“I’m so empty,” You whisper, bringing your hands to grope Logan’s biceps. They’re sweaty and hard and flexing under your touch, and you wonder if he would let you ride them one day.

When your climax starts to creep up on you, it’s thanks to the image of Logan forcing you to lick your arousal clean off his bicep. Indulgently swirling your tongue along his pronounced veins, savoring the taste of his sweat mixed with yourself. He’d probably say somthing like, fuckin’ filthy. Getting yourself off on my arm. Who does that? Are you that obsessed with me?

Logan feels you squeezing his tongue, harder than all the other times before, so he withdraws at the last moment, ruining your orgasm once again.

You convulse silently, your breath coming out stuttered with your twitching jaw. As if he can read your mind, he unbuckles his belt and removes his pants and boxers. But he doesn’t strip himself of his wifebeater, stained with blood.

It’s the hottest thing in the world.

You blink, and suddenly Logan is hovering above you with his cock over your face. He rubs his leaking tip on your cheeks first, then your lips, and when you open your mouth to take him, he moves his cock away and nudges your jaw shut with his free hand, shaking his head.

“Not yet.”

A whine lodges itself in your throat as Logan spreads his pre-come over the plush of your lips. It escapes only when he lets go of his cock in favor of massaging his wetness across your lips and on your tongue with his thumb. His hard cock is bobbing above you, almost tantalizingly, the occasional drip of arousal landing itself somewhere near your eyes, then your hair, then your mouth, and you watch Logan’s brow furrow as you try to lick whatever you can.

His resolve snaps. A calloused hand squeezes at your cheeks until your jaw falls open. His cock is in your mouth before you can process it, thick and heavy and wet. So. Incredibly. Wet. You start to wonder how it’s even possible that he’s this hard at his age, but you know he wouldn’t want you to be wondering that, so you happily push the thought away.

You suck your cheeks in, swirling your tongue around his tip as you bob your head to meet the subtle, almost imperceivable thrust of his hips. You’re taking it well, you know you are. So you keep taking it, until Logan can no longer successfully suppress his moans and his hips are jerking out of rhythm.

He moves back until his cock slips out of your mouth. “I don’t wanna come like this. Wanna fuck you.”

“Yeah, yes. Fuck me. Please.”

He stands up and turns you on your front, your knees pressing into the soft couch cushions with your ass in the air.

“Logan,” You plead as you feel his tip pressing at your entrance.

“I’ve got you,” He says quietly, pushing in until half of his cock is comfortably squeezed by your cunt. Both your breathing is loud and labored, and there’s a specific kind of intimacy in knowing you’re both feeling this identical need. Overwhelming and hot and unquenchable by anything other than each other.

His first thrust is shallow, but it ruins you all the same. With how thick he is, it should feel like an intrusion, and it does. But all you can think about is how perfectly he fits inside of you, filling you extraordinarily with only a few inches.

“Fuck,” Logan breathes. “Look at that.” He traces around your entrance with his thumb. “Stretching so wide to take me.”

You moan, pressing your cheek against the sofa as you rock with his thrusts. He still hasn’t pressed all the way in yet, and you’re growing impatient. “Come on,” You urge, pushing yourself back to force more of his cock into you.

You expect him to chastise you for being so greedy, but he listens to you instead with a slow, full thrust. His tip nudges your cervix with how deep he is, and a ragged moan escapes you. “Yes,” You whine, “Oh god, yes.”

Logan’s breaths are coming out heavy through his nose, quick and occasionally intertwined with a grunt. His thrusts are getting quicker, and it’s starting to burn, but you welcome every sensation he has to offer you. He pulls out, spits on his cock, then shoves himself back inside, and this time you’re both unabashedly moaning the minute you’re joined again.

His fingers dig in the plush of your ass as he observes himself disappearing into you. It hurts, but you love it. He knows you do, so he spanks you quickly before gripping you and rutting against you again.

“I love when you fuck me,” You whisper, feeling ashamed as soon as the confession leave you. “When you properly fuck me.”

He slows for a moment so he can watch his cock glisten with how wet you are. “I know.” He picks back up his punishing pace.

Your eyes begin to water, from pain or pleasure, you can’t tell. “I love you.”

“I know,” He repeats, this time breathier. His hips stutter. You can tell he’s close.

“I want it on my face,” You tell him quickly, his impending orgasm giving you no time to worry about being too forward.

He pulls out again, letting you turn onto your back as he shifts up your body. He jerks himself furiously, but you swat his hand away and take it upon yourself to stroke him.

“Come for me,” You tell him honestly, softly. His eyes squeeze shut and his lips part around a trembling exhale.

He groans as his release coats your face in long stripes. Some of it even lands in your hair, but you don’t care. Your own fingers work your clit as you stick your tongue out and taste him. Logan bends down to kiss you, chest heaving and hands shaky, and you rub yourself faster as you swap his release between the two of you with a hum. He pulls back to let you swallow, then he kisses your cheeks with his rough beard, uncaring about the mess on your face.

You don’t know you’re coming until it’s over and you’re breathless, and it’s almost excruciating with how much he’s ruined you, but you’re so exhausted you can’t find it in yourself to dwell on it a second longer.

You wrap your arms around his neck and tug him down for another kiss because you can hardly remember the one he just gave you.

“I’m sorry I had been treating you all wrong,” You say carefully.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” His voice is rough.

You nod, your lips brushing his as you smooth sweaty strands of hair away from his forehead. These touches are hard for him. Any variation of your chaste affection is a reminder that he’s not really Logan anymore.

But the shame in it is gone. Replaced by the reassurance that he can still surround you with safety and firm hands and blatant desire;

And for a moment, he’s his old self again.

A/N: it's been so long since i've written anything, but logan has been consuming my brain for weeks so i had to get this out. i hope it's true to his character. <3 also, my asks are open, so feel free to request anything you want to read about.

#hugh jackman #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #hugh jackman x reader #wolverine smut #deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett #x men #old!logan x reader #old man logan #old man logan x reader

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fairy-angel222 · 11 months ago

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Everybody knows that i’m a good girl, officers

—in which getting caught stealing with your boyfriend leads to three handsome officers fucking you down at the station.

pairing: officers! gojo s, choso k, nanami k. x fem! reader

cw: smut, face fucking, hair pulling, filming, praise, size difference, belly bulge, fingering.. etc

Your heart raced as you and Toji were stopped in your tracks by a cop car. Attempting to turn around only to be stopped by another swerving in front of you. “Shit. T-Toji? What do we do?”

Watching as a tall, broad officer emerged from the vehicle’s front seat, gulping hard when the blond one’s dark eyes met yours. His face stonic as he stood with his hands in his pockets, letting out a small breath when he looked you up and down.

“Toji?” Turning your head to see your boyfriend long gone, having jumped hurriedly over the hood of the car before sprinting away with the stolen money. You whimpered to yourself, backing up when he began to stalk towards you. Yelping as your back hit a broad chest, arms situating themselves around your waist to steady you. “Careful sweetheart.”

Glancing up through your lashes to see a white haired man looking down at you with a smirk, his eyebrow raised in surprise. “Now what’s a pretty little thing like you stealing for?” he hummed.

And you only looked at your feet after noticing a black haired officer speaking into his walkie talkie about a thief on the loose. Giving a detailed description of your boyfriend. The hold on your waist tightened, and you were flipped around to look up at.. a black blindfold? An idea running through your head to knee him and make a run for it.

“Don’t even think about it. I can still see you.” watching as your eyes welled with tears, your hands gripping at the hem if your shirt. “P-please don’t arrest me. I promise i’ll never do it again.” you pleaded innocently.

The man scoffed, his hand reaching up for your face, his slender fingers digging into your cheeks, “Then tell me, what’re you doing stealing huh?”

“Gojo that’s enough.” A deep voice demanded. Gojo letting go of you with the roll of his eyes. Your body immediately putting some distance between the two of you. Only to be met with the sight of the same blond officer finally making his move. His face void of emotion as his muscles bulged through his shirt. The veins on his hand extra visible when he gripped something on his belt.

Your eyes widened when he pulled out a pair of handcuffs, tilting his head down at you with his tone serious. “You can either cooperate, or i arrest you and bring you down to the station. Your pick.”

The third officer walked up to your shivering form before you could speak. Your body being sandwiched between the two towering men.

“Nanami sir, the male that was with her has been arrested. Although he was able to knock down three of our m-“ He stuttered when he caught sight of you, your glassy eyes practically begging him to tell his friends to let you go. “Uhm- our men sir.” He finished with the clear of his throat.

“Thanks Kamo.” Nanami nodded, looking back to you with a hard stare. “Look, kid. I don’t have all day. We already have your little boyfriend and we can easily take you.”

“Not a kid..” you mumbled. Rough hands making their way to your chin, “You’re really taking us for fools aren’t ya? Take her down to the station.” Nanami commanded, throwing the handcuffs to Choso before he was walking away, getting into the vehicle and driving off.

“Should have just been a good girl and answered me.” Gojo laughed, pushing you over to Choso who did as he was taught, pressing you onto the side of the police vehicle before cuffing your first wrist. Your body twisting and turning making him groan, feeling his dick growing hard in his pants.

“W-wait! I’m sorry! I promise i’m a good girl— not a bad guy. Just please don’t arrest me.” you begged, hearing the click of the cuffs on your second wrist before you were being pushed into the back seat. Gojo looking at you through the rearview mirror. “It’s a bit too late for that don’t you think?” Allowing Choso to sit in the vehicle before speeding off. Some officer.

The whole ride was filled with your tiny sniffles as you asked to be let go in all different ways. Each one being met by a stern no which had you letting out a whine.

“You do a whole lotta talking for my liking.” Gojo sighed, “Makes me wanna fill your mouth with my cock to shut you up.” Smirking when that made you stop with panicked eyes.

When you arrived at the station. You were pulled through a hallway and past a room where you saw Toji. Anger on his face as he attempted to get up, scowling at the snickering officer when he was stopped by two pairs of handcuffs.

You were brought into another room, seeing Nanami already sitting there going through your file, his head turning to you, Gojo and Choso when he heard the slam of the door. “She’s still quiet i see.”

“She actually started talking, told her i’d make her suck my dick if she didn’t stop.” Gojo grinned, Nanami shaking his head as you were brought to sit in front of him. Gojo at your side and Choso leaned against the door.

“So.” The man started, clasping his hands on the desk with a sigh. “I see this isn’t your first time being arrested. Mind telling me why?”

You looked down at the glass top with a shrug, “i don’t know.”

Nanami motioned to Choso and Gojo with a nod. Choso closing the blinds of the stretch of glass connecting the room to the hallway. While Gojo pulled you up effortlessly, taking your place on the chair with you in his lap.

“Let’s try this again, mind telling me why?” You chewed at your lip, ignoring Gojo’s hot breath on your neck. “I did drugs, i drove while drunk when i was 15, i’ve shoplifted many times.” You listed shyly, watching as Nanami nodded along to your words.

“Nnh- ahh” you mewled when two fingers squeezed at your clit through your skirt, your thighs clenching as you shifted on the man’s lap. “God, I could do this all day.” Gojo whispered.

Nanami closed your file and slid it to the side, standing up and making his way in front of you. Stroking his thumb on your lip, “You’re really making things worse for yourself. Want to know what these records show?” He started, your eyes fixated on his body as he unbuttoned the top buttons on his shirt.

“They show that you’ve never done anything wrong.” His thumb slipping past your lips, “Show that you’re just a naive soul who covered for her friends and boyfriend on multiple occasions.” Looking up at his eyes through your lashes. “Show that you’re a good girl who trusts too easily.” He finished, watching you whimper underneath Gojo’s touch on your clit as you sucked lightly at his thumb. Your eyes closing with a hum.

“Do you think you’re a good girl baby?”

You nodded, “A very good girl, officer.” you muffled out past his finger, the eye contact never breaking until Gojo spoke. “I think she deserves an apology, doesn’t she?”

Nanami hummed a small yes, removing his finger from your lips and replacing it with his mouth instead. Kissing you softly as his hand reached up to wrap around your neck. Keeping your head steady as you moaned into him, tongues lewdy curling around each other.

Gojo grinned widely. “The fun’s finally getting started.” His eyes falling on Choso who stood red faced in the corner, his dick noticeably hard in his pants as Gojo ushered him over. “Kamo come here.”

Your mind felt fuzzy, wetness pooling between your legs as the large hand around your neck tightened at the sides. Letting out another moan when Gojo’s hand slipped under your skirt, running his fingers along your puffy folds through your panties.

“She’s soaked already.” he announced, chuckling when you mewled at the announcement, your face beginning to heat up.

“And don’t worry that pretty little head about that boyfriend of yours. You’re not the only one he’s been-“

“Gojo..” Nanami warned, his lips still moving against yours. Your heart tightened, eyes threatening to well up with tears as your suspicions were confirmed. Choso’s hand stroked your hair, “Don’t worry about that kay? Just focus on us.”

Gojo’s fingers began rubbing small circles on your clit, tearing your panties off of you when it began getting in his way. Nanami pulled away from your lips with a small smirk, sinking down to his knees in front of you.

Placing your legs onto his shoulders before bringing his face to your dripping cunt. “Make as much noise as you’s like. No one can hear us.”

His tongue darted out to lick a long stripe up your slit. A soft moan escaped your lips when he licked another. “Tastes like fucking heaven.” Gradually increasing his pace until he was lapping at your juices, his skilled tongue feasting on your wetness while Gojo kept up his pace in your swollen clit.

Your head fell back with a mewl, bringing your hands to the blond’s hair but stopped by the metal around your skin. You whimpered, “C-cuffs.”

Gojo groaned into your neck, grinding his clothed cock up into your ass. “Nah, like you better with them on.”

You moaned, back arching against Gojo when Nanami inserted two of his thick fingers into you. Curling them in and out directly onto your spot, your mouth hanging open in a string of cries when he began fucking them into your tightness.

Your noises were cut short by an angry red tip tapping your lips, Choso lightly taking hold of your head to help you sit up. His cock nestled between your parted lips waiting for you to take him in.

“Atta boy.” Gojo mused, watching as Choso pushed his cock further past your lips, a soft gag leaving your throat as he allowed you to adjust to his length. Only half of his cock being able to fit in your snug mouth. Choso moaned, your tongue swirling around his pre cum tip as you suckled on the mushroom head. Beginning to bob your head up and down without the use of your hands to keep you steady, your tongue licking along his vein each time you came back up.

A mewl sounded at the back of your tongue, the noise sending vibrations through Choso’s cock.

Your back arched as a coil built up in your stomach, your trembling legs being held apart by strong hands as your toes curled. Your hips jerking back and forth on Gojo’s lap as the pads of Nanami’s fingers pressed into your g spot. Him holding them in position by simply moving his fingertips on and off.

You cried out loudly around the cock in your mouth, drool running past your swollen lips and down your chin, Gojo leaning to lick it off your skin. “Nnhmf—“ you muffled, your eyes closing as you neared the edge. “ ‘mf closhe.”

The three men watched as your breathing sped up, unable to focus when Choso grabbed hold of your hair and manually fucked his cock down your throat. Careful enough to not hurt you.

You whimpered once more with a choked cry, your body spasming uncontrollably as you squirted onto the blond’s chin. Him groaning into you as he lapped it all up, locking his grip on your thighs when you tried to close your legs around his head.

“Oh hoho, look at her.” Gojo teased, “Can’t stop squirming, think we’re overstiming her. Are we, sweet thing?”

You nodded tearfully, Gojo kissing and biting at your neck while you sucked Choso off. His eyes met Nanami’s, both the men releasing you at the same time making you let out a shaky breath.

“We’re not done with you yet.”

Choso moaned as he neared his release, his abs tensing under his shirt and his cock twitching on your tongue. His head falling back with a loud groan before he was pulling out, fisting his cock roughly then cumming all over your pretty face. The sticky substance falling onto your now exposed chest thanks to Gojo.

Choso’s body quivered lightly as he finished spilling, his face quickly turning red again when he straightened his head to find both his colleagues smirking at him.

Gojo grinned, “Great, my turn.” standing up with you against him, kicking back the chair before bending you over, ready to line his aching cock up with your sopping pussy.

You whimpered when he roughly spread your legs with his knee, your hands still cuffed securely behind your back as your face met cold glass.

Gojo cursed as he eased himself into you. “So fucking tight, shit.” he groaned, fucking sloppily into your pussy with no mercy. His painfully hard cock begging for a release ever since he sat you on his lap.

