#wet jean wednesday

[nullcanary]

I know you, at least I did. But all the time, I feel you missing.

[evie-sturns]

brat - Chris Sturniolo

summary: after a day of shooting chris bratty, and rude comments, he finally puts you in your place.

contains: brat tamer!chris, smut, overstimulation, choking, fluff, aftercare, dumbification.

----------------------------------------------------------

i grip chris's hand tight as we walk around target, "i want to go home chris." i state with a small pout,

"baby i told you we need to get stuff for the wednesday video." chris sighs, squeezing my hand.

"it's not like its my channel! i got dragged here by you." i bite back at him, chris's eyebrows furrow with a shocked laugh.

"don't fucking act like you weren't clinging to me an hour ago, you wouldn't let me leave the house." chris shuts me up pretty quick, i roll my eyes with a frustrated sigh.

he stops walking at looks down at me, "don't roll your eyes at me."

i scoff, chris raises his eyebrows at me as a warning before pulling me towards the checkout by my hand.

i wrap my arms around chris as he pays,

he hooks the several bags over his fingers before following close behind me as we walk out of the main exit.

chris and i walk towards matt's car which is parked in the parking lot, chris swings open the back door before jumping in,

"did you get the shit?" matt asks before turning the car on,

"yeah, most of it." chris replies before scooting closer to me in the backseat.

“chris!! you’re basically crushing me.” i whine, chris shoots me a warning glare as matt pulls out of the parking lot.

chris places a gentle hand on my thigh, i look out the window with my arms crossed over my chest.

“are you tired?” chris asks softly, i don’t reply, keeping my eyes trained on the passing cars out the foggy window.

i hear chris let out a small frustrated sigh, him and matt start up a conversation which continues for the rest of the trip.

-

i swing open the door to chris and i’s room, instantly flopping down on the bed. chris follows close behind me into the room and stands by the bed, just looking down at me.

i stare at my phone as i make myself comfy in his pile of pillows.

“y/n.” chris stares blankly, his voice low.

i ignore him, staring at my phone.

“i’m not gonna ask you again.” chris says under his breath before i feel 2 of his cold hands grip my ankles.

he tugs me by my ankles to the edge of the bed in one harsh tug.

“chris!” i whine,

“don’t fucking whine at me.” he mutters,

his hand finds its way onto my waist, in one movement he flips me over onto all fours.

i feel his hands tugs on the waistband of my sweatpants before he pulls them completely off of me

i look back over my shoulder at chris, adjusting my position on all fours.

he tugs my panties to the side, not even bothering to take them off completely,

“chris-“ i start, but i’m cut off by a harsh smack to my ass, hard enough to leave a mark.

i wince slightly, somewhat in shock from how chris managed to get me from my comfortable position on his bed, to on all fours wearing absolutely nothing from the waist down.

i hear the clink of chris’s belt hitting the wooden floor, followed by his jeans.

“gonna act like a brat, gonna be fucked like one.” chris says from behind me before tugging his boxers off.

“i’m not being a brat!” i protest.

just then i feel chris’s pink tip line up with my slit, wet with arousal.

chris slams into me full force, his tip bruising my cervix.

a mix between a moan, a scream, and a gasp exits my mouth at once, overwhelming pain but pleasure coasting through me.

his thrusts instantly start, giving me no time to stretch around him.

each thrust i feel him hit deeper.. and deeper.

“arch your back.” chris demands, placing a palm on my back and pushing it down.

i bury my face in the pillow, not wanting matt to hear my desperate screams.

i hear chris let out a low laugh from behind me as if his dick isn’t brutally abusing my insides right now.

“chris- chris slow down-“ i manage to babble out incoherently,

“you think you deserve it? for me to slow down?” chris spits back,

his hand collides with the plush skin of my ass again.

“do you?” he asks again, i shake my head frantically into the pillow.

“that’s what i thought, so don’t go asking me to slow down.” he mumbles with a small groan.

he continues to hit impossibly deep spots,

i let out a loud gasp as i feel chris’s cold hand shaking round to my neck,

his large hand takes a grip on my throat,

his other hand pulls my hair into a makeshift ponytail before he tugs on it, forcing my head out of the pile of pillows.

he grips my throat as he tugs on my hair, my back contorted into a deep arch.

tears well in my eyes from the intensity, not to say i’m not enjoying every second of this.

the only sounds in our room are skin slapping together harshly paired with my muffled moans.

my legs shake dramatically as i attempt to kick them, my hands grip the bedsheets for dear life as i feel chris’s cock against my walls.

with a pathetic scream of his name i clench around him, releasing all over his length. his grip on my throat tightens as i assume he gets close.

“i didn’t tell you to cum.” chris huffs,

“say you’re sorry.” he follows up.