Gojo’s hand reached up in your hair, pulling you up against him as he slammed into you. Your back arching against his chest with a loud mewl. Gojo watched as your ass bounced with each hit of his hips, your head thrown back onto his chest as you filled the room with high pitched moans.

Your pussy clenched when he brought his hand to your tits, fumbling and groping at the soft flesh before twisting your nipples between your fingers. Pulling out a cry from you at the sensation. Gojo’s pace never slowed its abuse to your tightness. Bullying his cock deeper inside you with a string of grunts.

The sound of skin on skin filled the room, your loud cries mixed with Gojo’s grunts as he tugged at both your nipples and your hair. You could feel his tip grazing into your walls with each of his harsh thrusts onto your ass.

Your breaths getting heavy as you neared yet another orgasm. “Nn—nnhg, f-fuckk.”

“Language.”

You trembled with a scream of pleasure, clenching down on the white haired man’s cock as he breathed into your neck with deep throaty moans.

You let out whimper after whimper, your legs feeling like jelly as your knees buckled. “Hahhh— nng, close. Ah- ‘m close.” feeling the pressure on your gummy spot intensifying greatly. “A-ahh— nnh, cumming,” you mewled, lips parted in whiny noises as you came.

Gojo groaned, “Shit- clenching down so hard on me. Gonna break my fucking cock sweetheart.” his thrusts lacking any rhythm as he too neared his orgasm. “Come on, fuck, give it to me.” he rasped.

Your eyes rolling back as you gripped onto his shirt through your handcuffs. Your short moans matching his thrusts as your pussy gushed messily around him.

“That’s it.” he dragged out, slowing his thrusts until he was pulling out of your drenched cunt. Pushing you down onto your knees by your shoulders, “open.” Stroking his cock lightly when you obeyed and spilling onto your awaiting tongue while watching you swallow. “Good girl.” as he steadied his breathing. “She’s all yours,” he said to Nanami.

Your eyes moving behind the tall man to find Nanami sat on a chair with his cock in hand stroking to the sight. And Choso leaned onto the gray walls with his shirt in between his teeth as he did the same as Nanami.

“Come here.” Nanami husked. And you stood on shaky legs to waddle over to him. Your eyes widening at his massive cock, its girth the size of your wrist and its length the same as your forearm. Noticing your hesitation, Nanami chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

His hands found their way onto your hips as he guided you over his lap. A scared whimper falling past your lips when he lined you up with his rock hardness.

“Look at me. You can take it okay? Just be a good girl and relax.”

You sucked in a deep breath and nodded, wincing loudly as he sunk you down onto his cock. Your pussy aching at the stretch to let him in. “Ahh-“ you cried, small tears escaping your eyes as he bottomed you down onto him. Feeling his tip poking against the skin of your stomach.

“Holy shit.” Gojo whistled, “She’s fucking bulging.”

You mewled, looking down to see the outline of Nanami’s tip in your belly. The large man simply glaring at his colleague who only smirked.

Large hands held onto your ass, whispering soothing praises into your ear as he helped you grind up and down with the rocking of your hips. You began moaning as the pain slowly subsided. Pleasure filling your veins as Nanami made you ride him faster bit by bit. Feeling the veins of his cock grazing your sensitive walls with each movement.

You let out a string of loud cries, your hips arching when Nanami landed a slap to your skin. “You’re a real good girl, you know that? Obeying the men of the law. You’re a perfect one.” He groaned.

Gojo sat on the table behind you, his camera zoomed into the stretch of your pussy from the back. Nanami unknowingly spreading your cheeks to give off an even better view.

Choso’s cock prodded at your lips, his precum smearing onto your lips.

“Kamo. Don’t wanna save that for her pussy?” Gojo questioned, Choso shaking his head no with a desperate moan. “Uh uh, love her mouth too much.” Your lips parting to suck him into your throat with a hum.

Choso groaned, thrusting lightly into your mouth, his length throbbing when your tongue suckled at his tip. Nanami quickened your pace of rutting on his cock. Your noises drowned out by the youngest officer’s cock.

Your pussy clenched impossibly tighter. Creamy white covering his cock from top to bottom. Your pussy creaming his length with your clit being stimulated by its rubbing on the region near his base.

Gojo made sure to capture it all. Choso fucking into your throat and you milking Nanami’s cock. With mic picking up Choso’s moans and Nanami’s deep grunts.

Your body trembled, body filled with heat as you came undone. Whimpers bubbling in your throat and your eyes rolling back. The sound of your cuffs shaking entering your ears when your fists gripped literal air.

“Come on.” Nanami groaned, “Cum for us.”

You let out a silent breathy cry, your pussy spraying its cream filled liquid onto the man’s thighs and pants.

Choso followed not too long after you, finding it in him to force you to take all of him into your mouth with a gag before pumping his cum straight down your throat. Some of his cum spilling messily at the sides of your lips when he removed himself from the warmth.

Nanami rolled you onto him a few more times, his cock twitching within the depths of your cunt before effortlessly lifting you off of him and settling you closer to his knees. Giving his large cock a wrist circling stroke before his cock was releasing spurts of cum into the air and onto your tits and stomach with a dragged out groan.

The three of you panted, Gojo setting down his phone after saving the video to his eyes only then walking over to you with a key to remove your handcuffs. You fell forward as your body went limp, your palms feeling Nanami’s hard chest under his work shirt as you stabilized yourself.

The white haired man pressed a short kiss to your head. “Did so well.”

After helping you get cleaned up, the trio walked you out of the room. A slight limp in your step as you were brought into the main room. There you spotted Toji, who practically charged towards you. Slapping Choso’s hand off your waist and pulling you into his side. “Don’t touch my girl.”

Choso only walked away before giving you a look. And you sucked in a deep breath before you spoke, “Toji-“

“Before you say what you have to say baby, they charged us for robbery.” Kissing you softly on the same spot Gojo did. “Got any money to get us out of this.”

Just as you were about to speak, a voice echoed through the room. “Y/n L/n? You’re free to go.”

You gave Toji a tight lipped smile while scratching at your arm. “Sorry Toji.. i don’t have any. And since i didn’t do anything wrong i don’t see why i should be kept either.”

Toji looked at you in disbelief. A smirk eventually gracing his face. “Didn’t think you had that in ya.” Watching as you were escorted out by a blond officer who didn’t even spare him a glance.

He would have to use his one call on one of his recent flings to pay the fine.

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not-neverland06 · 5 months ago

Text

you're not her

The 'Worst' Logan x fem!mutant!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eat me-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ominous, but whatever. “Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, look, my favorite fuck buddies.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t. Hold. Back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wade

Did you fuckers have sex???

In my bed!!!!

And you didn’t invite me?!

….

Wade

Tell Logan I want his claws in me next

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

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

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

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist: @nonamevenus ♡

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

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evilgwrl · 5 months ago

Text

ExHusband!Simon x Reader

You Want a Divorce? (One)

Note: I'm having the WORST writer's block now so pls excuse my lack of proper writing... I'm currently sitting in front of a beach writing in hopes that ill gain inspo

CW: Angst, mentions of sex, jealous/possessive Simon, PLS DONT LEAVE YOUR KIDS IN THE CAR !!! Or break into someone’s house

Inspired by: Ex!Husband Simon

PART TWO

Simon stared at you. The shades of his eyes simmering into endless voids of obsidian, blonde lashes moulded against his greased lids, the residue of the perpetual torture his body had succumbed to during deployment.

“You want a divorce?” He spoke, voice deep as he flickered between your shaking heads, sweat soiling into the papers gripped firmly and your swollen face, cheeks feverish with a red hue, eyes even more so.

You held back a rough sob, throat stripped of all moisture evident in your hoarse voice as you spoke, “Yes, Simon. I think it would be best for our family… for us.”

He scoffed. “You think the best thing for our family is to separate?”

“We already pretty much are. You’re away for days, weeks, months at a time. We’re hardly a family and it’s difficult to explain to the children why I’m crying.”

“Ok then.”

That was it. You would admit, it stung. His lacklustre tone felt like a stab in the gut, the blade drenched with anthrax as it reared blistering sores internally, the effects having shown through your putrid complexion. Your skin was dull, practically lifeless, the only living form of you grew day by day through the darkening of eyebags that almost made you look apocalyptic.

It had been 12 months of separation, officially 8 being legally divorced. You kept his last name, the permanent burn of hearing Mrs Riley still searing through you with every syllable, yet you feel it would only hurt you more if they said Ms.

Simon was often away now, and the minimal family time he used to get felt pointless as the shabby apartment he moved into after the sudden interference of your mind-boggling news barely fit the two kids you shared. His body felt more relentless on him, the taunting of his mind fulgurated the inoperative reality that he would come home to you, to his family.

His voice, almost like it dropped an octave had grown richer in aggression, tormenting those he deemed suitable, both with his tongue and with his bruised knuckles, an oil painting of blue and purple hues radiating across the pale flesh as he shrugged it off to his team as “pushing himself and others to do better”.

Couldn’t you realise your mistake? Wouldn’t you prefer crying in his arms about his absence than never having it fulfilled again?

As he looked around the bleak environment, tan stained walls revolting the creaking mattress he had brought someone home to, someone who wasn’t you. It made him feel sick like a viral infection had slunk its way into his bloodstream as he laid next to a woman that failed to make his cock throb, endless images of you sprawled out under him flickering. No wonder he called out your name instead.

You felt the familiar shake of your hands every time your phone dinged; Simon’s dreary tone was evident through his dry “On the way” text. You ushered a day of your children’s life into their cartoon-themed backpacks, innocent smiles adorning their skin, doe-like eyes of brown, far too familiar to Simon’s staring up at you.

The sound of his car scraping into your paved driveway almost made you feel like throwing up, the nerves of seeing him combined with the already present pit of anxiety due to your date later turning you into one big shaky mess as you brushed it off as “too much caffeine”.

The echo of his car door slamming shut rung through your ears, staining you with the reiteration that your ex-husband was now at your door, heavy fists knocking upon the wood. The image you saw of him in your mind morphed back to reality as you stared at him, a blank expression on your face.

“Hi, love.”

“Hi, Simon.”

Your frown was clear, the pet name you were so used to becoming a distant memory in the past few months. It was a hole you were attempting to fill, to clear yourself away from his teasing tongue and faux impression of a healthy relationship. You were divorced for a reason, you knew that, but as you gazed upon the lack of life in his skin, it was almost like he was holding a mirror up to you.

“Daddy!” You watched as your 5-year-old, Ella, practically leapt into his hefty frame, his hands coiling around her like second nature. You could feel his warmth, the heat that would build in your stomach when you felt those same digits touch you.

“Hi sweetheart,” his voice gruff, yet tone lighter as he placed a delicate kiss on the skin of her forehead, “You miss me?”

She nodded, her face buried in the hem of his neck as your other child cooed from the bouncy chair, tubby legs attempting to wheel himself to the door.

“There’s my boy,” Simon practically cooed as he placed Ella down, bounding inside as he lifted the toddler out, grabby arms reaching out to pull at Simon’s locks, gentle tugs causing you to laugh.

Your voice cut through the scene like glass. Why would you want to destroy such a happy moment? Weren’t you supposed to be reuniting? Just say it, tell Simon you want him to come home, that you need him.

“This is Ella’s bag,” you speak, holding up the pink Minnie Mouse bag, “And this is Toby’s.” Your son giggled as he muffled out the words, “Transformers”.

Simon nodded, “Are you doing anything tonight?”

Ella practically screeched, “Mummy’s going on a date!” The thrill of her laughter that followed only seemed to make the situation more awkward.

“A date?” Simon’s voice was deadly, the hair raising on your arms as you shook your head, a tight smile on your suddenly dry lips.

“No, no, nothing like that. Just catching up with an old colleague of mine.”

“But he’s a boy, Mummy,” Ella giggled. Who was raising your daughter to be such a big mouth? Your face formed an annoyed look, eyebrows raising as a line of wrinkles crinkled against your forehead, your pointer fingers massaging your temples.

“An old colleague?” Simon practically gasped. Had he met him at your old work Xmas parties?

“Let’s get you guys in the car.” You fumbled with Toby’s car seat as you strapped him in, your nimble fingers shaking with anxiety before you shut the door, pressing a kiss against the window before wiping away the minimal residue of dirt. Gross.

“Who is he?” His tone was acerbic like he was looking for an argument. How dare you try and replace him? He was your husband, the father of your two kids? Have you seen this random man before? Had he fucked you?

“God, Simon-“

“Who is he?” Simon was relentless, bullying his way into getting the answers as his arms folded across his chest, tattoos practically screaming at you too.

“His name’s Andrew. I ran into him at a coffee shop a few weeks back and he just wanted to catch up. That’s it.”

A loud scoff sounded in the air. “You mean that geezer from that corporate job you hated? The one who didn’t know it was weird to blatantly stare down your dress when you were standing next to your fucking husband?”

“He didn’t stare down my dress! You’re not my husband anymore, Simon. I can see who I want.”

“I don’t want our children to grow up thinking they have multiple dads.”

You’ll admit, that stung.

“Multiple dads? You’re out of your mind. The only reason they would ever believe they have multiple dads is if their real one stopped showing up. And where have you been, Simon? When have you shown up?”

Simon held his tongue, the warmth of the metallic taste gashing through his teeth as he practically snarled past you. “I’ll bring them back tomorrow.”

The dress you wore was practically suffocating you as you tucked your stomach in. Simon never minded the change in your figure after motherhood, he found himself liking it even more. He loved knowing that his seed put you through that, that he made you swell with his children, and he brought out the glow in your cheeks and the delicate stretch marks that laced your hips.

Andrew was nice. His tone was comforting as he walked to your door, ushering you to his car as he insisted you could order whatever you wanted. He was handsome, the salt and pepper hues of his hair settling your insecurity.

“We’ll take the Pinot Noir,” he spoke, looking at you with an almost arrogant sheer in his blue eyes. You only liked white. Simon knew that just like he knew everything about y-

You’re not with Simon anymore. You had to realise that. Maybe that’s why you brought Andrew home, let him shove his cock (that was a lot smaller than what you were used to) inside your heat, as you let out moans you had mimicked from the porn you watched with the actor that resembled far too much of your ex-husband.

Simon's fingers gripped the steering wheel early the next morning, your two children snuggled up in the backseat as he drove back to his old house, your old home. He wasn’t a man who gave up easy, he would show you, prove to you that you made a mistake. You needed each other.

Hold on. You don’t drive a red car?

His car lurched into the entrance of your home, nearly ramming into the garage as he shoved it in park, rolling down the two back windows slightly for air as he dug around in the small side compartment of his car.

The familiar gold key he had stolen from you the night he packed up all his stuff stared back at him, practically egging him on. Go on Simon, march in there. So he did. His hand rattled against the door knob, glancing back to peak into the car for a second before he slammed the door shut.

Your body froze. Were you being robbed? No. It was only Simon. A very angry-looking Simon. You stood, the white sheet barely shielding your naked body as he took in the sight of the man next to you, his hands wrapping around his shoulders as he practically ripped him out of bed, flinging him onto the floor as he grunted, eyes reared with hatred.

“Simon, what the fuck are you doing? WHERE ARE THE KIDS?”

Andrew groaned, on the floor, covering his groin as Simon chucked the masculine clothes at his head, the thin boxers soiled across the man’s scalp as he trembled.

“Our kids are asleep in the car, waiting for their Mummy to come to the zoo with them.” Simon’s words were despicable, laced with an acrimonious tone, small particles of spit seething through his lips as stared at you.

He turned to the man, a giant frame staggering over the top of him. “Get the fuck out, and if you wake up our kids when you go past, I will personally put a bullet straight in the middle of your skull,” he said, pushing a thick digit against his forehead as Andrew rushed out, clothes barely on before you felt the front door shut, a cry of apologises leaving your lips as you tried to assist him but Simon only held you back, a tight grip coiling around your arm.

“What the fuck was that? How’d you get in?” You couldn’t even place the words to say, humiliation roaring through you as you snuggled the sheet closer to you, away from his peering eyes.

“It’s time to be a family again, don’t you think love?”

#evilgwrl #141 x reader #call of duty x reader #ghost #ghost smut #simon riley #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost cod

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landhoe-norris · 4 months ago

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I’ve said it for years but I’ll say it again. People want Lando to be the 2019 version of himself. Timid with no self-confidence and imposter syndrome.

Y’all want him to be bashful and apprehensive of the other drivers, y’all want him to giggle so much that he cries in press conferences, y’all want him to look at George and Alex not as equals but as heroes.