“i’m- i’m so s-sorr…” i babble out,

tears are now flowing down my cheeks from overstimulation.

my eyes roll back as chris’s thrusts somehow quicken.

with a slick pop chris pulls out quickly, he paints my back with warm white streaks.

“oh- oh fuck- fuck…” chris groans as he strokes himself a few more times.

i face plant forwards into the sheets, chris collapses next to me.

chris lays on the bed for a few seconds before springing up, he tugs me onto his lap and wraps his large arms around me.

“no- no don’t cry love.” chris says with a nervous laugh.

“did i hurt you? are you hurt princess?” chris fires rapid questions at me, i shake my head no and i can physically see the relief wash over chris.

“no more tears,” chris breathes out, wiping my eyes gently.

“that was- so intense..” i breathe out with a small smile.

“i’m sorry baby, i’m sorry.” chris pecks kisses over my damp face.

he wipes my back with his hand, his face grimacing.

“i’m sorry.” chris whispers again, “chris.. it’s okay, i really.. really liked it.” i say with a shy grin.

“are you sure? i’m sorry, i think i just got worked up” chris apologies for the hundredth time.

“i’m sure chris, stop apologising.” i laugh, fixing his messed up hair.

he runs his hands through my locks, “did it hurt when i pulled your hair?” chris asks, visible nerves on his innocent flushed face.

“no chris.” i laugh, chris nods “okay thank god.”

chris picks me up as he stands up, holding me in a bridal position.

“what do you feel like wearing?” he asks, “maybe- just something of yours” i reply

“okay!” chris says, pulling out one of his sweatshirts and some of his sweat-shorts.

chris places me down on my feet, my legs wobble as i stumble over.

“oh-“ he picks me back up,

“my legs are like jelly.” i smile.

“sorr-“ chris starts but i clamp a hand over his mouth,

“no more sorrys!” i laugh.

chris shakes his head with a giggle.

he plops me down on the bed and tugs the shorts up my legs.

“arms up sweetheart.” chris says before pulling his shirt onto me.

chris stands up and walks over to his closet and pulls on some sweatpants.

“there we are.” chris smiles.

“you look good!” chris

“you look like a moron.” i state with my arms crossed.

i slam a hand over my mouth, realising i’ve just gave chris attitude.

“what was that?” chris laughs,

“nothing.” i purse my lips together.

“am i going to have to fuck that attitude out of you again?” chris asks

i shake my head, my cheeks now a deep red.

———

@gabrielle-brun1 @ilovemymannnnnnnn @sturnioloxlver @buckys-goodgirl @sturniol0s @mattybsgf @stupid4sturniolo @lydi2718 @chrisstopherfilmed2 @flosslikeabosss @zturndq @skysturniolo @jetaimevous @sturniolo04 @luxy-nyx @aliceloveschris @livvy4realll @chrissturnsss @ilovemymannnnnnnn @chr1sgirl4life @luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle @h3arts4harry @sonicmacks @jamiesturniolo @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @sturniolo-simp4life @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @ev3rgreenxtrees @lovergirl4387 @certifiednatelover @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @ecilphttlunar @bitchydragonparadise @thematthewlover @sturni0l0 @ratatioulle @sturnsfav @chrisgetsmewetterxo @mattsonly @justalittle47 @mattsturnioloisbae@sunsetsturniolos @sturniolo04 @similartokayyz @pkfferoo @sturnsintrouble @ilovemattsturn @raysmayhem-72 @75sturn @sturniol0s @secret-sturniolo @hfkeclnendmwodne @sturniolosass @gxldenlush @stonermattsgf @101sara @beccaluvschris @oliviasturniolo21 @imwetforyourmom @tylerstacobell @sunsetsturniolos @aliceloveschris @jayz4dayz4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-lover @nathandoesgf @starsturns234 @chrissturnsss s @joemamaaa42069 @sturnthepot @zayyluvz @realuvrrr @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs @riowritesitall @raysmayhem-72 @mattlvrr @downbad4reid @austejasz @faygo-frog @certifiedstarrr @flosslikeabosss @mattybismyman @skysturniolo @jetaimevous

[strang3lov3]

WIP Wednesday 👖

“S’not happening, kiddo. Someone has to act like a fuckin’ adult here.”

Joel sighs, shaking his head as you straddle his lap anyway, grinding your wet cunt into his growing bulge. He grips your hips hard in both of his strong, large hands, hard enough to bruise you. And so be it, he thinks. Maybe physical punishment is the discipline you need. Nothing else seems to be getting through to you, anyway.

“Knock it off,” he commands, growling in your ear. “I know you were raised better’n that, goddamn it.”