Lando is not 19 anymore. He’s gained confidence through the years and he’s found himself in this sport and seems to finally look at himself not as someone who lucked into the sport but as someone who deserves to be there.

He’s paid his dues through the years. He’s had a shitbox, a mediocre car and now a car that is worthy of his talent. Is he perfect? No, nothing about him is perfect. He’s flawed both on and off track, but he’s resilient, talented, insanely hard working and he has never ever been complacent in the years he’s been in F1. He’s championship material (and enough former drivers have repeatedly said the same) and now he’s a championship contender at the age of 24, and nothing anyone will throw at him or scream into the void or send him online will change that.

#f1 #lando norris

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p1utofairy · 2 months ago

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🕸 WHAT DOES YOUR PERSON WANT TO TELL YOU RIGHT NOW?

NOTE — for entertainment purposes only. take what resonates & leave what doesn't. y’all i can’t believe october is almost over already, like woah?! ugh this took me a couple days to finish but here’s a treat for you all <3 my lil boo bears. 🎃👻

PILE ONE.

heyyyy pile 1 i just wanna start by saying WHEWWW your person does not play about you! they have such high regard for you it’s honestly so cute. they see you as the full package. if not you, than who? is just how they feel. it’s honestly weighing on them so heavy that they’re not in connection with you right now in the 3D – they feel like something in their life is missing and they can’t quite put their finger on it but on a soul-level they know it’s you. their soul craves your warm touch, your genuine love and affection. nothing/no-one could ever come close to the way that you love them and vice versa.

you both are like two peas in a pod lol ‘birds of a feather’ by billie eilish just started playing in my head. your person has a very child-like/mercurial energy to them that they suppress, but it comes out whenever you’re in their presence. they can’t help but feel giddy inside, because your smile is just so sweet and cute. they want me to tell you that you heal a part of them that they never knew was wounded. you have a knack for picking up on people’s unspoken feelings/trauma/baggage that they carry heavy on their heart, and you make them feel seen and heard. that is one of the things that your person loves about you the most, pile 1. your compassion and empathy – you know what to say and how to say it. your person probably had to become independent at a really young age, and they’re telling me that it wasn’t easy but they look at life so much differently when it comes to you. you give them motivation and strength to confidently take on anything that life throws at them.

they’re used to putting on a mask and pretending like they have everything together when they really don’t, but this connection with you is really going to make them sit and reflect on their own inner child wounds and work through it. this connection with you will allow them to feel the joy and love that they never truly received in their childhood. they’ve spent a lot of their time moving from one meaningless connection to the next, searching for something that could fill the void but nothing has worked.

for some of you, your person could struggle with substance abuse or overindulging in things that aren’t good for them. it might not be so extreme but they could smoke a lot of weed or cigarettes. for others of you, your person might be on again/off again with a karmic ex but i see them leaving this all behind and getting their bad habits under control before they come into contact with you. it’s not even like they truly want to indulge in those things/situations, but something triggered them to the point of needing some type of escape. when they feel scared or hurt they feel like a child again, searching for some sort of a comfort and safe space. they’re not proud of it but they want me to tell you that they’re just really overwhelmed right now.

however, there’s quite literally nothing they wouldn’t do for you, pile 1. they always want to make you smile and laugh no matter what. right now they don’t feel like they’re in the right position to move towards you because there’s a few external influences that are halting y’alls connection right now, but trust me their spirit guides are working on it. this person might not have the greatest reputation but they’re actively trying to do better, especially for you. they’re tired of falling into the same situations and cycles with the same karmic people. your person wants me to tell you that they can’t wait to be with you and to finally hold you in their arms. they want you to know that you’ll always be safe with them and that they will always have your back no matter what. your wish is their command, pile 1. TOO CUTE. ahhhhh 11:11 on the clock wow.

other channeled messages:

leave you alone jeezy ft. ne-yo, needy by ariana grande, wifey material, you already know this person, there’s somebody in your inner circle you need to cut off, bianca and cameron from 10 things i hate about you, air sign venus, 11H placements.

PILE TWO.

pile 222 what’s up! my mind over matter pile, i dig it lol. you have no problem revoking your energy back from anyone or any situation that doesn’t serve you any good, and your person genuinely loves that about you so much. you know your worth, and even if it comes down to someone or something you truly value and care for, if it’s not in alignment with you, you’re out the door! i’m hearing ‘deuces’ by [redacted redacted] i’m moving on to somethin' better, better, better. no more tryna make it work. YEAH very much that.

your person does want me to tell you that you need to step out of your comfort zone and stop playing things so safe – let loose and have a little fun. i feel like you guard your heart and could possibly have some trust issues – it’s like your flight or fight kicks in when it comes to intimacy/romance. some of you that picked this pile might have capricorn placements? it’s like you’re a lover at heart but not everyone gets to see that side of you, especially people that pursue you romantically. you’re like AHT AHT hold it right there! now ‘motive’ by ariana grande ft. doja cat is coming to mind lol cause i see you tryin', subliminally tryin' to see if i’m gon' be the one that's in your arms. i admit it's exciting, parts of me kinda like it. but before i lead you on…baby, tell me, what's your motive? mhm that’s your vibe, pile 2. whereas your person is more action-based and just jumps right in and goes for it with no hesitation. whatever they feel/think, they act on.

there’s gonna be a bit of a push and pull energy between you two lol you might not know how to take your person at first. you might be like ummm….what is this? LMAOOO honestly this is amusing because both you and your person’s energies compliment each other so well but y’alls approach to love is completely different. you’re more of a “well why would i waste my time?” type of a person whereas they look at it like “if it works out it works out, if not…life goes on.” your person could have prominent aries and/or aquarius placements as well. 1:11 on the clock omg.

i think this person will check all the boxes that you want in a partner though. they may not seem that way in terms of their approach, but they will be a real devoted and dependable partner when it comes to you. currently there is a flighty energy about them, they seem to be a bit all over the place. for some of you, your person is dealing with a situationship/ex and trying to close out that cycle. also picking up a very specific message (for a very small group of y’all) that this person could already have a kid or have a kid on the way which was kind of unexpected and has created some sort of emotional turmoil for them. either way, whatever situation your person is currently facing, it’s ultimately pushing them to mature and take responsibility so that when they approach you they can really show you that they want the real deal and they’re not just playing games. they’re gonna come all the way correct lol they know you deserve the best and that’s exactly how they’re going to show up and out for you.

other channeled messages:

temperature by sean paul, i wanna be down by brandi, having deep conversations, stay ready by jhené aiko ft kendrick, no by meghan trainor, 10:10.

PILE THREE.

hiii pile 3! if you feel called to it, check out pile 2 as well there might be messages in there for you too. your person wants me to tell you that they feel a little bit restless right now lol like they’re from one thing to the next. they’ve been feeling really bored and stagnant and now they’re ready for something new. ooo ‘something new’ by zendaya ft [redacted redacted] is coming to mind don’t know your name, but i guess i really don't care. i probably should wait, but i wanna let you go there. right now your person is undergoing a big transformation, emotionally and spiritually. they’re shedding a lot of their past toxic behaviors and limited beliefs so that they can be more grounded and take responsibility for their own lives.

they’ve been through a lot this past year, but no more of the blame game, they’re taking ownership. i’m ngl you’re gonna have your person sprung lol they want me to tell you that they find you sexy af and you’re exactly the type of partner they want/dream of. you have a very commanding presence, whether you know that or not, and you’re gonna have them entranced like OMG wrapped around your finger.

for some of you, you might feel insecure about your body or wish you had less of this and more of that but guess what?! they’re gonna love you DOWN like they can’t believe someone as enticing as you actually exists. ‘down on me’ by jeremih ft 50 cent just started playing in my mind lol your person is so funny (and horny for you) BYE lmaooooo. they’re a very straightforward person, but they want you to know that they respect you so fucking much and they’d never dream of making you feel uncomfortable or objectified.

i’m also getting that you two could meet at a party/club of some kind and/or meet through mutual friends possibly. there’s gonna be sparks between you two right off the bat, but you might play hard to get in the beginning just for the fuck of it lol that’s just gonna make your person want you even more. ngl things might move fast between y’all hehe some of y’all might just hookup with your person off the rip cause they’re just soooo charming, pile 2. like even if you do hold out on them in the beginning, you’re gonna eventually fold cause the chemistry between y’all is HOT AF like i’m sweating. just randomly thought of mr and mrs smith, whew!

other channeled messages:

caught up by usher, wanna be by glorilla & megan thee stallion, cocky af by megan thee stallion, new car, don’t tell everything you know, shravana, touch my body by mariah carey, boyfriend by justin bieber, sex on the beach by partynextdoor, klaus & caroline from the vampire diaries, prominent mars, moon-mars synastry.

PILE FOUR.

pile 4, omg. i feel so warm and fuzzy like wow your person wants you to know that they don’t see anyone else but you. that don’t want to be with anyone else but you. they’re drawn to you like a moth to a flame. ‘closer’ by ne-yo immediately came to mind lol turn the lights off in this place and she shines just like a star. and i swear i know her face…i just don't know who you are. they find you so mesmerizing it’s honestly so adorable. your person is gonna go the extra mile to court you, pile 4. they feel like you deserve all the finer things in life and they will give that to you.

your person is proof that chivalry is not dead because WOW when i tell you that this person is so respectful, kind, generous and dependable…i truly mean it. they see you for what you are, a star. they want me to tell you that they’re going to be so devoted to you and they’re going to show you that there is so much more to life than just work work work work. you’re a busy bee, pile 4. you’re constantly working and pushing yourself to achieve your goals to the point that you sometimes forget to just relax and allow yourself to just be.

your person wants me to tell you that they’re coming into your life sooner than you think. 11:11 on the clock wow. they’re gonna bring so much joy and abundance into your life! you’re going to be so happy and at peace whenever you’re with them, it’s like they just make everything easier. your person loves how wise you are and how you never fold under pressure – that to them is sooo incredibly sexy.

they’re a go-getter as well, so you two together is truly gonna be a force to be reckoned with – it’s giving power couple. your person could have prominent 10H placements and you could have cancer/4h placements. i’m seeing so much yellow, wow. they really embody solar plexus energy and will help you to be more confident and unapologetic with the way you look and feel. you both elevate each other in so many ways it’s amazing, pile 4. i feel like they’re going to open you up to trying new things & you’re really going to feel liberated.

your person isn’t used to settling down and being in a committed relationship for long, but they want the whole 9 with you. they’re telling me that they will really work hard to make things right with you. they can admit that they’ve been selfish and have been putting themselves first in this connection, but they’re putting their best foot forward now to be the partner that you need them to be. they were being greedy and inconsiderate in the past, and they truly regret that but accountability is the first step for them and now they know how to move accordingly to come into this connection with a healthy mindset and genuine love.

they want me to tell you that you’re a diamond and they’re aware that you don’t go for just anything so they are not going to approach you with just anything lol they are getting their shit together so that they can give you everything plus more. you’ll see ;) your person is so amazing pile 4 i love this for you eeeekkk.

other channeled messages:

shawty is da sh*! by the dream & fabolous, diva by beyoncé, 420, dangerous woman by ariana grande, numb by rihanna ft. eminem, initials J N B or C, ex lingering, 4th house.

#pick a card #pac #pick a pile #pick a card reading #p1utofairy #pac reading #tarot reading

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avocado-writing · 4 months ago

Note

being the worst wolverine’s wife and one day you get zapped by the TVA for whatever reason, and it looks like you completely disappeared, this is what leads logan to become depressed, start drinking and ultimately ignore the x men when they die etc etc

he goes with wade purely bc he would if you were alive- he couldn’t give less of a shit about wade’s universe but he can feel you over his shoulder like an angel telling him he needs to do this (i imagine it’s like the jean hallucinations he had in the wolverine movie)

what if you’re in the void and he finds you with the rest of the group, like being unable to believe you’re really here?

hehe i love angst and ily avo <3

I already did a “Logan meets you in the void” fic here so I didn’t wanna make this too long or I’d just end up hitting the same beats!

1.4k. rated m for excessive use of the word “fuck”

The day you disappeared you took his fucking soul with him.

You had been out shopping. Nothing weird about that, he wasn’t some overbearing husband who demanded to know your location every single hour. But then afternoon had turned into evening had turned into night and nobody had heard from you. The unfamiliar sensation of panic had risen, queasy, from his stomach into his chest. They sent out a search party and looked for days. Not a trace of you to be found. Logan couldn’t smell you. Fuck, he’d never not been able to smell you before.

He would hunt for you every day, hoping to find you alive but trying to level with the idea of you being cold and dead because at least then he’d have closure; he’d stay awake for hours on end until he collapsed from exhaustion… then he’d wake up and repeat the whole horrible affair. Nothing. After weeks of searching, Charles had laid a hand on his arm. Logan can still remember the look of pity on his face, like a bomb to the gut.

“I’m so sorry, Logan.”

They had to assume you were abducted and killed. Your body never turned up. And Logan just had to… keep going. How was he meant to keep going? You were his entire fucking life and then you were just…

Gone.

To say he was left empty was the biggest understatement of his fucking life. He was a shell of the man he once was. He never laughed any more, never smiled, always trying to plug the hole your absence left in him with whatever alcohol he could get his hands on. Drink himself to a place where he could forget you.

It never really worked. At least it made him numb to the pain though.

When he staggers home one evening, eyes bleary and head spinning, and finds the whole mansion torched? Everyone left that he loved fucking dead? Well, it takes the last vestiges of his existence and crushes them into dust.

Oh, Logan, he hears in the back of his mind. Your voice. It breaks him. He falls to his knees, hands buried in the burning timbers, and wails.

He survives. He does not live. Thinking about everyone he’s lost, with you haunting the corners of his consciousness, always reaching out to comfort him - but when he goes to nuzzle into the warmth of your palm he is overcome with rage and bitterness to find it’s just his own imagination playing tricks on him.

Then a fucking idiot in red dragged him away from the shambles which was his life and forced him to be functional again, if only barely. He’s angry, so angry all of the goddamn time, even when in the back of his mind he can hear you speaking sweet, calming words to him.

And then he hears your voice for real.

Sees you standing across the base this pathetic resistance has made. You look older, sure, he does too - but there’s no mistaking the fire in those eyes. You’re even wearing the same fucking shirt you went missing in, he remembers it, it has a picture of your favourite band.

His heart stops dead in his chest as you whisper his name.

“Logan?”

“Oh shit!” says Wade, and Logan has never wanted to kill him more, “Oh shit! Is this your refrigeratored wife, coming back to throw in a third act character arc?”

Logan finishes the bourbon bottle and throws the empty at Wade’s head, where it shatters and knocks him flat. You wince at the violence and he feels like pure shit.

“I’m fine,” Wade calls from the ground, sticking a thumbs-up into the air.

“Logan, I…” you clearly want to say something, but you have not been met with the Logan you knew. That Logan would have spent no time running to pick you up and hold you in his arms. This one half-snarls at the man he bloodied on the floor.

There is an agonising silence, both of you wanting to speak but not being sure how. You take a hesitant step forward.

“I never thought I’d…”

“How do I know it’s you?”

You recoil like he’s stabbed you with his claws, confusion and hurt flooding your face. Goddamn. He is the worst man alive. He’s not sure if he’s saying it because he just wants to lash out at the nearest person, or…

… or if, because he gets his hopes up, it might just kill him to have them crash down again.

“What?”

“All these fuckin’ timelines. How do I know? How can I be sure that you’re you?”

The sadness in your face melts away into anger. When you step forward this time, you’re on the warpath. He sees the others in the room cringe, trapped now in this caustic reunion.

“How can you be sure it’s me? Fuck, Logan, I knew it was you, didn’t I? What do you want? You want me to show you the shitty tattoo I got after we first started dating and we were both drunk?” You lift your sleeve to reveal a little design on your shoulder. “Want me to tell you how an eighteen-year-old Marie was my bridesmaid and she cried because she didn’t think anyone would ever be that kind to her after living as a mutant again? Want me to fucking remind you that in my vows I said I would be by your side, for fucking ever, no matter what - and how when that TVA agent zapped me when I was out for the day and I ended up here, it was only the thought of fulfilling those vows which kept me going? How about all that, or do I fucking need to humiliate myself more?” At this, you gesture to the others who have lined up at the side of the room, trying to look scarce but utterly failing.

Your shoulders are heaving with emotions, tears hot and heavy in your eyes but not yet spilling over. Logan grits his jaw. Yeah. It’s you.

“I…” he starts, but trails off when he realises there’s nothing he can say. You shake your head, numb.

“Fuck you, Logan Howlett,” you spit, words you’ve never ever thrown his way before, and run out of the room.

“Wow. Aced that one, peanut,” says Wade, and Logan rips off one of his legs.

He finds you several hours later at a campfire outside the rundown building which makes up headquarters. LeBeau has clearly been kind enough to part with some of his liquor, because you’re gulping down whiskey like it’s air. You stare at him, embers dancing in bitter eyes.

“What do you want?” you snap. He grunts as he sits down opposite you, either from age or exertion. Stares into the flames.

“I never stopped looking,” he manages.

You blink.

“What?”

“I never…” he shifts uncomfortably. It’s been a long time since he bared this much of his soul. “I never stopped. Even when the others told me to give up, that I would only make it worse for myself, I’d still search. Couldn’t face the idea you weren’t there any more.”

It’s true. If he was twelve bottles deep he’d be looking, if he was hungover as a dog he’d be looking. When the rest of the X-Men were still there and even after they weren’t. If he wasn’t sitting at a bar he was on the streets, ever a bloodhound trying to catch your scent again.

For the first time you soften.

“Oh.”

“So… when I asked if it was you… ah, fuck. I didn’t mean to come off as an asshole. Just couldn’t live with it if it wasn't true. Wasn’t real.”

When you stand he expects a slap. He deserves it. What he doesn’t count on is you sitting down - not on the log next to him, but in his lap. He hasn’t felt you do that for so long, and it’s so good. Your warmth on his thigh. You grab one of his hands, still larger than yours, and press it to your chest so he can feel your beating heart.

“I’m real, Logan. I’m right here, baby,” you whisper, eyes dewy. Fuck. His are as well; he can’t help it. He’s overwhelmed by you, your feel, your gaze, your smell. He’d forgotten how much he loved it.

Logan noses upwards against you, searching for your lips, and you let him find them. When you stroke his hair he can feel the wedding ring on your left hand. The kiss is desperate, longing, and the best one he’s ever had.

“Right here,” you repeat, forehead against his. He grips you so tightly that it’s possible he’ll never let go again.

#my writing #james logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #x men x reader #logan howlett imagine #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu imagine #wolverine fanfiction #mcu fandom

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velvet4510 · 10 months ago

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Here’s the thing.

Many Bagginshield shippers, especially in fics, focus on how Bilbo never got over Thorin, to the point where some describe Bilbo’s entire life as sad and empty and unfulfilled because of that loss.

Don’t get me wrong: I do agree that he suffered terrible loss and undeserved torment by the Ring. And the fact that he never married probably did have some connection to the memory of Thorin.

But, y’all, don’t forget or ignore the fact that, in Tolkien’s text, Bilbo does move on from grief and live the rest of his life well.

He does not become bitter from his pain. He retains his kind heart.

He is generous with his wealth, helping in every way he can the very community that ostracizes him.

He sees in Frodo a kindred spirit and takes it upon himself to be the parental figure that Frodo so badly needs as an orphan.

He and Frodo develop an uncle-nephew (really more like father-son) relationship built on trust, keeping no secrets from each other, to the level where he tells Frodo the truth about his encounter with Gollum. (And probably the truth about his feelings for Thorin, too.)

He and Frodo have so much fun, going for walks every day, studying the Elvish languages, and throwing big birthday parties to show the community a good time. It’s plain to see that caring for Frodo filled that massive void inside Bilbo, finally giving him someone to love and devote himself to looking after, after his first chance at that (albeit the first being a different kind of love) was taken from him.

He does not see himself as superior to the lower class despite his riches, and always treats the Gamgees with the utmost respect.

He teaches Sam to read and write.

He tells his story to the younger hobbits, inspiring more of them to want to learn more about the outside world and not be so sheltered and ignorant…an effort which ultimately saves Middle-earth because the Travelers learn from him to be curious and interested in the lands outside the Shire, and he inspires them daily, as they constantly say to themselves “if Bilbo could go there and back again despite great danger, so can we.”

He even learns to love having a tarnished reputation, ultimately taking advantage of being “mad” to play a fun prank.

When he is no longer at rest in the Shire, he gifts Frodo all his property which will ensure Frodo is set for life, and through all his passive aggressive gifts to his relatives, he gives the Gaffer genuinely useful items that he knows will help him, including ointment for creaky joints.

He gets a peaceful retirement among his Elven friends, which he spends writing his memoir so that future generations will know all about his lost friends.

And ultimately, he embraces the special gift of an exception from the Valar and rare permission to set foot in the Blessed Realm for one last adventure, where he will continue to look after his beloved nephew.

And the fact is, he never would’ve gotten any of these things if he’d stayed in Erebor. He would never have developed that special bond with Frodo - he may never have even met him - and consequently, Frodo may never have met Sam.

Yes, a lot of his life was lonely and somber. But much more of it, even after experiencing such a tragedy, was full of love and joy and fun and excitement. He became an invaluable caretaker and mentor to the next generation of hobbits, got a taste of fatherhood, passed on his expertise and his story, and spent his last years surrounded by friends and family.

Bilbo Baggins may have lost the love of his life, but he did not give up on life itself, and he lived a full one. Don’t forget that.

#lotr #jrr tolkien #lotr books #lord of the rings #the hobbit #bilbo baggins #frodo baggins #bilbo and frodo #hobbits #samwise gamgee #elvish language #red book #the valar #valinor #tolkien elves #bagginshield #thorin x bilbo #samfro #frodo x sam

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hisfavegirl · 1 month ago

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The Queen Grief - King Aegon Targaryen x TwinSister!Reader

Summary : After the incident where your son was killed coldly, you were drowned in anger and also hated.

part II.

You were consumed by grief and rage, your heart aching as you watched the servants carefully lift your son’s bloodstained blanket. They were going to burn it, or perhaps throw it away, treating it like nothing more than a piece of cloth stained by death. The thought of it made you tremble with fury.

Your eyes shifted to the bed where your son had once slept, now soaked in blood—his blood. The memory of his innocent face, his little hands grasping the blanket you had carefully knitted for him, made your chest tighten with unbearable pain. You reached for the soft fabric, clutching it tightly to your chest as fresh tears began to fall.

The blanket, once a symbol of warmth and love, now felt like a cruel reminder of what had been stolen from you. You could almost hear his voice again, that soft giggle when you’d first shown him the blanket, the joy in his eyes when he wrapped it around himself, feeling safe in your arms.

“I made this for you, my sweet Jaehaerys,” you whispered through the tears, the words heavy with the weight of loss. “I promised I would protect you, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t protect you from them.”

The memory of his reaction, the bright smile and the way his tiny hands ran over the knitted fabric, was now a bitter and painful reminder of how brief his life had been. You clutched the blanket tighter, your sobs wracking your body, and you felt a deep ache inside you that could never be filled. The warmth of his presence, the sound of his laughter—gone. And in its place, only the cold, lifeless blanket and the bloodstains that would never wash away.

You collapsed onto the floor, your body shaking as you sat amidst the scattered toys that once filled your son’s room with joy. The small wooden blocks, the tiny figurines—each one a reminder of the life he would never get to live, the laughter and innocence that would never be heard again. Your tears flowed freely, and the pain in your chest became unbearable.

The sound of your sobs filled the room, louder and more desperate with each passing moment. Your heart ached for him, for the life stolen from you both. You cried out for the child you would never see again, for the dreams that would never come true. Your breath came in ragged gasps as the grief overwhelmed you.

Suddenly, you felt the warmth of Aegon’s arms around you, pulling you close, and his voice, cracked with emotion, whispered in your ear. “I’m here. I’m with you. I’ll never leave you.” His words were a comfort, but the sorrow in his voice matched your own, his tears mingling with yours.

You leaned into him, trembling with the force of your grief. The two of you clung to each other, crying together, mourning the loss of your son in a silence that spoke of shared pain. Aegon’s embrace, his steady presence, was the only thing grounding you in that moment, but nothing could fill the aching void left in your heart.

And so, you cried. You cried until your tears seemed endless, until the weight of the world felt too much to bear. Aegon cried with you, his own sorrow mixing with yours, and for that moment, it felt as though you were no longer alone in your grief. But the emptiness of loss still lingered, heavy and suffocating, as the two of you wept for the son you had lost.

After a long, silent weeping, Aegon finally made the decision to lift you in his arms. His steps were slow and steady, as though the weight of grief was pulling him down just as much as it had consumed you. Your body felt light in his arms, yet heavy with sorrow. Every step he took was an effort, but he kept going, determined to bring you some measure of comfort.

As he walked through the hallways, trying to escape the suffocating grief, a group of soldiers appeared before him. One of them, looking hesitant yet resolute, stepped forward.

“Your Grace,” the soldier said, his voice respectful but firm, “The Dowager Queen has commanded that the Queen has to meet her at her private solar, as per her instructions.”

Aegon’s jaw tightened. His eyes, filled with the same pain that tore at your heart, locked onto the soldier’s. His voice, cold and unwavering, rang out in the tense silence.

“No,” Aegon replied, his tone low but carrying the weight of his authority. “I will not hand her over. I will take her to our chambers.”

The soldier hesitated, glancing at the others, but none of them moved. They understood the King’s command. Aegon, despite the crown on his head, was not swayed by the demands of his mother, the Queen Dowager. His focus was entirely on you, his queen, his wife, the woman who was grieving the loss of their son.

With no further words, Aegon continued his path toward your room. The soldiers reluctantly stepped aside, not daring to challenge him again. The halls seemed eerily quiet as Aegon carried you with care, every step bringing him closer to a place where, for just a moment, there would be no responsibilities, no demands—only the quiet solace of being together.

When the door to your chamber finally closed behind him, Aegon gently laid you on the bed, his heart heavy but steadfast. He sat beside you, taking your hand in his, and in the quiet stillness of the room, he whispered, “I’m here. I will never leave you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

You clung to Aegon’s body, wrapping your arms tightly around him as if you could draw strength from his presence. The storm of emotion inside you seemed endless, the grief so deep you couldn’t see past it. His warmth was the only comfort in that moment, and you buried your face against his chest, closing your eyes, trying to escape the overwhelming pain.

Aegon held you close, his breath steady against your hair, his arms strong around you. After a long pause, he slowly closed his eyes, allowing the quiet of the room to wash over both of you. Then, with a soft and gentle touch, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment as if trying to convey all the love and sorrow he felt without words.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing, “I’m here, and I won’t leave you.”

Then, to calm you, Aegon began to hum softly, the familiar melody of a song you loved, one that had always brought you peace in moments of chaos. His voice was hushed, carrying the melody gently as he softly rocked you in his arms.

The tune, a song you’d always cherished, seemed to weave its way through the tension and heartache, slowly, gently pulling you back from the edge of your grief. His voice, full of love and concern, was the only thing you could focus on, and with each note, you felt a small measure of calm washing over you.

His arms around you were strong, a shield against the world outside, and in that moment, with his voice humming that familiar, soothing tune, you finally allowed yourself to rest, to close your eyes and let the pain ease—if only for a brief moment.

As the soft hum of Aegon’s voice began to soothe you, a sound from the doorway broke through the fragile peace. You opened your eyes, turning your head, and there she was—your mother, Alicent, standing with an air of composed determination. Her gaze swept over the room, lingering on the sight of you in Aegon’s arms, clutching the blanket that had once been your son’s.

Tears threatened to rise again as you held the bloodstained fabric closer, pressing it against your face, the faintest hint of your son’s scent still clinging to it. The weight of Alicent’s presence, however, was impossible to ignore.

Her voice was calm but firm, her tone leaving no room for argument. “His body will be taken through the kingdom,” she said. “The people must see the tragedy, must know who is responsible for the death of their prince. You- we will ride in the carriage directly behind him.”

Her words struck like a blade. For a moment, you couldn’t speak, the grief and fury warring within you. Slowly, you shook your head, lowering the blanket from your face. “No,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “I won’t do it.”

Alicent’s expression hardened, but there was something else there too—perhaps a flicker of understanding or even pity. “This is for the realm,” she pressed. “For your son’s justice.”

You sat up, Aegon’s hand resting protectively on your back as you faced her. “Justice?” you repeated bitterly, your voice rising. “Parading his body like a spectacle is not justice—it’s cruelty. It’s not for him, it’s for your politics.”

Alicent’s lips tightened into a thin line. She took a step forward, her gaze sharp but laced with concern. “It’s what must be done. The people need to see—”

“No!” you interrupted, standing now despite the weakness in your legs. “I won’t let his memory be used this way. I won’t ride behind him as if he’s nothing more than a tool in this war.”

Alicent stared at you, the tension between mother and daughter palpable, the silence heavy. Aegon rose beside you, his arm steadying you as he spoke, his voice low but firm. “She has made her decision,” he said, addressing Alicent directly. “And as her husband—and her king—I stand by it.”

Alicent’s expression faltered for a moment, her mouth opening as if to argue, but she said nothing. With a stiff nod, she turned and left, her footsteps echoing down the hall. You exhaled shakily, leaning into Aegon’s support, your heart still heavy but resolute in your refusal to let your son’s memory be tarnished.

The moment you heard the words—the news that your son’s head had been found and sewn back onto his small, lifeless body—you felt your knees weaken, but the urgency in your heart propelled you forward. You moved with haste, ignoring the calls of servants and guards as you hurried to where they had brought him.

When you entered the dimly lit chamber, your breath caught in your throat. There he was, your sweet boy, lying on a cold stone slab. His tiny body, once so full of life and laughter, now lay stiff and pale. The stitching on his neck was visible, crude and brutal, a reminder of the horror he had endured.

You froze for a moment, your mind unwilling to fully accept the sight before you. But then the wave of grief crashed over you, and you rushed forward, falling to your knees beside him. Trembling, you reached out, your hands brushing against his cold, lifeless skin.

Tears poured down your cheeks as you let out a broken sob. “My sweet boy,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “My Jaehaerys… please, wake up.”

You wrapped your arms around his small, fragile body. His coldness pierced through you, but you didn’t care. “Please,” you begged, your voice breaking. “Please come back to me. Just one more time. Hold me back. Call me ‘Mother’ again.”

Your sobs filled the room as you cradled him, pressing kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, his tiny hands. You clung to him as if your love alone could undo the cruelty of fate. But no matter how tightly you held him, no matter how desperately you cried, his small body remained still and unresponsive.

The world felt cruel and empty as you wept, your tears falling onto his lifeless face. There was nothing left but the unbearable silence and the weight of your sorrow.

Through the haze of your grief, you forced yourself to lift your head. His face was peaceful, but his silence screamed louder than anything. The coldness of his skin cut through your soul like a knife.

You turned to the nearest servant, your voice cracking with desperation. “Bring me his blanket. The one I made for him. Hurry!”

The servant hesitated, unsure of how to act in the face of your anguish, but a sharp glance from you spurred them into action. As they hurried away, you turned back to your son, your tears blurring your vision.

“Jaehaerys,” you whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “You always loved that blanket. Do you remember? You said it made you feel safe. I’ll keep you warm, my love. I promise I’ll keep you warm.

Moments later, the servant returned, carefully holding the soft blanket you had poured hours of love into crafting. You snatched it from their hands, your fingers clutching the fabric as though it held the last pieces of him.

With trembling hands, you draped the blanket over his tiny body, tucking it in as though he were merely asleep. But the lifelessness of his form made your chest tighten further, and the tears came again in an uncontrollable flood.

You collapsed beside him, your hand resting on his covered chest, hoping against hope that you might feel it rise and fall, that somehow this nightmare might end. But there was nothing. No warmth, no breath, no heartbeat.

“I’m so sorry,” you sobbed, your voice breaking as you leaned down to kiss his cold forehead. “I couldn’t protect you. My baby, my sweet boy, I couldn’t save you.”

You stayed there, your body wracked with sobs, as you clung to him. The servants stood back, silent witnesses to a mother’s endless grief, as your cries echoed through the chamber—a lament for a life stolen too soon.

Your trembling hand reached out, brushing against the cold, pale skin of your son’s cheek. His once rosy complexion was now a stark, lifeless white. You traced his delicate features, your fingers lingering on the softness of his face, as though you could imprint the memory of him into your very soul.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, falling onto his still, small body. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the sound of your quiet sobs. Your heart ached with a pain so raw it felt as if it might tear you apart.

But as the weight of your grief pressed down on you, a fire ignited within your chest—a burning rage that pushed through the despair. You clenched your jaw, your hand still resting on his lifeless cheek, and whispered through your tears, “I swear, my son… I swear on your name, on your memory, on my very life—whoever did this to you will pay.”