“I know, Joel,” you whimper, voice catching in your through when your clit brushes against the cool brass button of his jeans. “Please.”

“I said,” Joel whispers, keeping his tone low and controlled as he digs his fingers into your flesh, as if he means to tear it from your bones. “Enough. You quit while you’re ahead. If you come, I will make you fuckin’ regret it.”

Joel reaches for your chin then, and presses his fingers harshly into the hollows of your cheeks. “Do you understand me?” he whispers.

Npt - @gracieheartspedro @honeyedmiller @covetyou @evolnoomym @beardedjoel @joeloverture

[queenxxxsupreme]

Ghost (Logan Howlett x reader)

A/N: this is my first attempt at a fic in a while, so please just bear with me. This takes place after the events of Deadpool and Wolverine. I feel like I am not too great at writing Wade’s character and I think I’m still learning how to write Logan so just please don’t hate me if anything seems out of character. I hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: cursing, mentions of thoughts of suicide, nothing else out of the ordinary for a Deadpool and Wolverine fic

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: What happens when the man who broke your heart shows up on your doorstep with a weird man claiming to be from another universe?

As you were tying your robe into place, the sound of glass shattering in the other room caught your attention.

“Fuck.” You muttered before hastily making your way down the hallway. “Nugs, what the hell are you doing in here?”

The overweight orange cat meowed loudly from where he sat on the floor. Directly beside him was a pile of dirt and the remnants of your favorite flower pot.

“Nugget! Dude, we have talked a million times about you trying to get up on that shelf.” You shooed the cat away from the mess, then went to retrieve a broom. “You are far too big to be trying to climb up there. You could get hurt.”

He meowed again and rubbed against your calf, offering his own version of an apology.

You swept the dirt and plant material into the dustpan. As you were making your way towards the trash can, a firm knock came at the front door.

Nugget started meowing loudly. It was almost like he was trying to imitate a siren and warn you that there was someone at the door.

Cautiously, you moved towards the door. You weren’t expecting anyone, sure, but you also knew absolutely no one in the city, so why would someone be knocking on your door at 11:30 on a Wednesday night?

You pulled the door open to see an unknown man. He wore a trucker hat with the words ‘this is actually my first rodeo’ stitched on to it. He was wearing a gray hoodie and jeans. The skin covering his face was scarred badly.

“Can I help you?” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Oh my FUCK! You didn’t tell me we were coming to see Y/N!” The man turned around to reveal Logan Howlett.

Your heart jumped to your throat at the sight of him, and the very thought of breathing went right out the window.

He stood with his arms crossed. The dark red flannel he wore stretched over his muscles. It was like the shirt was two sizes too small for him. The jeans he wore were dark and fit him snug. His hair wasn’t as poofy as you remembered it being, but it was still styled and spiked just like he had always done.

As you took in the sight of the Wolverine, you realized he didn’t look as unkempt as you so vividly recalled him being the last time that you saw him.

“Uh, hi, Y/N.”

Hearing him say your name almost made you vomit right then and there. It had been years since you last heard him say your name.

You snapped out of your trance, the tension and nerves in your stomach twisting into anger.

“What the fuck do you want, Logan?”

”I know it’s a long shot, but we need somewhere to stay for the night.”

You couldn’t believe what he was saying. What made him think he had the right to ask you for anything?

You started to close the door but the man you didn’t know stopped you, placing his hand on the door.

“Hold on just a second, Y/N! We have some wild— and I mean wild —stories to tell you.”

”I don’t know you, fuck nuts.” You snapped. Your irises disappeared as the entire eye turned black. “Now if you two don’t get the hell away from my apartment—,”

”I know you don’t owe me anything, Y/N.” Logan paused, taking a second to admire how stunning you looked. You stood there in nothing but a soft pink robe with little cherries all over it and your hair was wet. You even smelled the same. “We’re doing some…. work nearby and we need somewhere to stay.”

”Go fuck yourself, how about that?” You tried to close the door but this time Logan stopped you. His hand was firm and steady as he held the door open.

“I-I just want to talk to you.”

You held his gaze, your eyes returning to their normal Y/E/C color.

Perhaps if he hadn’t looked so different from the last time you saw him, you’d slam the door in his face. But he didn’t look broken, his eyes weren’t empty. The Logan standing before you was more like the one you fell in love with years ago, rather than the one who had broken your heart.

“When was the last time you had a drink?”

Logan let out a heavy breath and almost rolled his eyes.

“Look, I’m not gonna lie to you. It was, like, forty-five minutes ago. But it was just one drink.”

”He’s seriously been cutting back on the alcohol.” The stranger nodded his head. “But if you ask me, I’d rather him be loaded with that shit. Makes him more tolerable.”