Your voice grew stronger, more resolute, as if speaking the words aloud gave them power. “I don’t care what it costs me. Whether it’s my blood, my crown, or my life. I will avenge you, Jaehaerys. I promise you, they will suffer as you have suffered.”

The rage coursing through you felt like the only thing keeping you upright. It was no longer just grief—it was a mission, a purpose that would drive you forward no matter the cost.

You leaned down, pressing a trembling kiss to his icy forehead, your tears falling onto his skin. “Rest now, my love,” you whispered. “I will not let this injustice stand. I will make them pay.”

The vow settled into your heart, cold and unshakable, as you stayed beside him, your hand never leaving his face. Though your heart was shattered, your resolve was forged in steel, and nothing—not the gods, not death itself—would stop you from honoring the promise you made to your beloved son.

Your steps echoed through the long corridors as you made your way toward the council chamber. The fire of grief and vengeance burned within you, your mind consumed with thoughts of your son. Every step you took felt heavier, yet you pressed forward, drawn by the voices echoing from the chamber ahead.

As you approached, their words became clear.

“They were vermin, nothing more,” Aemond’s sharp voice declared, calm yet cutting. “The rats in this kingdom must know there is no tolerance for disloyalty or treachery.”

Another voice, one of the council members, spoke hesitantly, “But, the display—hanging them at the gates—some might see it as excessive.”

And then, you heard your husband’s voice, steady and resolute, with a dangerous edge that left no room for argument. “They killed my son,” Aegon said, his tone icy. “Excessive would have been feeding them to the dragons piece by piece. This kingdom will know what happens to those who betray the crown and harm my family.”

The words struck you like a hammer. You froze just outside the door, the image of the gates filled your mind—bodies dangling as a gruesome warning. Aegon had taken his grief and turned it into action, his vengeance swift and unrelenting.

You pushed the doors open without hesitation, stepping into the room. The council members turned to look at you, their expressions ranging from surprise to discomfort. Aemond stood to one side, arms crossed, his eye narrowing as he observed you. At the head of the table, Aegon sat, his face unreadable until he saw you.

You locked eyes with him, the air in the room thick with tension. “Is it true?” you asked, your voice trembling but firm. “Did you hang them at the gates?”

Aegon rose from his chair, his gaze steady as he approached you. “I did,” he replied without hesitation. “They took our son from us. They deserved worse.”

You searched his face, seeing the same pain and anger you carried in your heart. Yet, something about it unsettled you—the coldness, the finality of his actions. “And what justice have you found, Aegon?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Does it bring him back?”

He reached for you, his hand brushing your arm gently. “No,” he admitted, his voice softening. “But it ensures that no one else dares to harm what’s ours.”

You looked down, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. Part of you wanted to rage, to scream at the futility of it all. Yet another part of you—the part consumed by your own need for vengeance—understood him all too well.

As the council chamber settled into a tense silence following Aegon’s admission, a sharp voice cut through the air. Otto Hightower, standing at the far end of the table, slammed his hand against the wood, his face twisted with fury.

“This was reckless, Your Grace!” he bellowed, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “Hanging the rat-catchers at the gates like common criminals? What will the realm think? What will this do to the crown’s dignity? Such actions—”

Aegon spun toward Otto, his eyes blazing with fury. “Dignity?” he snapped, his voice cold and filled with venom. “You think I care about dignity, Otto? They took my son! My son, who was barely old enough to speak his own name!”

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. Aegon stepped forward, his voice growing louder, trembling with both rage and pain. “Do you know what dignity means to me now? Nothing! Dignity didn’t save him. Dignity didn’t stop his head from being torn from his body. So don’t you stand there and lecture me about what is too far.”

Otto’s mouth opened as if to respond, but Aegon cut him off, taking another step closer, his presence commanding the room. “I am the king,” he growled. “And as long as I wear this crown, no one—no one—will harm what is mine without paying for it in blood. Do you understand me?”

Alicent, standing near the door, placed a hand over her chest, her expression a mixture of sorrow and alarm. Even Aemond, ever composed, shifted slightly where he stood, his single eye flicking between Otto and Aegon.

“You have lost sight of the bigger picture,” Otto finally said, his voice quieter but no less firm. “Revenge clouds your judgment. This will have consequences.”

Aegon’s expression hardened further, his fists clenching at his sides. “Then let there be consequences,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I’ll bear them gladly if it means justice for my son.”

You stood there, watching the exchange, torn between the grief that mirrored Aegon’s and the unease Otto’s words stirred in you. In Aegon’s eyes, there was nothing but pain and vengeance, a fire that seemed unstoppable. You reached out, gently placing a hand on his arm, grounding him for just a moment.

“Aegon,” you whispered, your voice soft but filled with emotion. “Let’s not lose ourselves completely to this. Not yet.”

He looked at you, his anger dimming slightly as he took in your tear-streaked face. With a deep breath, he turned away from Otto, his grip on control tenuous but holding—for now.

Unable to bear the tension any longer, you turned and left the council chamber, your steps hurried and uneven as the weight of grief pressed down on you. The echoes of raised voices faded behind you, replaced by the quiet hum of the corridors. You wrapped your arms around yourself, as if trying to hold your breaking heart together, and made your way back to your chambers.

When you arrived at your chambers, the sight that greeted you pulled you to a halt. The servants were moving quietly, laying out a gown of rich black and deep green across the bed. Beside it rested a matching hood, its dark fabric shimmering faintly in the candlelight.

These were no ordinary garments—they were the colors of House Hightower, the mourning attire of the queen dowager’s line, meant to signify grief and strength in equal measure. Yet, to you, they only symbolized loss, a cruel reminder of the funeral you would soon endure.

One of the servants noticed your presence and turned, bowing their head respectfully. “Your Grace,” they said softly, their voice carefully measured, “the Queen Dowager requested these be prepared for you. She thought they would honor both your son and your house.”

You took a step closer, your gaze fixed on the heavy fabrics. Your hands trembled as you reached out to touch the gown. The black velvet felt cold beneath your fingers, while the deep green embroidery—a shade you once associated with pride—now seemed hollow, devoid of its former meaning.

The servant continued, their tone apologetic. “The procession will begin shortly. Queen Alicent thought—”

“Enough,” you interrupted, your voice barely above a whisper but heavy with emotion. The servant fell silent, stepping back to give you space.

You picked up the hood, its weight seeming far heavier than its fabric should allow. Holding it close to your chest, you sank onto the edge of the bed, your tears spilling over as you clutched it tightly.

“Green and black,” you murmured, your voice cracking. “For what purpose? To parade my grief for the realm to see? To show the world the price I have paid?”

Your gaze drifted to the gown again, and the pain in your chest swelled, suffocating you. “None of this will bring him back,” you whispered, the words breaking as they left your lips.

You closed your eyes, pressing the hood to your face as tears fell freely. The room seemed to close in around you, heavy with the weight of your loss, as the preparations for the ceremony continued in quiet, dutiful silence.

You sat motionless before the mirror, staring at your own reflection as if it were a stranger staring back at you. The pale, hollow-eyed face that greeted you bore little resemblance to the woman you once were. Your hands rested limply in your lap, surrendering to the servants who worked silently around you.

One was carefully weaving your hair into an intricate braid, while another secured the black hood over your head, its heavy fabric draping over your shoulders. Every movement felt mechanical, detached, as though this wasn’t truly happening to you. You had stopped fighting. You had stopped resisting.

You had surrendered.

The weight of the mourning gown clung to your skin, and the air seemed thick, suffocating in the quiet of the room. The finality of it all settled over you like a shroud, and you sat there, staring, as the servants completed their work.

Then the door opened.

The sound drew your gaze, and your reflection shifted as you turned your head. Standing in the doorway was your mother, Queen Dowager Alicent Hightower, dressed in a dark green gown that matched the depths of her sorrow. Her black hood framed her face, highlighting the familiar resolve in her eyes—a look you had seen countless times.

Her presence filled the room, yet neither of you spoke at first. She took a step inside, her gaze sweeping over you. For a moment, the queen dowager and the grieving mother collided within her, and her lips pressed into a thin line.

“You are ready,” she said softly, her voice steady but heavy with emotion.

You didn’t respond, turning your eyes back to the mirror. The servant adjusted the final pin in your hood and stepped back, bowing her head before retreating to the corner.

“I see you’ve decided to join the procession,” Alicent continued, stepping closer to you. Her green gown swayed slightly as she walked, the fabric catching the dim light. “This is as it should be. The realm must see your strength… and your grief.”

At her words, your fists clenched in your lap, but you didn’t turn to face her. Instead, you stared at your reflection, your expression unreadable. “Strength?” you repeated quietly, your voice laced with bitterness. “Is that what this is supposed to be?”

Alicent paused, her hands clasping tightly in front of her. “It is what must be done,” she said firmly, though her voice softened as she added, “for him. For Jaehaerys.”

Her words cut through you like a blade, and you closed your eyes, trying to block out the tears that threatened to fall again. “Do you think he would want this?” you whispered. “For his body to be paraded through the streets while his mother sits silently behind it?”

Alicent sighed, stepping closer until she stood just behind you, her reflection now visible in the mirror alongside your own. “He would want the world to see the price of this treachery,” she said quietly but with conviction. “And so would you, if only your heart were not so broken.”

You turned your gaze away from the mirror, unable to look at her any longer. “My heart is broken, Mother,” you said softly, your voice cracking. “And I wonder if it will ever heal.”

Alicent rested a hand on your shoulder, her grip firm but meant to be comforting. “It may not,” she admitted, her voice gentle. “But you will endure. You are my daughter. You will endure.”

And with that, the room fell silent once more, the weight of her words pressing down on you as heavily as the mourning garments you wore.

The creaking of the wooden wheels and the steady clatter of hooves filled the air as the funeral procession made its somber journey through the streets. You sat silently beside your mother in the dark confines of the carriage, the heavy mourning gown clinging to your body like a second layer of grief.

Your gaze remained fixed on the carriage ahead of you, where the small, still form of your son lay. Wrapped in the blanket you had lovingly made for him, his tiny body was carefully cradled on a velvet bier, his pale face framed by soft curls that once shone with life.

On his head rested the small crown you and Aegon had given him for his fourth nameday. You remembered how his eyes had lit up with delight when he first saw it, how he had run around the chamber declaring himself “a king like Papa.” The memory stabbed at your chest, and tears silently slipped down your cheeks, unnoticed by the world outside.

Beside you, your mother sat upright and composed, her hands folded tightly in her lap. The dark green of her gown blended with the black hood she wore, her expression unreadable as she gazed straight ahead. But even in her stoicism, you could feel her grief—muted, controlled, yet no less profound.

The crowds lined the streets, their murmurs and whispers barely audible over the sound of the procession. Some wept openly, others lowered their heads in respect, and a few simply stared, their faces etched with shock and sorrow.

Your eyes never left the small form ahead of you. “He’s so cold,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you broke the heavy silence in the carriage.

Alicent turned her head slightly, her sharp eyes softening as they fell on you. “The blanket,” she said gently, her voice barely above a whisper. “It will keep him warm, even now.”

You shook your head, your hands clutching at your gown. “It’s not enough,” you murmured, your voice cracking. “He needs to feel loved. He needs… he needs to wake up.”

Alicent reached out, placing a steady hand over yours. Her touch was firm, grounding you even as her heart ached alongside yours. “He knows he is loved,” she said quietly. “You showed him that every day of his life. That love… it does not end, even now.”

You turned your head to look at her, searching for comfort in her words, but the raw pain in your chest remained unyielding. “Then why does it feel like it’s not enough?”

She didn’t answer, only holding your hand tightly as the carriage carried you forward, the weight of your shared grief filling the air. Ahead of you, the small crown on Jaehaerys’s head glinted faintly in the light, a fragile, heart-wrenching reminder of what you had lost.

As the procession reached the Dragonpit, the air seemed to grow heavier, thick with the weight of grief and the whispers of the gathered crowd. You stepped down from the carriage, your body trembling with exhaustion and sorrow, but the moment your feet touched the ground, the atmosphere shifted.

Your mother following close behind. The crowd pressed closer, their faces filled with sorrow, but their hands reached out too eagerly, too insistently. The weight of their stares, their words, their touch became unbearable.

“Your Grace,” a woman said, gripping your hand tightly, her voice trembling. “The realm mourns with you. Prince Jaehaerys—”

You pulled your hand away, trembling as others replaced her, one after another, their voices blurring into an incomprehensible hum.

“Such a tragedy,” someone else murmured.

“Your strength inspires us all,” another said.

But their words felt like needles pricking at your raw grief. Your chest tightened, and your breathing grew faster, shallower. Your hands trembled uncontrollably as you stepped back, your gaze darting around frantically.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head as tears began to fall. “No, I—I can’t…”

You turned to leave, but the crowd surged forward, their outstretched hands reaching for you. It was too much—the noise, the faces, the pity. Your knees buckled, and you clutched your chest as your sobs erupted.

“I don’t want this!” you cried, your voice cracking as you stumbled back. “I don’t want to do this! Stop—please, stop!”

A strong arm wrapped around your shoulders, steadying you. Aegon was at your side in an instant, his face etched with concern and anger as he glared at the crowd. “Back away!” he commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos. “All of you, back away now!”

The crowd hesitated, murmurs rippling through them as they began to retreat. Aegon pulled you closer, his other hand cupping the back of your head as he guided you toward the nearest private space.

“It’s too much,” you sobbed into his chest, clutching at his tunic as though he were the only thing anchoring you to the world. “I can’t… I can’t do this, Aegon.”

“I know,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I know. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

He turned his head, addressing a knight who had stepped forward. “Clear the area. No one approaches her again without my permission.”

The knight nodded and moved to carry out his orders, while Aegon held you tightly, his hand stroking your back as he whispered, “Breathe, my love. I’m here. Just breathe.”

Your tears continued to fall, but his presence grounded you, offering a fragile sense of safety amidst the overwhelming tide of grief and chaos.

The moment came, heavy and suffocating, as Aegon stepped forward to give the final command. You stood by his side, your knees trembling as your eyes remained fixed on the small, still form of your son.

Aegon’s voice rang out, steady but laced with pain, as he uttered the word that sealed your son’s farewell. “Dracarys.”

Sunfyre roared, his golden scales shimmering as he unleashed a torrent of flame. The heat surged forward, consuming the bier in an instant. You watched, helpless, as the fire licked at the edges of the blanket you had made, the crown atop his head glowing briefly before it, too, was claimed by the flames.

The sight was unbearable. A strangled sob escaped your lips, and your body seemed to give out under the weight of your grief. The roaring fire blurred as tears streamed down your cheeks, your vision darkening.

“Aegon…” you whispered weakly, reaching for him before your knees buckled.

Aegon turned just in time to catch you as you collapsed into his arms, your body limp. “No!” he cried, his voice breaking as panic overtook him. “Someone—help!”

He cradled you tightly, his arms trembling as he lowered you gently to the ground. “Wake up,” he begged, his voice desperate as he stroked your face, his thumb brushing away the tears still clinging to your cheeks. “Please, my love, wake up!”

The attendants and guards rushed forward, but Aegon barked at them to stay back. “She’s my wife!” he snapped, his voice a mixture of fury and anguish. “Don’t touch her!”

Alicent appeared moments later, her face pale as she knelt beside her son. “What happened?” she asked urgently, her hands hovering uncertainly over you.

“She fainted,” Aegon said, his voice trembling. “She couldn’t bear it.”

Alicent’s expression softened with sorrow as she looked at you, then at her son. “She needs rest,” she said firmly. “Get her to her chambers.”

Aegon didn’t wait for further instruction. He scooped you up into his arms, holding you as if you were the most fragile thing in the world. His heart pounded as he carried you away from the flames, the weight of the moment pressing down on him with every step.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I swear I’ll take care of you.”

tag list : @danytar @looneytun3s @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @julessworldd (italic means that i can’t tag you)

#aegon ii targaryen #hotd imagine #prince aegon targaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #hotd one shot #aegon ii fanfic #aegon x reader #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd alicent #aegon fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader

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angelsassassin · 7 months ago

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Home • Spencer Reid x reader

In which Spencer comes home to you

Spencer was a free man, and you were there waiting for him.

Details: fem!reader x spencer reid, established relationship

Warnings: nothing that I can think of to be honest.

Caution: MINORS DNI!

AN: I spent like ten minutes looking for this gif it’s actually so sad.

Spencer was a free man. After three months of being in prison following a wrongful conviction, he was free. JJ had come to tell him the good news, telling him that after a few days, you’d be coming to pick him up.

When that day finally came, Spencer woke up feeling better than he had in those months. He woke up knowing he was finally able to hug you again, kiss you again, touch you again.

He had missed you so much, more than he could ever imagine was possible. When the guards came to get him, he began to feel nervous. As he put on the suit he had worn the day he was sentenced to prison in court, his heart began to beat quicker than it ever had done before.

He had instructed the team to not let you see him while he was in prison, not wanting you to see how broken he was. He hadn’t seen you in three months, and only spoken to you over the phone a handful of times.

But now, he was finally able to be with you again.

You were waiting outside the prison, leaning against your car. You were shaking due to how nervous you were. Every sound that came from the prison would make you look up, hoping to see Spencer, your loving boyfriend, finally walk out of there.

Eventually, you heard a different noise, and you immediately knew it was time. You looked up, seeing guards exiting the building, and Spencer following behind. His eyes found yours almost immediately, as if he knew exactly how to find you. The guard opened the last gate that stood between the two of you, and let Spencer walk out of it.

He was a free man.

Upon seeing him walk out of the gate, your legs moved quicker than your mind could register what was happening. You jogged up to him, almost throwing yourself into his arms when you finally reached him. You wrapped your arms around him, and he wrapped his arms around you.

The two of you stood like that for a few minutes, before he pulled away and looked at you, really looked at you.

“Hi.” He said, with a small smile growing on his face.

“Hey.” You replied.

Those two words were all it took for Spencer to grab your face, pulling you closer to him and placing his lips down onto yours. The kiss was electric, it was passionate. Three months worth of missing each other, of uncertainty, it was all poured into the kiss.

Once you pulled away, needing to breathe, you placed your head on his chest. “I love you so much.” You mumbled into him.

“I love you, angel. I love you so much.” He says as he kisses your head. “God, I missed you.”

It felt like eternity before you finally pulled away from each other, looking deep into one another’s eyes. “How about I take you home?”

Spencer eagerly nodded.

The drive back to your home was silent, but it was a comfortable silence. Spencer kept his hand on yours the entire time you drove, not wanting to let go and be void of your touch for any longer. He glanced over at you several times, each time he did, his heart swelled with love.

As you entered your home, he looked around, noticing that it hadn’t changed at all; everything was the exact same. The pictures that lined the walls were the same, his satchel still in the exact same spot he had left it in.

“This doesn’t feel real.” He whispered. You turned to face him and placed both of your hands on his face.

“It is, Spence. You’re home. You’re back. It’s over.” You assure him. “Everything’s over.” At your words, Spencer wrapped his arms around you, burying his head into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

Spencer never admitted it, but your smell, it always gave him comfort. The way your hair and your body smelled like the shampoo you use, the one you insist on never changing, it made him feel at home. It made him feel like he was safe, and okay. And in that moment, that was all he needed.

He needed to know he was safe, and that he was okay. He needed to know that he was home, and that he would never go back to prison. He needed to know that you were there, that you would always be there, even in his worst moments.

You wrapped your arms around him, and let out a sigh. “You know, I finally feel like I can breathe again. It feels like… like I’m complete again.” You whisper into his chest.

Spencer didn’t reply, afraid that if he spoke, he’d break down. All he could do was hold onto you tighter, pulling you even closer to him, if that was even humanly possible.

Despite not saying anything, Spencer felt the exact same way. For three months, it felt like pieces of him were being chipped away, like he was becoming a shell of a man. There was a very real possibility that he would never be able to be the same man again. But as he held you, he felt complete. He was a changed man, of course, but the one thing he knew would never change, that could never change, was his love for you, and how much he needed you.

As he took deep breaths in order to steady his heart rate, he realised in that moment that he could never live without you ever again. He knew that he needed you like he needed oxygen, like he needed water. Spencer Reid needed you, and he was going to make sure you spent the rest of your life knowing how much he needed you, how much he loved you. He was never going to let you go, and he knew exactly what to do, and how he was going to prove that to you.

~~~

AN: This series will not be in chronological order of how they meet and fall in love and blah blah blah. It’s more about the little moments between Spencer and reader throughout their years together.

#series #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #prison reid

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ladycrimsonandblack · 3 months ago

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rating the white star's battles based on how embarrassing they were for him personally

because he deserves it.

his first appearance in the mogoru empire: 1/10 — by far his least embarrassing battle. he manages to come off as extremely powerful and menacing final boss. cryptic remarks about choi han and cale's situation make him look mysterious. our heroes put their everything into this battle and just barely manage to come out of it alive. cale faints for weeks afterward.

battle at the castle of light: 7/10 — starts out pretty well for him when he traps our heroes in the castle, but goes downhill from there. he just gets tricked so easily. cale and co. have a blast pretending to be weak to throw him off, ambushing him, and then chasing him off with rocks. embarrassingly, all of this is facilitated by the fact that the white star does not, in fact, know all the entrances to his home village.

battle at the north: 6/10 — the white star just keeps getting scammed. when will he learn? gets some points for his excellent showing against witira and the whale king. loses all of them because archie was allowed to talk.

battle at the dubori territory: 4/10 — the white star actually had a pretty good showing here. managed to trip cale with his illusionist. dealt pretty well with choi han and eruhaben, even if they managed to get out of danger. did some heavy damage to the territory itself. he did lose an arm (both metaphorical and physical one), so there's that.

battle of the underground city: 5/10 — immediately realizes the city is fake and that the whole thing is a trap, thus disrupting cale's plans. however, any points he might have gotten are immediately made void by the fact that he starts constructing an elaborate history between cale and himself to justify his previous losses. his ego can't take it anymore. he's retreating to the AU land.

the battle at the stan territory: 6/10 — this should have been a win for him. he's prepared for everything. the battle is going on at four fronts, and cale henituse can't react in time. unfortunately for him, his plans are shit and cale can, in fact, react in time. actually, he can react so fast that he manages to mitigate the situation in all four battles and reinforce the stan territory. the white star is, once again, forced to flee, but not before informing everyone around about his weird AU land belief, thus making cale's reputation soar. embarrassing.

the battle to steal cale's body: 7/10 — the white star is forced to contend with alberu, who brought a gun to a knife fight. it does not go well for him. also, they really shouldn't have underestimated mary.

the battle at puzzle city: 20/10 — there are literally no good points here. his disguise is seen through pretty easily. he gets trapped by the mana disturbance tools. cale hits him with a mental attack so devastating that his ego can't take it, and he gets himself sealed. the bitch-slap happens, and it's glorious. at least he gets sealed into a golden plaque, so at least he gets some dignity there.

the battle in the sealed temple: 10/10 — he gets killed by a stick. the only thing mitigating the embarrassment factor here is that cale had to stab himself in the heart first, and that adds a certain oomph the white star himself has never been able to accomplish.

+ special mention

the battle in the wrath test: 15/10 — he gets beaten by a rock. like. it's literally a pebble. sure, it's a magical pebble, but still. a pebble.

#tcf #trash of the count's family #you might notice that the average embarrassment factor is pretty high #that's because the white star is embarrassing

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sashaisready · 4 months ago

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Starting Over: Chapter 3 - Bolt

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending.

Back again! I have split the final chapter into two parts as it makes more sense that way, you’ll see why when you read the last one – which hopefully I should be able to post later this week, or early next – I’m just working on getting it right. Warnings for angst, angst and angst in this part – sorry in advance. I felt a bit weepy writing this. I’ve been blown away by the support this story has received, especially as it was written on a bit of a whim, so thank-you for all your reblogs and comments – it means a lot!! Also shout-out to the recent Variety SebStan photoshoot - very inspirational...

💔

You were sleeping like the dead, it was a miracle that anything could’ve woken you – but the soft click of the hotel door opening must’ve cut through the void somehow, because you shot up in bed awake, disorientated and suddenly on alert. Your breathing was heavy as you adjusted to your surroundings. What…where were…?

Bucky gently closed the door behind him and rushed over to your bedside.

“Hey, hey…it’s just me, you’re okay doll. I’m sorry I startled you. I was trying to slip in quietly…” he cooed, “I thought knocking might be too jarring…stupidly…”

You blinked at him, you were just able to make out his face in the dark as recognition sunk in. His features were subtly illuminated by the parking lot lights, the room’s curtains doing little to keep that glare out. He looked tired and drained; his hair unkempt. There was a weariness in his face that you hadn’t seen before. You groggily flicked on the bedside lamp as your brain caught up with the rest of you.

For a blissful moment you’d forgotten it all, from the haze of sleep, you’d forgotten why you were here. Bucky! Bucky is here! Your safe place. You began to smile and instinctively moved towards him. He smiled too, a relieved smile, holding out a hand to you so you reached for it with your own –

Wait.

Oh.

You saw the hope in his eyes dwindle when you jerked away from him, a scowl hardening your expression as you whipped your hand back as quickly as if it had been burnt. You pulled the sheets high and tight, covering your body as if you didn’t like that any of you was visible to him.

As he tried to lean over to get closer to you, you greeted him with a blunt, hard slap across the face.

He recoiled, his hand moving to his stinging cheek as he stood up to his full height and stepped back, “fine. I deserved that…”

“What are you doing here?” you sneered, “How did you even get in?”

He tilted his head towards the door and held up a key card, “They let me in. They gave me a key”.

“Well, they shouldn’t have! They shouldn’t just give away door keys to random people…”

“They don’t, just me,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes and turned away, “You think this is funny?”

“Doll…” he reached out to you again, but you smacked his hand away.

“No,” you growled.

“I found out the truth…I know it wasn’t you. I’m so sor-” he sounded frantic, stuttering and jumbled, worlds away from the cool and collected man you knew so well. But you were unmoved, his betrayal still stinging and raw.

“I don’t care,” you interrupted, your tone flat and cold, “it’s too late”.

“I should’ve listened to you. I’m so sorry, baby. I flew off the handle without talking to you. I should’ve trusted you…” he pleaded.

“Yes, you should’ve,” you snapped bitterly, “but you didn’t. You wouldn’t let me talk, you just shouted…then you threw me out with nothing! Like I was trash! I walked for nearly two miles alone in the dark, in the middle of the night, Bucky. Anything could’ve happened to me…” your voice wobbled slightly at the end of your sentence; you took a deep breath – refusing to let anymore tears fall for him.

He dipped his head, his gaze dropping, unable to look at you. “I know, you’re right…I keep thinking about it…I keep…”

“Save it!” you shouted, a little more emotional than you intended. “All I wanted was for you to listen to me. I don’t know anything about a recording, or my phone pinging, or whatever you were ranting about. I just can’t believe you wouldn’t believe me, after everything we’ve been through…”

He sighed heavily, then withdrew his phone from his pocket. He began to scroll through.

You scoffed, “what are you-”

And then your voice, clear as day, rang out from his phone. Bucky held it up towards you, his face pained. You listened, stunned, as you heard yourself on the recording. It was so real you almost considered that it was you, and you’d somehow forgotten that you’d actually said it.

“Just give me a bit longer and I’ll have that one-armed pussy spill everything…”

After it had finished, you furrowed your brows in confusion, your mouth hanging open.

“But that wasn’t…” you whispered.

“I know. I know that now,” he sighed, putting the phone back in his pocket. “Rumlow set it up. He put it together with cutting edge AI, some advanced tech Stark helped develop. He also planted fake footage of you on the CCTV. Took your phone to an incriminating location. But Sam caught him tonight. He’s been working with the feds to bring me down, to make room for a HYDRA revival. He knew I’d be weaker and easier to takedown if you and I fell apart, so breaking us up was a two-birds-one-stone deal”.

You blinked, bewildered, a chill running through you as you thought about the lengths someone would go to in order to break you and Bucky up. You knew a little about HYDRA, the rival syndicate that Bucky used to work for before he struck out on his own. They’d been defunct for years, or so Bucky had told you. The implication of someone being able to make your voice say anything they wanted also haunted you. Rumlow could’ve even framed you for a crime with such technology. It was…scary.

You could see why Bucky freaked out, presented with all of this incriminating evidence, but…

“Rumlow didn’t break us up, Bucky”, you said quietly as your words sharpened. “You did. You could’ve come to me first. You could’ve showed me this and we could’ve set everything straight. Instead…you went nuclear…”

He dropped his gaze again to the threadbare hotel carpet, unable to meet your eye. It was almost funny, he looked small for the first time since you’d met him. Despite his towering height and hulking frame, he almost seemed like a little boy in that moment.

“…I just can’t believe you thought I’d do something like that to you. That I’d betray you like that. That I could look you in the eye every day and lie to you and…”

He suddenly looked up, quickly snatching your hand, “I’m so sorry, doll, this is the biggest mistake I’ve ever made…I’d do anything to take it back…”

“Well you can’t!” you sniped back at him as you tore your hand away from his, tears in your eyes. “You must think so low of me that you think I’d be capable of this. And all the stuff you said about me leeching off you for your money! I’ve never been comfortable spending your cash and you know that! I can’t believe you’d throw it all back in my face…”

“Baby, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean of it. I was hurt…” he said, the desperation building in his voice as his eyes widened, “I was just trying to hurt you the way I thought you’d hurt me. I didn’t really think it. I never have”.

“It must’ve come from somewhere!” you spat venomously, “you didn’t pull it out of thin air…”

“I promise. I was just throwing words out and didn’t care what they were as long as they hit. I just was so mad,” he sat down on the bed and began running his hands through his hair as he closed his eyes, he always did that when he was stressed.

He sighed heavily, then turned to you, “Look”, he began – his voice soft now. “I guess part of me always thought this was too good to be true…everything happened so quickly when we met. I’d always been content with one-night stands and casual hook-ups. Then I met you, and…” he trailed off as he chewed his lip, carefully choosing what to say.

You watched him, your earlier anguish now hardened into pure rage, you wanted to kick him out – send him out into the street the way he had with you. But you also wanted to hear this. You wanted to understand what possible reasoning there could be for causing of this pain. What weak excuse he could use to try and justify his cruelty. He looked at you again. His eyes were kind, warm. But you couldn’t help but remember the coldness in them from earlier. You didn’t think you’d ever forget it.

“I guess…everything changed. I fell for you so hard. You took over my life. Invaded my thoughts, my senses. I just wanted to be with you all the time. And to my surprise…you felt the same. This sweet, wonderful woman wanted to be with me, too. I was sure you’d turn away when you found about my job…my past…my scars, my arm... Because why wouldn’t you? You were kind and decent. You saw the best in people. How the hell could you love someone like me? A killer. A monster…”

“Bucky, I…” you croaked.

“Please, just let me finish…” he pleaded, “but somehow, you did love me. And I know you moved in with me quickly, but it felt right. You had a rough start in life, and all I ever wanted to do was take care of you and fix it so you didn’t have to worry about money or paying bills or any of that ever again. I wanted you to sleep soundly, knowing I would protect you and do right by you and you wouldn’t have to sling burgers and fries to get by anymore. And part of me knew it was selfish…because you deserved better than me. You deserved the white picket fence, a dull but decent man with a boring job who comes home and tells you about whatever shit Janet in Accounting got up to that day. But no, you had me – who stole you from that peaceful future to make myself happy. I worked late and committed violent acts. I had to give you bodyguards just in case. I uprooted your entire life. I did my best to give you the love you deserve, but I couldn’t even get that right. When I heard that tape…it was like the universe telling me what I already knew - I wasn’t worthy, and the debt I owed was getting collected. I guess part of me always expected I’d inevitably screw it up, because I never deserved you in the first place. And I’m just sorry that I proved myself right”.

You sniffed back your tears, bowled over by his words. He’d never said anything like this to you before, you had no idea he held those insecurities. The silence hung heavily between you, until you finally spoke, your voice shaky.

“But I was happy slinging burgers. And I never wanted the boring guy. I never wanted the white picket fence. I wanted you, Buck. Only you. I knew who you truly were, and it didn’t matter. It never mattered. You did deserve me. You did deserve love and everything we had…until…well…this”.

He nodded sadly, taking your hand in his.

“I know that now, doll, I do. I ended up sabotaging the best thing that ever happened to me because of my own fears. And that’s on me. But look…I need to ask, do you think you could ever forgive me? I’ll do whatever it takes, I’ll go at whatever pace you want…We can just be friends and see how it goes. I’ll go to therapy to sort out my shit. Anything. I’ll never doubt you again. All I ask is that you give me one final chance to fix this. Please, doll…I’m begging you…”

You looked into his big blue eyes, glossy with his unshed tears. Your heart ached and twisted at the sight. You’d never seen him looking so vulnerable before, so lost. You loved him so very much. You would’ve taken a bullet for him if he’d asked. He was correct that the two of you had moved fast in your whirlwind romance, but it always felt like a natural progression. It had always felt right.

But something had shifted. Something monumental. And you didn’t know if it could ever be like it was. It was wrong now.

“I’m sorry Bucky, I can’t….I…” you whispered, squeezing his hand as your tears began to fall. “I want to…I just…I don’t know if I can…”

He inhaled deeply and your heart shattered as you saw the flash of anguish in his eyes. But then he took a moment, a sad but accepting smile creeping over his face. He leaned over and wiped away your tears with his thumb.

“It’s alright, doll” he told you softly. “This was my fault. I’m not gonna force it or push you to forgive if you’re not comfortable doing so, okay? Not because I don’t care or don’t want to fight for you. But because I love you, and loving someone means sometimes you have to let them go”.

You nodded as you looked up into his eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

“Hey, c’mon…” he soothed.

He quickly vanished into the en-suite bathroom, returning with a small wad of toilet paper to dab at your tear-soaked cheeks. He extended a finger and gently moved it under your chin, propping your face up to look at his. The tenderness and care he showed you was what you were used to with Bucky. This was the version of him you’d always known. It almost made you forget about everything. Almost.

You both shared a small smile. A melancholic smile, a smile that you both understood meant too much had happened here tonight. Too much had changed. You can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube. Nothing was spoken, but everything was said.

It was hard to know how much time had passed, but eventually he got up and moved to the door. You didn’t stop him, and he didn’t ask you to. He ran a finger over your trusty red backpack as he passed the desk. He chuckled and picked it up, “I should’ve known this old thing was involved. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how you left with no clothes or money…but you’ve always been the most resourceful person I know.”

You smiled back at him weakly.

“It’s funny…” he mused as he caressed the straps, “you had this emergency kit already to go. Just in case…”

You shook your head, “no…it wasn’t meant to be a kit, it was just left from where I moved in with you. I didn’t-I just dumped it when I…”

“Yes…left fully packed and untouched. With clothes and cash. And debit cards, presumably. Stashed in a closet by the front door. That doesn’t strike you as a choice? A plan? Even if you weren’t fully aware of it?” he asked.

You didn’t respond as the silence laid thick between you. Incisive Bucky, as always. He could read you better than anyone on the planet. You knew he was right, he knew it too. You swallowed, looking down at the frayed thread on the bedsheet.

“You are always planning, doll. Because you always had to, with the life you’ve had. You always had to keep moving and stay one step ahead. We both know that”.

Again, he was met with your silence as you pulled at the thread. But there was no denial. You couldn’t deny the truth.

“Guess we both had our own ejector seats for this plane,” he mused as he moved the bag back to how he found it. “Looks like we had even more in common than we knew”.

He was right, again. It seemed that both of you had your anxieties and insecurities about this relationship. Both of you were maybe a little too cynical and world weary to believe in happy ever afters. His had manifested in anger, in rage…yours in being ready to flee at any time. Both of you had been on the starting line waiting for that pistol to fire.

But it had only finally imploded because of him.

He continued his slow march to the door, clearing his throat as he looked back at you.

“I meant what I said, every word. I’d do anything to get you back. I’d go at any pace, I’d take whatever you offered – in any form, as long as I’m still in your life in some way. I’d spend the rest of my days apologising if I had to. But honestly, I’d also be happy just to be your friend. Okay? So, you can call me, text me, anytime. Hell, just send me an emoji. Even if you just to talk. Even just to yell at me. I’ll always pick up, I promise”.

He pulled a business card from his wallet and placed it on the desk, “here. Put my number in your new phone when you get one”.

You stayed mute, but your eyes followed his hand as he gently put the card down.

“Will you be okay? For money, I mean?” he asked as his hand rested on the doorhandle, “because I can…”

“I’ll be fine Buck, I always am”.

“Yeah doll, I know”, he said softly.

Neither of you said goodbye. Maybe it was too hard to actually say the word out loud. Speak it into existence and accept its reality. So, he just nodded at you, and you smiled back, and you tried not to think about the tears glistening in his eyes or that painful tugging in your chest.

A few seconds later he was gone, and then it was as if he’d never been there at all.

#mob!bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #starting over fic

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augiewrites · 11 months ago

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"boundaries" - dallas winston

summary: dallas carries y/n to bed

pairing: dallas winston x curtis sister!reader

word count: 478

a/n: idk if this is a dead fandom but at least three times a year i remember that the outsiders exists and become obsessed again lol

Y/N hadn’t been sleeping well lately, so when she fell asleep on the couch Darry couldn’t bring himself to risk waking her up. The most he dared to do was drape a blanket over his sleeping sister before retreating to his bedroom for the night.

Dallas, however, didn’t give a shit.

He needed somewhere to sleep, and she was in his designated spot.

Dally had just lifted Y/N into his arms when her eyelids fluttered open, still weighed down by sleep.

“Darry?”

“No—shut up and go back to sleep.”

Y/N’s eyes snapped open at Dally’s unexpected voice and briefly registered him carrying her across the living room.

“Where we goin’?” Y/N’s voice came out in a mumble as her eyes fell shut again.

“Bed. Need a place to crash tonight.”

“And you chose my room? Gonna be a tight fit.”

Glory, she’s annoying even when she’s barely conscious, Dally thought, but he was too tired to be his usual combative self.

The hallway was dark, but he could see the shimmer of her eyes looking up at him from the void. He never liked the way she looked at him—there was too much hope, too much recognition, too much of an implication that she knew something he didn’t.

Dallas wasn’t exactly known for being respectful, but Darry’s acceptance of him meant a lot more to him than he would ever be willing to admit—even to himself. So, despite becoming quite fond of Y/N, he kept his distance. If there was one thing Dallas loved to do, it was to test the boundaries of every relationship he’s ever had, both friendly and romantic.

This was one boundary Dallas had reservations about crossing.

“Do you hate me, Dallas?” There was a softness in Y/N’s voice that was rare to hear coming from the girl.

Dallas paused in the threshold of Y/N’s bedroom and dared a glance down into her eyes, but quickly snapped out of it and kept moving across the room to her small bed.

“No, stupid.” He unceremoniously dropped her on the bed and turned to move out of the room, but he was stopped by her calling out to him.

“You not gonna tuck me in, Winston?”

He threw a glance over his shoulder and was met with the knowing glint in her eyes that he was ever-growing uneasy of.

Catching himself, he snapped back into character, scoffing and throwing a stupid plush dog at her head. He remembered the gang’s trip to the state fair a few years back, remembered how excited she was when Soda won it for her after seven tries at the ring toss, and he remembered her shoving it in his face while teasing that the K-9 unit was coming for his sorry ass.

“Go to bed.”

The door closed behind him with a solid thud.

Stupid girl.