Logan elbowed him harshly in the ribs.

”It’s a good thing I didn’t ask you then isn’t it, buddy?” I raised my brows at the stranger.

”Yikes, you are just like I remember you being. All sweet and mean and shit.”

“Please, Y/N.” Logan pulled your attention back to him.

With a sigh of defeat, you stepped back and held the door for the two men.

“Yes! Thank you, Y/N.” The stranger happily entered your home. “You know, I’ve always wanted to see what your place was like. The you from my world banned me from her place a long time ago. We wear the same size shoes, you know. And apparently, she doesn’t like to share. Said I stretched out her Burkins. And her nighties.”

You furrowed your eyebrows as you listened to the man ramble.

“Who in the fuck are you?”

”Wade Wilson.” The man turned around to face you, holding his hand out. “You might know me as Deadpool.”

”No, actually. I don’t.” You crossed your arms over your chest, ignoring his outstretched hand. “Where the hell did you get this guy, Logan?”

”Uh, it’s a long story.”

”I can explain it all, momma. Let’s have a seat.” Wade gestured to your kitchen table and then pulled a chair out.

***

You stepped out onto your balcony, pulling a carton of cigarettes from the pocket in your jacket. Your eyes flickered out over the city.

Never in a million years did you think that Logan Howlett would show up at your apartment looking like a kicked dog. Never in a million years did you think he’d be able to dig himself out of the hole he tried to bury himself in ages ago. And never in a million years did you think he would have the guts to stand in front of you asking to stay for just the night.

He needed somewhere to stay for the night, somewhere to rest in the midst of whatever the fuck he was doing. And with him came a strange man by the name of Wade Wilson.

The air was cool and a gentle breeze blew through your hair. The faint sound of car horns kept you from being too absorbed by your own thoughts.

Out of the corner of your eye, something moved. It was Wade.

You took a puff of the cigarette and then offered it to him.

“Oh, no thank you. I’m trying to limit my oral intake of carcinogens.”

You nodded, finding it best not to question him, and moved to sit down at the little table.

“Sometimes I think things couldn’t get any more crazy. The man who broke my heart and made me contemplate offing myself shows up at my front door out of the blue with a man claiming to be from another universe entirely. How am I supposed to react to that?”

Wade opened his mouth to answer your rhetorical question with something sassy, but he stopped himself. He could see that your eyes were glossy and your breath was shaky. Your hand trembled as you held the cigarette up to your lips.

He slipped into the seat next to you, racking his brain for something to say.

“Did you know that?” You asked him, your eyes finding his. “That when we broke up, when he…. When Logan decided that he was done…. I thought about killing myself.”

”No, I didn’t.” Wade spoke softly.

”We were together for years. Almost a lifetime. And he just…. He just couldn’t take it anymore. After what happened at the school.” You paused for a moment. “He couldn’t move on, but he couldn’t die either. Everything just turned him into someone I— someone I didn’t know. Don’t know.”

Wade watched you in silence. His chest began to feet tight, like it was hard for him to breathe. Seeing his best friend— or at least his best friend in his world —so torn up, so genuinely hurt, made Deadpool feel bad.

“In my world, you two were together until his dying breath.”

Your eyes snapped over to him, unsure that you had heard him right.

”What?”

”Wherever you were, he was not too far behind. You two were inseparable. Practically joined at the hip.”

You gazed at him for a few moments, giving yourself time to process his words. An ache began to stir in your gut, the same ache that you fought every single minute of every single day to suppress.

“He-He died? In your- In your world, I mean.”

”Yeah. Oh, yeah.” Wade rubbed his palms on the thighs of his jeans. “It was a real dark time for everyone. I never even got to team up with him before he croaked.”

You flicked the ashes from your cigarette into an ashtray. You leaned back in your seat, taking a deep breath.

“Your Logan, was he like this one?”

“Very similar. This one gives off slutty vibes. And he’s more drunk than the one from my world.”

“Was I happy with him, Wade?”

The Deadpool looked at you for a while. It was so weird to him that you were questioning your happiness with Logan Howlett. In his world, all you ever did was talk about Logan, about the memories you had with him.

“Happier than anyone I ever knew.” He nodded his head softly. “Look, I don’t know your situation with him in this world, but I think you should let him talk to you.”

You took a deep breath of the cigarette. The back of your throat burned.

“I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can. Just let him talk and explain himself. Make him feel like a dick for what he did. Then have the hottest makeup sex ever. Lovers-to-enemies-back-to-lovers sex is the best. Or so I’ve heard. I haven’t had a chance to experience that yet. Still on my bucket list.”

“He wouldn’t listen to me before. What makes you think he’ll listen to me now?”

“In our little journey we’ve had, I think I’ve been a good influence on him. I got him to smile, like, three times.”

You wanted to believe him, to trust the words he was telling you and the grin on his face. But you couldn’t stop thinking back to the Logan you remembered.

The cigarette between your fingertips disappeared beneath your touch, the gentle breeze taking away the particles of what was left of it.

You looked down at your hand, a shaky breath leaving through your lips.

“I don’t know, Wade.”

“That’s okay, momma. That’s okay.” He put his hands up. “It’s late and it’s been a wild and odd day for you. Why don’t you go get some sleep?”

“Yeah.” You nodded your head, standing from your chair.

He stood to his feet and looked down at you for a few moments. Then his arms wrapped around you and he pulled you in for a tight hug.

“Oh, uh–,”

“Shhh. Just let me hug you.” He whispered.

You were confused and shocked a little bit, but you hugged him back nonetheless.

“You smell just like the Y/N from my world.”

”Alright, okay.” You pulled away from him.

“I’m gonna go see if the princess is done with her shower yet.”

“Goodnight, Wade.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

You watched him walk back into your apartment and he disappeared around a corner.

You stood there for a few moments in silence. He was an interesting man. You almost enjoyed how much he constantly annoyed Logan.

“What a fucking day.” You rubbed your temple with one hand as you moved to return to your seat.

The cigarette pack was pulled from your jacket pocket and you took out a second cigarette. You put the stick between your lips, then reached back into your pocket to pull out a lighter.

Someone cleared their throat. You turned your head to see Logan standing in the doorway. He was in a pair of black sweatpants and a t-shirt. His hair was damp, a telltale sign that he had just gotten out of the shower.

You said nothing to him for a few heartbeats.

“Your friend is strange.” You nodded to the seat beside you that Wade had previously sat in. As Logan sat down, you held out the pack of cigarettes for him.

“Thanks.” He muttered, taking the box and pulling a cigarette out. You took it back from him and tossed it down onto the table. “He’s…. He’s not too bad.”

You lit your cigarette, then passed the lighter to Logan.

”When’d you take up smoking?” He placed the lighter down on the table next to the pack of cigarettes.

“Couple years ago.”

Logan wanted to look at you, to see how much you had changed in the years since he had last seen you. But he couldn’t bring himself to see the way that you looked at him. The sadness. The grief. The anger. So instead, the Wolverine focused his gaze on the skyline ahead.

The two of you sat there in silence for what felt like ages. Part of you didn’t know what to say, but the other part of you didn’t feel like it was your job to be the first to speak. That was on him.

You finished the cigarette with one final deep breath, then you put it out in the ashtray. The silence was getting to be too much, and you contemplated getting a third cigarette.

“Why did you come here, Logan?” You crossed your arms tightly over your chest.

”I wanted to…. I guess I just wanted to see you.” He blew a cloud of smoke from his lips. “The whole way here, I was trying to think of something to say, of what I could say to apologize to you, to show you that I am sorry. But nothing is good enough. Nothing sounds good enough.”

You turned your head to look at him, tilting your head to the side just a little.

“Start with an actual apology, Logan. Tell me that you are sorry. God knows you’ve never fucking done that before.”

Logan pressed his lips together tightly. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you, not yet at least.

“I am sorry, Y/N.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until the breeze blowing over the balcony made your damp cheeks feel cold. You turned away from him, hastily wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket.

“I am— I’m so, so fucking sorry for everything.” Logan’s voice was quiet.

“I thought about killing myself, Logan.”

It was his turn to look at you. His brows were drawn together and his lips parted.

“What?”

“I had no one left. The Professor was gone. Storm, Jean, there was no one fucking left for me to go to.” Your voice trembled as you said each name.

“I’m— Y/N, I’m sorry. I just…. There was a lot going on and I—,”

”You don’t think I didn’t fucking see what was going on, Logan?” You cut him off. The sadness and grief you felt quickly turned to anger. “I wanted to help you. I did everything I could to try to help you! And you just shot me down like I was a fucking nobody to you. Like we hadn’t spent the last fifteen plus years together!”

”I didn’t know how to process everything!” He raised his voice. All the emotions from all those years ago came flooding back to him. “You couldn’t fix everything, Y/N! You couldn’t just make things better with a snap of your fingers! I was an asshole. The biggest fucking asshole in the world. And I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

You stood to your feet. The thought of just sitting idly while you felt the white hot anger of a thousand suns under your skin made you want to vomit.

“Fuck you, Logan. Actually and genuinely fuck you. To think you have the right to find me and just waltz in and try to apologize for fucking being the absolute biggest dickhead in the entire—,”

Logan cut you off by wrapping his arms around you. He pulled you into what was perhaps the tightest hug you had ever had in your life. He buried his face against the side of your head, his hands pressing firmly into your back.