~~~

i'm trying to get back in the writing groove but i'm so uninspired lol—feedback is appreciated as usual :)

#dallas winston #dally winston #the outsiders dally #dallas winston x reader #dally winston x reader #dallas winston x y/n #dally winston x y/n #dallas winston imagine #dally winston imagine #dallas winston fic #dally winston fic #the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders fic #the outsiders imagine

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taintandviolent · 4 months ago

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Nosy Neighbours ; Gambit x Reader

summary: PART ONE TO TACO TUESDAY! PART THREE HERE! Reader wakes up after a night of debauchery.... and continues it. Post-Void, everyone got out alive and everything is fine.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 5.2K | smut with very little plot, French and typing out accents/dialects, pet names (chere, mon ami, mon coeur, etc.), dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, blowjobs, eating out, no use of y/n, a sprinkling of angst at the end because things are developing for reader.

a/n: Listen, listen. I am blown away by the love on my first Remy fic, and the fact that you guys wanted a part two made my day. Thank you so much for all the praise and I hope this one lives up to the hype as well! part 3....? peut être... - banner by @/strangergraphics, and Remy gif by @atomicfoxx!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

Sunlight filters in through the crack in your curtains, warming a stripe across your thigh and stomach. You squeeze your lids shut tighter and turn your head away from the window, trying to get away from the glaring brightness. A grogginess lingers heavy in your system, but despite that, your body is giving you all the internal signals that it's time to wake up. You stretch deeply, muscles quivering as you flay your limbs out on the bed.

You hadn't gotten that drunk. At least, you didn't think you had. You don't remember falling asleep, but you definitely remember the dreams you had. They were lusty, lewd and lascivious, and every other adjective to describe naughty; your brain had conjured up the filthiest dreams you'd had since... well, ever. And they were all with the Cajun guy you'd met at Wade's. Remy. You remembered his name because you'd said it at least a dozen times in your dream.

Still half asleep, you flop over, throwing your arm and leg over onto the mattress. Your sheets are pulled down on one side, oddly, but you assume you just tried kicking them off or burritoing yourself in the night. Nothing out of the ordinary. You sniff and an unexpected sweet, warm fragrance fills your nostrils. Breakfast? You roll over again, and sit bolt upright to look down the hall. You suck in a breath and hold it, listening intently to the sounds coming from your kitchen; the scrape of metal against cast iron and a distinct sizzling sound.

“What the hell?” You whisper, scooting yourself to the edge of the mattress.

As you get up off the bed, you pull the sheet with you, wrapping it around your naked body, which honestly, was odd - you never slept nude – always in an oversized shirt. Your muscles seem to shake as you walk, and ache pings somewhere in the area of your hip flexors as you pad down the hall, barefoot. When you get to the kitchen, there’s a visual in front of you that causes you to come to a screeching halt.

Had it really not been a dream?

You nearly have to pick your jaw up off of the floor. He – Remy – stands in your kitchen, over your stove, in nothing but his purple briefs and your polka dotted apron, which hasn't been tied and hangs from his muscular neck.

As he tends to the bacon sizzling in the pan, he sees you in his peripheral, and turns his head slightly, a bright but relaxed smile on his face — the look of it tickles something in your core. You hum quietly.

"Mornin', cher."

What you want to say is holy shit but you instead mutter out an inquisitive and unsure: "Uhhh, morning...?"

Even though you’ve seen him naked before, you’re still flabbergasted by the visual. You swallow, and let your eyes fall down the length of his body; tan skin pulled taut over sculpted muscles. He's just as delicious now as he was in your dreams. Maybe even moreso, with the lingering cuddle of sleep, his hair mussed, and the sunlight beaming in from the small window over the sink, kissing his skin in a yellow haze.

"Hungry, mon ami?"

"Starved, actually." You blink away from his half-naked form and up to his face. "I'm so sorry, am I still asleep or did we....?"

Remy chuckles and flips the bacon. "We sho’ did. I ain’t remember the last time I had it like ‘dat."

You take a breath, and think back. It doesn’t take long to differentiate between dreams and reality as it all comes rushing back, playing out in your mind like a dirty movie.

The way he held you close to his chest, the way his hands explored your body, fingertips kissing your flesh... the way his thick cock felt as it filled you, pleasure coursing through your body in ways that you’d never experienced before. The way he spoke, the way you said — moaned — his name. The way you nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder after you both had cum, the way he’d stroked your hair as you fell asleep…

You swallow and blink again, bringing yourself back to reality. Remy is plating the bacon and walks it over to your small kitchen table. He gestures with a nod of his head and you walk over, plopping down into the seat, which squeaks as you do. Tucking the sheets underneath your armpits, you reach forward and pluck a single piece from the plate; it's warm and sticky, and tastes like maple syrup. You hum happily as you chew, and Remy takes a piece for himself as he sits down in the chair across from you.

"Remy," you coo. It sounds far more wanton than you intend, almost a moan. Judging by his reaction, it sounds familiar — like the way you were whining his name last night as he hammered into you.

"Hoo, don't start 'dat again or we gon' be havin' a repeat of last night."

You swallow the mouthful of bacon and reach for another strip. He’s a good cook on top of everything, and made the bacon just the way you liked it. Great.

“Listen, I… I’m not usually like… that. I don’t hook up with random guys or anything.”

“Is ‘dat what ‘dat was?” He asks, a taunting tone in his voice. There’s something behind it, something warm and inviting, but you shake the thought off.

“Wasn’t it? Isn’t that what that’s… classified as? I’m…”

He interjected, pushing the plate towards you. “Well, I dunno’, cher. You fell asleep in my arms… and I’m still here.”

You munch on another slice of bacon as you grapple with the fact that maybe it wasn’t just a one-night stand. Your eyes glaze over, staring at nothing in particular as you consider a couple of things.

First, was the fact that you’d never been one for one night stands. They were frivolous, and usually ended in embarrassment or heartbreak. Neither of which had happened here. He had a glaring point; he had stayed, and apparently, you were comfortable enough to fall asleep in his arms. Another something that you never did.

Second, was the fact that you’d also never really been one for the whole fate, destiny, or soulmate thing. That was cringy, and not something you’d ever entertained, because why would you? Save for a few meaningless relationships in college, you’d been alone and liked it that way. Less to deal with, less to have to clean up at the end of the day. You weren’t actively looking for a relationship, but Remy had just been there. Wasn’t that how fate worked? You furrowed your brows.

Third, was the undeniable fact that something – and you didn’t know what – but something about Remy had been written deep within the confines of your heart. The magnetic pull that you’d felt towards him last night still lingered heavily, and you wanted nothing more than to push yourself against him and feel his body against yours.

Lust at first sight. That’s got to be what it is, you decide. You’re in lust with him.

But why not test it again…. Just to be sure. Your cunt clenches in anticipation, having been sent the signals that you plan to pursue him. Again.

The wanton voice returns as you push yourself up out of your seat, leaning over the kitchen table. “Maybe we should… do it again… for good measure. Remy…”

"Chere, what did Remy say about usin' ‘dat voice...?"

"What if that's what I want?"

Remy's chewing slows and his eyes lift to yours. The legs of the chair scrape against the tile as he stands up, stretching forward to meet your mouth. Your lips barely graze each other, before –

As if on cue, someone knocks at the door, the sound echoing in your ears. Shit. You hesitate for a moment, eyes darting towards the door.

“I’ll get it.”

Begrudgingly, you move away from him, kick the sheet out behind you so you don’t trip on it, and hurry to the door, unlatching it.

"Wade," you breathe as you throw open the door, almost exasperated.

Wade pauses for a beat, assessing your appearance. "Oooh, good morning, sunshine. Looks like someone celebrated Taco Tuesday with some extra Cajun seasoning."

You heave a sigh; half out of annoyance and half out of embarrassment, because the reality was, you hadn't looked in the mirror this morning, so your appearance was a mystery. You look down at your sheet-clad body, and pull it tighter around you, as if that's giving back any of your modesty.

Wade leans on the doorframe, grinning like an absolute idiot. Lips pursed, he wiggles his eyebrows (or lack thereof) at you and waits for you to say something. Confess something. He's waiting for the juicy details, and you aren't delivering.

"Speak, Lassie! Tell us what happened!"

You huff. "What do you want, Wade?"

"So hostile. Actually, like State Farm, I was just being a good neighbour. Checking on you and the Cajun Sensation since you two never came ba - oh fuck me is he in his underwear? What in the Magic Mike is happening here?" He peeks over your shoulder, spotting the half-naked Gambit behind you.

"Wade!" You try to lean into his line of sight, preventing him from looking any further. "Look, I hardly know you, I'm not about to divulge my sex life to you-"

"Woah, TMI, princess. But thanks for the confirmation!"

"What!? No, that's not what I meant! I'm just..."

"Sure, pumpkin. It's okay, Disney gave it an R-rating for a reason."

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing." You snap, obviously frustrated. "Look, I'm fine. Everything is fine, we just --"

Remy's voice comes from behind you, fast approaching. "Cher? Everythin' alright?"

You cast your glance behind you briefly – he’s ditched the apron, and is now in nothing but those tight fitting briefs that leave little to the imagination. God, he's so attentive. He’s already acting like a boyfriend, a thought that turns your guts to butterflies.

Wade preens, clearly amused. "Oohh, well fuck me sideways. It was that kind of night, huh? Real x reader type plot. Cute. Have you said I love you yet? Or is that chapter three?"

You bristle, absolutely appalled at the question. Behind you, Remy opens the door further and raises one arm over his head, leaning it on the wood of the interior frame. He sees Wade and grins brightly, a twist to his lips, almost like he knows what’s happening.

“Mornin’, mon petit rouge.” (My little red)

“Oooh, I felt a tingle with that one.”

Remy chuckles, shaking his head lightly. Starting with his bare bicep, which was now on full display, Wade's eyes trail down the length of Remy's body, lingering far too long at his groin before snapping back up to his face.