You were frozen in shock for the first few seconds. What was he doing? What was he trying to do?

”I’m so fucking sorry.” His voice cracked. “I’m so sorry.”

And just like that, you melted around him. Your arms wrapped around his torso. You buried your face in his chest.

Sure, you weren’t completely accepting of his apology. There were still plenty of conversations the two of you needed to have to work through your issues. But you would be lying if you said you hadn’t been dreaming about this moment for years.

You stood there for a long time, probably too long, holding him as tight as you possibly could. Your tears dampened his hoodie at the center of his chest and you were sure you could feel his own tears making your hair damp.

When he finally felt that he had held you for long enough, Logan pulled back. You looked up at him, taking in a shaky breath through your lips. His large hands came up to cup your face, thumbs brushing the tears away.

”We should go to sleep.”

”Yeah.” You nodded your head, stepping away from him so that you could gather yourself quickly. “Um, yeah. I think Wade said something about sharing the guest bed with you.”

”Oh, great.” Logan rolled his eyes.

“You can always sleep on the couch if you want.” You offered, moving around him and into your apartment.

You stopped in the kitchen to watch him. As he stepped into the dim lighting of your home, you found yourself staring at him once more. It felt like you were dreaming, like maybe this was some sort of coma dream. Maybe you fell down the stairs in your apartment and this wasn’t real.

”Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Logan.”

[hysteria-things]

i REALLYYY need a sub matt fic plsss i read the one when he gets hard from seeing her in a bathing suit but can u do one where the triplets are like filming a video and she like like bends down to get something and sees how flustered it makes matt so then she just continues to do stuff like that like stand in front of him and "accidentally" backing up into him yea like stuff like that u know the rest 😁😁😁 (if so could u pls add a little bit of a mommy kink obviously if not that's totally fine)

PLEASE ME

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sub!matt x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: while filming a video with the sturniolo triplets, you notice matt acting strange so abruptly. when you realize what it’s about, you want to take advantage of it.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: FILTHY, unintentional teasing lol, handjob, p in v, mommy kink, begging kink, praising, a little degradation, overstimulation, unprotected sex (don’t do that!), breeding, ROUGH

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 912

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: these requests are literally all the same LMAO

i’m sorry if the mommy kink isn’t RAGING for some reason typing that out makes me cringe a little😭

EDIT: hi second anon i’m very sorry i forgot to put the tata sucking that’s so my bad💔

matt couldn’t help but stare. the boys decided to go roller skating for fun and film for wednesday’s vlog. currently, matt’s at the booth you guys picked out to rest while his brothers are still on the floor.

you wanted to rest your feet as well, so for now, you’re in charge of filming the two over the loud music and other people.

he watches as your body is hunched over the wall dividing the rink to the main area, your skirt lifted ever so slightly. you look so attractive to him, his pants tightening as he looks in your direction.

“that’s good for now, thanks y/n!” chris says as he skates by, giving you a thumbs up.

your giggle fills matt’s ears, his hips having a mind of their own. he thrusts softly into the edge of the table, whining lowly.

“are you alright?” you question, now standing in front of his face.

his eyes are wide like he’s scared. you have a look of genuine fear on your face because he’s been acting fine all night until this moment. “holy shit, matt. seriously, are you okay?”

“i-i need to use the bathroom.” he stammers, quickly getting out of his skates and speed-walking to the other side of the building.

“matt, hold on!” you call out, but he ignores you. you stumble to get your skates off, sprinting after the boy.

catching up to him as he’s about to enter the boy’s room, you grab his wrist and turn him around. his eyes are tearing up as if he’s about to start crying or something. “matt, what the hell?”

“it hurts.” he pouts, looking down at the ground.

face visibly confused, you try to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about. “what hurts?”

he slowly removes his jacket from in front of his pants, revealing the raging boner through his jeans. “oh.”

his lip quivers, still avoiding eye contact from the embarrassment. “it hurts so fucking bad.” he whines louder.

honestly, you feel bad for him, but that doesn’t mean you still can’t help… right?

before his brain can comprehend what’s going on, you push him into the restroom and lock the door, laying him down on the ottoman that’s in the center of the spacious room.

biting your lip, you bring your hand down to the inside of his pants, palming him through his underwear. he moans desperately, a wet spot forming from the pre-cum.

he’s so sensitive that he’s twitching already, and that’s your sign to wrap your small hand around his dick, moving up and down.