"Jesus fuck, someone needs to put Agent Tequila on ice again. I thought it was Texas where everything is bigger–"

You feel your cheeks get hot and your eyes widen. “CHRIST, Wade!"

“Oh please, drop the Sandra Dee act, pookie. You two fucked nasty and everyone knows it. At least the whole floor.”

Behind you, Remy laughs low. You can feel his gaze on you, tunneling into you, almost as if he’s waiting for you to confirm or deny. The decision weighs heavy on your shoulders, and finally, you blurt out an answer.

“Okay, so we did. Happy now?”

Wade’s shoulders drop and he heaves an over dramatic sigh. “Hallelujah. There, doesn’t honesty feel good?”

Remy leans forward, his voice barely a whisper. “Not as good as what I did to you last night, huh cher?”

“Heard that.” Wade barks.

Your entire face feels hot, and the blush is spreading down your neck the longer this goes on.

Remy’s hand comes forward to take a fistful of your ass, squeezing firmly before giving it a determinate smack and heading back to the table. He’s apparently ascertained that the situation is safe; Wade may be a character but he means no harm. You stiffen at the feeling, fighting against the betrayal of your body. Wade arches a brow, his eyes darting to the very subtle way that your hips pitch forward stiffly.

“Anyway, this isn’t a threesome — could be, but isn’t — so I’m going back home. I have a big… wet… chimichanga waiting for me. Toodles.”

You’re relieved he ends the conversation before you have to; you aren’t quite sure what might’ve come out of your mouth had he stayed any longer and as an afterthought, you don’t want to create hostility with your next door neighbour. You shut your door, throwing the deadbolt into place.

You march back to the table with an apparent chip on your shoulder over the interaction with Wade – which all things considered, wasn’t that bad, but you’re still worked up. Your muscles are tense with frustration, which you don't notice until Remy's large hands are sliding up the sides of your arms. He eventually gets to your shoulders, which he pinches and massages between his fingers, forcing them back into a more relaxed state. You let out a sigh, and buck your hips back slightly. His groin is pressed up against the ample curve of your ass, your bodies fitting together like a erotic puzzle piece.

“What’re you all mad for, cher? C’mon now…”

“Who does he think he is? Making me confess that… and I’m a grown wo—“

“You was pretty loud last night.” He interjects, that mischievous smirk on his lips.

You spin around in his grasp and cross your arms, shooting him a disapproving look. “Whose side are you on here?”

He's unphased by your anger, and instead, brings his hands up to your cheeks, pulling them forward until your head gives way, and your lips smash against his.

At this, you let out a mewl of faux discomfort, and Remy smirks against your lips. He shakes his head softly, and pulls you closer at the waist. After a moment, he breaks the kiss and looks down at your sheet-clad figure. While it is a tantalizing sight -- the way the sheet drapes over your figure, conforming to the curve of your breasts, peaking over your semi-hard nipples -- he wants to see your body again. It's been hours, and he's craving it again.

“Yours.” His voice is so sure, so low and so close.

Well… his hands are definitely on your sides. They roam between your waist and your hips for a few moments before he makes a fist with one of them, the gray fabric bunching between his fingers.

“Who you bein’ modest for, huh? You don’t need ‘dis. Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

“I… I don’t know…” you whisper, falling into the trap of his eyes again. When he looks at you, really looks at you, you feel like you’re standing at the edge of a building, but going nowhere, because his big, brawny arms are wrapped around you tight. You’ve never felt safer. Uh-oh. That’s not good.

As he drags his fist down the front of your body, the sheet pulls free of your arms, the fabric grazing your nipples. The sensation has them hardening, and Remy’s hand replaces the sheet, running his thumb over one of them, while cupping the fullness of your breast with the rest of his hand.

He leans forward, kissing from your hairline, over your ear and down the curve of your shoulder, sending convulsive shivers down your spine. The feeling of his lips, pressing into your soft, warm skin… your lids flutter. Your hand reaches down, sliding over his taut muscles, until you find the bulge between his legs. The fabric is warm, heated by the fire of his cock. Your fingers curl around the length of it, giving it a gentle squeeze. Unconsciously, his hips pitch forward, forcing more pressure on your palm.

"Remy," you breathe, looking down between your bodies. His briefs are tenting now, his cock straining against the fabric. You swallow back the saliva that's gathering in your mouth, literally on the verge of drooling. 'I wanna'... I have to -- need to taste you."

"In Louisiana, 'dey call 'dat having an envie for somethin'."

"Yeah, well I have an envie for your cock right now, so..."

The surprise is apparent on his face, his brows lifting on his forehead, but it quickly morphs into something more lusty, something more pleased. His dick jumps at your words and he reaches up to grip your chin firmly, looking hard at your mouth.

Aroused, his accent thickens. "Hoo, you a naughty girl with 'dat mouth. Why don't you show me what else it can do, huh?"

You nod and sink to your knees, slowly. Once you're situated in front of his groin, you reach up and hook your fingers around the elastic of his waistband, peeling it away from his skin. You lean forward to trace the tip of your tongue along the lines of muscle, that tantalizing V cut. Remy chokes on his breath, as your tongue flattens against the skin.

You continue baring him, pulling the fabric down his thighs in one quick motion. He helps you by kicking them off to the side, and now stands, completely bare in front of you. His cock bounces heavy in front of your face and you immediately take him into your hand, wasting no time. You wrap one hand around the thick shaft, towards the base, and slide it slowly up towards the tip.

The heat coming off his cock radiates into your palm and the contrast of the velvet, soft skin, and the aching, rigid center has your mouth (and cunt) drooling. You can't help it, and the way Remy's muscles flex every time you move your hand eggs you on. You begin stroking his cock, slowly, but tightly and his breath hitches in his throat. Tightening his abdominal muscles as he does, Remy bucks his hips, forcing his dick through the circle of your fingers. The precum is spreading now, making the action easy. His head is down, watching you intently.

“‘Dat’s it, babygirl, just like ‘dat…”

As you drag the head over your bottom lip, glossing it with precum, it twitches in your grip. Extending your tongue, you slap the heavy, fat tip against it a few times, teasing him. Your lips wrap around the head, tongue massaging the underside with a flattened tongue.

Remy braces his hands on the counter top above you, his breath rushing out.

“Hoo, you don’t need no help from Remy, you know what you’re doin’.”

You nod and tighten your grip around the base, leaning your mouth forward to press a single kiss against the tip. Your tongue peeks out, licking a long stripe from the base to the head, and you hear Remy make a sound that can only be described as a growl. You moan against his cock, the sound buzzing against his skin. He bucks again, forcing his cock further into your mouth.

Remy’s grip tightens on the counter top. He’s doing his best to keep it together but the way that your warm, wet mouth has enveloped him, the way that you’re gently sucking as your head bobs, the way your fingers wrap around his cock, gripping him firmly and jerking him off at the base has him in pieces. Aside from last night, he can’t remember the last time he’s felt this good – certainly not in the Void, and try as he might, no memories are coming forward from before the Void. All he feels – and sees – is you. You. You, in your naked, morning messy glory. His chest rises and falls with ragged breaths, his gaze heavy and half-lidded.

You have to open wide to take him all the way in, but you don’t care. The weight of his cock on your tongue has your cunt weeping profusely between your legs, and the head nudges the back of your throat, teasing at your gag reflex. You steady yourself and get back to it. Your nose prods the thatch of coarse hair above his cock as you deep throat him, over and over again. The salty pre-cum glides over your tongue, saturating it with the taste that you’re craving.

“Mon coeur,” He exhales a low, raspy breath, and backs his hips away from your mouth, his dick leaving your lips with a wet shlick. You stare up at him with wide, unknowing eyes, chin covered in saliva. His cock twitches in your grip; the visual is erotic.

“Believe me when I say ‘dis, cher. I wanna’ make a mess on your face, but Remy ain’t ready for it to be ova’. C’mere.”

With a gentle tap, he urges you up off your knees, helping you to get to your feet. Just like before, he’s hoisting you up into his arms and you’re ready to be carried off again, but this time your ass comes down atop the counter, and Remy slots himself between your legs.

“Wait-wait…. What are you doing?”

“Eatin’, mon ami.” He says it so nonchalantly and throws in the ever casual mon ami as though this is something done between friends. His hands cup your kneecaps, urging them apart with careful urgency. He looks at your cunt, and his brows lift slowly, a smirk crawling across his lips.

“Hoo…” He chuckles, running a single finger along the slit of your cunt. As he pulls back, his finger is coated in your arousal, thick strands of clear stringing from your cunt to the tip of his finger. “You get yourself all worked up while you were down ‘dere? She is glistenin’, cher.”

You’re almost embarrassed. Almost. You hadn’t told him, but giving head was a massive turn-on. Besides that, the mere sight of his massive cock was enough to get your engines running. Something about admitting that to him sounds a little too whorish, so you keep your mouth shut. You whine, leaning your head against the cabinets and buck your hips forward, closer to the edge.

It’s as though he can tell you’re withholding something from him.

“Ah-ah, cher…” He brings his face close to yours, licking at your mouth. “Tell Remy what’s on your mind.”

“I… I like giving head… I like giving you head…. I like…”

He nods, encouraging you further. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks, and you roll your eyes to the ceiling.

“Ugh, okay. You have an amazing cock, and I like having it in every part of me.” You curse yourself for being so honest.

Now it’s Remy that’s on his knees, and he dives at your cunt like a man starved. His tongue is strong and warm against your clit, flicking upwards against the bundle of nerves. He’s burying his mouth in your folds, lapping at it. Every time his tongue nears your opening, you let out a long, whining moan.

Pause. Let’s just recap. Just to make sure we’re on the same god damn page. You met this guy at Wade’s…. Fucked him all night long, he made you breakfast and now he’s giving you the most toe-curling head you’ve ever had. And you think, just maybe, you might be falling in love with him. Cool. Okay.

Your hand snaps to the crown of his head, fingers lacing amongst his hair to hold him to the spot he’s working. His tongue is drilling into your clit, and that’s when you feel the pressure of two fingers, prodding your slick slit.

“Sweeter ‘den ‘dat maple syrup up on your counter,” he says, practically into your cunt. You look down; his gaze is lust-blown, and lips are glossy, spit-slick and reddened. He presses a few gentle kisses to your clit before his tongue starts swiping at it again, and plunging his fingers deep within your core. Just like before, he knows just how to curl his fingers up into the sensitive spot inside you. You let out a moan, and bump your head against the cabinets again.

A shudder rips through your body, overwhelmed at the dual stimulation. His mouth closes around your clit, sucking gently and you can feel the slippery puddle forming on the countertop beneath you. Briefly, you wonder if you’ll just slide off the counter, but really… the only place to go is further into Remy and his mouth.

Abruptly, you feel the flash of heat between your legs and arch your back, readying yourself for the drop. Your cunt aches, throbs and – Remy suddenly pulls away, his chin shimmering with your arousal.

“Huh, I didn’t hear anyone say you could be doin’ ‘dat yet, ah?”

Holy shit. You clench her tight, holding back the wave of an orgasm. Your teeth grind together, legs quivering at the feeling of denial. You were right on the edge, right on the edge of white, hot bliss.

“Ffffuck,” you whisper. “Fuck. Please….”

“I said no, cher. Not yet.” There’s a playful lilt in Remy’s voice and it drives you crazy.

“Fuck me then, please…. I need to feel you.”

He chuckles, and presses a deep kiss to your folds. “You ain’t gonna’ have to ask me twice, ma bichette.” (my little doe)

He slips his fingers out, and inserts them into his mouth, sucking the taste of you off of them. Your jaw drops. It’s such a casual, but erotic action, and your cunt responds feverishly. She’s got a heartbeat of her own at this point, thrumming between your legs. Leaving you leaking on the countertop, Remy gets to his feet and turns around to the kitchen table. He shoves the plates out of the way, somehow not knocking them onto the floor.

“C’mere…”

You’re in his arms again, and he’s swinging you around, plopping you down on the kitchen table. Your hands go back behind you, pressing down into the wood apprehensively.

“I don’t know if this table can support me…. ”

“Don’t you worry ‘bout ‘dat, cher. It might not, but Remy’s gonna’ be holdin’ you tight. This is just givin’ me a betta’ angle, ‘das all.”

He wasn’t lying; most of your weight was in his grasp. One arm was wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you up. You scoot yourself closer to the edge, closer to him, and inhale a deep breath. Remy shuffles forward, his cock leading the way. The red, leaking tip nudges your entrance and he lifts your head to place a kiss against your lips, nibbling softly on the bottom one. He’s so passionate, even amidst the burden of his fiery, seemingly untameable lust. A lover. Fuck… you think. You’re falling into a deep, dark hole that you don’t think you can climb your way out of.

Remy reaches between your bodies, pushing his cock down slightly, until he feels the sopping wet opening of your cunt. Groaning deeply, he stuffs himself inside, inch by inch until your bodies are flush. He finds a rhythm quickly, bucking his hips against you. As he splits you open, you can’t help but moan loud, louder than last night, his cock filling you, throbbing veins rubbing against your inner walls.

“God, yeah… yeah, fuck me hard…!” You chant, sounding more and more like a porn star with every passing moment.

“Only if you give it t’ me, cher… the way you takin’ this dick, I ain’t gonna’ last long.”

You nod hurriedly, looking deep into his eyes. He growls and pulls his hips all the way back before slamming them back into you – hard. Your jaw drops again, and you find yourself staring at the cabinets, vision going hazy with lust as your orgasm rushes to the surface, claiming your body wholly. The plates that previously hung on now go clattering to the floor, but the sound does little to interrupt you two. Remy’s got his dick so deep inside of you that you’re seeing stars, and the sounds that are tumbling from your lips are far louder than the sound of porcelain on tile.

With a smooth, guttural sound, Remy loses it, too. He fills you, deeply, and what leaks out the sides, he hurriedly pumps it back inside of you until his cock starts to soften, his thrusts languid and spent.

“I could do this with you all day…” You whisper into his neck, rubbing your nose against the warm, sweaty flesh there.

“Me too, cher, me too.” He nods, blinking slowly. “But I can’t be doin’ ‘dat… not today.”

You rear back suddenly, looking him in the eyes. They’ve still got that mischievous glimmer that he seems to always possess, but there’s something behind them. A sort of… coldness, that has your arms falling away from him.

“You have to leave…” you say softly, suddenly understanding.

Remy nods, and slips out of you, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. He pushes your hair out of your face, and rubs his thumb along the fullness of your cheek. He disappears then, and your shoulders sink slightly. You stay on the table for a few minutes, your legs hanging limply off the table, just listening to the sounds of him getting dressed; the gentle rustle of clothing, the snap of his elastic waistband as it hugs him.

Finally, you hop off the table, and bend down to retrieve the rumpled pile of sheet. You hold it against your body, not worrying about what’s showing. Like he said before, he’s seen everything. You turn, and spot him – standing tall behind your couch. He reaches for his leather jacket.

He’s attractive, so the sight of him dressed is to be appreciated as much as him undressed, but there’s a pang of sadness in your chest. Your lungs feel tight, and you wring the sheets around your fingers as he smoothes a hand through his hair, tousling it lightly. Again, as though he’s in tune to your emotions, he seems to notice that you’re staring sullenly.

“Remy be needin’ to deal with some things, cher…” he says, adjusting himself in his jacket. You wonder what it is he has to deal with, where he has to go. It’s none of your business, you’re sure. You want to ask him if he’ll be back, but your gut warns that that sounds too desperate, so instead, you nod once.

“Thanks,” you start, trying to find the strength in your voice. “I had a really good time. My door is uh, always open.”

“Good t’ know, cher.” He says. He sounds genuine, but he’s still leaving. Every bone in your body is screaming for him to stay. He makes his way over to you, wordlessly, and wraps his arm around your waist. His lips find yours, and he tips you backwards slightly as he kisses you. The way he tastes you feels like he’s trying to stain his own mouth with your essence, to remember it later. When he breaks off and straightens you back up, you let out a pathetic little cry that you know he hears. You bring your fingers to your mouth, stroking your bottom lip softly.

And with that, he opens your door, slips out and shuts it behind him, but not before casting one last look at you, standing there in a sheet that he fucked your brains out on.

To the closed door, you whisper: “I… think I love you.”

He doesn’t hear it and maybe that’s for the best.

#Gambit #Remy Lebeau #channing tatum #Deadpool and Wolverine Gambit #channing tatum gambit #Gambit x reader #gambit x you #remy lebeau x reader #remy lebeau x you #female reader #Deadpool and Wolverine #Deadpool 3 #x reader fics #myfics

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