“what a pretty boy, you are.” you coo, his eyes fluttering back with a positive hum. taking your thumb, you move it on his swollen tip. his poor dick is aching for a release, or even better, to be inside of you.

you feel him tighten, moving your hand faster and faster with each pump. squirming rapidly below you, he sticks his tongue out from the pleasure. “i’m gonna cum!” he moans.

you tut. “ask.”

he mewls, eyes closing shut while panting uncontrollably. “please let me cum, mo—”

you smirk amusingly, knowing damn well what was going to fall past his lips. “who?”

sniffling, he now looks at you with a pleading face. “can i cum, mommy?”

giving permission, he spurts his hot liquid down his shaft, but you don’t stop. you keep pumping, hovering over him and slipping your panties to the side with your free hand. “such a good boy.” you praise.

he loves that.

matt hisses once you start to bounce slowly on his cock, still feeling stimulated from his high. it hurts him, but it feels too good at the same time.

his mouth hangs wide, eyes rolling to the back of his head when you start to gradually get faster.

whines and whimpers echo along the walls. thank goodness the music is so loud outside, otherwise people will be able to hear how pathetic he sounds.

you moan too, but not as loud as he is. his voice mind as well be gone by the end of this.

the way your walls engulf him perfectly rubs him the right way, biting his lip and whining nonstop. you whisper praises into his ear, knowing that it gets him closer.

“mo-mmy.” he says high-pitched. “please let me cum i-inside you. please, mommy.”

the begging has you clench, lips ghosting his. “you’re so pathetic right now, i love it.”

eyes crossing, he spills deep into your cunt you can feel it in your stomach. he shakes his head frantically. “e-enough. it hurts too good!”

“come on, baby.” you kiss him sloppily, hands tangling in his hair and tugging at it in the process. “you don’t want mommy to milk you dry?”

tears start trickling down his cheeks, and cries and sobs of pleasure enter your mouth as he tries to kiss you back.

the previous orgasm still leaks, but another one comes rushing in. he’s cumming so much to the point where you’re full, and the rest smears out of the sides of your pussy.

moaning one final time, you release what you were holding around him.

he twitches at the slightest touch, eyes still crossed from the ecstasy that flowed through his body in the short amount of time.

it’s crazy to think about, but you were best friends at the beginning of the night. now the night ended with you pumped full of his cum.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @r4iyaa @sturniolotriplettoplover @mattybswife @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @mattsdollie @catalina-island @mbsbaby @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @bellasfavbisexual @dwntwn-strnlo

[fee224]

First date!!

Rafe Cameron x overlooked!reader

When rafe asked you on a fancy date over the phone you were as nervous as you were mind numbingly excited. You had only told your mother, but she told everybody on Sunday brunch and that’s how you ended up having five of your older sisters in your room controlling your entire date.

Lilah and pen were blending liquids and powders into your face as Mandy and Campbell thrown dresses around your walk in closet. Shilah laid across your bed bitching. All as you sat on the dressing table fighting some internal nerves.

“Gosh, y/n why wont your skin just absorb this fucking make up”

“Oh my g- RAFE JUST TEXTED Y/N!” shilah squeeled from the bed as you bit your lip nervously.

“What’s it say..” you looked at Shilah through the mirror as she smirked opening the phone.

“He’s just done with gym and……. He’ll be here in hour and half” she stares absentmindedly as she starts tying.

“What are you doing? Shilah don’t do that, give me my phone” you plead, not able to stand up with the girls above you pushing you down to stay still on the seat.

“Oh my god, what’d you say” Mandy giggles from the closet.

“Nothing! Just how excited little y/n is over here” she crawls off the bed, kissing your cheeks and dropping the phone in front of you on the desk.

Rafe: hey, just finished gym, I’ll be there in hour and half?

: that’s perfect, I’m so exciteddddd, cya soon cxxxx

Rafe: …

You wanted to crawl into the ground waiting for his response. You sounded so eager and you hated it. You felt nauseous at the thought of him laughing at your message with his friends.

Rafe: Yeah me too, see you xx

You bit down a smile, flipping your phone over before your sisters could read the text.

You stood in front of the mirror in a tiny dress, and a caked face of make up. Heels that made you four inches taller, nothing on the boy that was picking you up any minute.

Your sisters snickered by the window as you reapplied lip gloss nervously. You heard an engine dull, a door slam, and multiple girl screams as the pit in your stomach started to come up.

You rushed down the stairs and swung the door open before anyone could beat you to it.

His face lit up at the sight of you, and then did a once over to take you in while you were dolled up. He was dolled up too and your tummy turned.

He was in jeans and a black and grey polo. His hair was slightly wet and messy, in contrast to the rest of him which was neat and tidy. He was holding colourful flowers that you blushed as you accepted and let down on the coffee table inside the door.

“You look pretty” he stated, rolling off his tongue casually as you beamed up at him, not noticing you were staring, smiling a tad creepily, not that he minded.

“Thanks, you look pretty too” you said in between smiling. Not realising anything anything wrong with how you were talking to a nineteen year old boy. You thought pretty was a fitting word. His eyebrows raised smiling as they quickly flickered to multiple girls peeking around the door at the top of the stairs as his brows furrowed and turned his attention back to you, ignoring them.

“Right? You ready?” You nodded shutting the door quickly and turning back around to messily bump into his chest. “Oh! Sorry rafe” you moved back into the door. “S’my fault, let’s head” he let you know as he grabbed your hand and hauled you to the car, opening your door and closing it.

You watched the big houses pass, waving small at your elderly neighbour who you bake cupcakes for every Wednesday, mrs sherry.

Rafe was casually tapping on the wheel to the beat of the music the radio station inside his car was playing. Every minute or two his vision would shift towards you, making sure of something you weren’t aware of.

You didn’t have a thought inside your head, and for the first time in your life that didn’t feel wrong or awkward.

In the past week, since meeting him at the country club, he had called you three time. He told you he wanted to call you more but he was busy, and you believed him. He seemed like he was someone who had a schedule, unlike you who drifted. Each call he was sweet and it somehow eased you slowly into sharing more with him.

You had found out he was working for his father, ward Cameron. He was set to take over things within the next few years when ward retires. He told you he has two sisters, Sarah and wheezie. His favourite colour was blue. He had a trip planned in two weeks to New York City for business with two other men. He listened to music you suggested and would always wait a few seconds after you finished talking, just to ensure he didn’t interrupt you because he was desperate for all the small sentences he could get. Every little thing he told you and, what you observed, you lapped up. You wanted to know all the small things, and all the big things. You had never been so curious. Anything else you could simply study in a book, not an actual boy though. Rafe cameron you had to be in his presence to learn things. which was becoming your preferred method of study. Because no books could make you feel the way he was making you right now.

Your eyes met once again as he pulled into the beach car park and he unclipped his seatbelt as you smiled, mirroring him. He was around the car opening your door before you could pick up your handbag from the floor. Which you usually wouldn’t leave on the car floor, but rafes car was clean.

When you stepped out of the car, the smell of the salty sea hit you. Rafes hand was immediately clasped in yours as he attempted to walk at your stoll pace down the docks. “You got us a reservation at Logies?” You blink up at him giggling, swinging his hand. Logies was the best restaurant on the docks. It had the majority of everything on the menu.

He squeezed your hand smiling, “you like Logies?” You nodded quickly as you turned the corner, entering the restaurant.

“Cameron” he replied to the woman at front desk. “Alrighty, follow me” as she lead you to an outside table, tucked in the corner. Rafe tucked your seat in behind you, and you thought you might drop dead with how sweet he was being.

When it came time to order, you panicked and said “same!” And were now stuck with steak, you liked steak but you wanted pasta.

When the dinners arrived, you didn’t care about your steak because rafe was in front of you talking about midsummers and how his family was hosting this years. You gushed about your dress, and how your fitting was in three days. You didn’t fail to blush when he said you’d look beautiful.

After a minute of wrestling with your dinner, rafe wordlessly snatched your cutlery and cut your steak for you while not cutting the conversation about colours of ties and his friends being bossed by their dates.

You didn’t have a date, and you hoped rafe would still be interested in you by midsummers.

After dinner and a double dozen of flushed cheeks, the evening was setting and rafe paid for dinner. You felt half bad because you only had your phone, a rhode lip gloss and a mini Gucci perfume in your purse. After dinner you didn’t want to go home, not even a tiny bit.

“Ice cream?” You followed rafes eyesight to the ice cream van on the promenade. You nodded eagerly “mhm sure” and without a second of processing, he was dragging you by your hand, and it seemed to be a habit of his.

A half an hour later and you were sat on the docks, licking your ice cream as rafe sat next to you, watching the sea distracted. There was some music in the background coming from a tourist gift shop. Rafe had you tucked under his beefy arm and the sight to anyone else was a long lasting couple, you hoped that was what you would become but instead you were seeing him, and somehow that was enough, for now.

You hummed to the music as you finally got to the cone. You lifted the cone to rafes lips as he bit down and you giggled softly.

“I better take you home, I don’t want them thinking I kidnapped you”

“they won’t care” you muttered sounding way too desperate.

“Still.. getting late”

“fine, let’s go” you mumbled, standing up and brushing your dress down as you began to walk, just to be pulled back by the hand “I don’t want to bring you home, but I have to, okay? If I could, I’d keep you with my all day” you’re face grew red hot by the admission.

“S’okay rafe, I know” your head bent down as he grabbed your hand again and began to walk.

As his car pulled up slowly on the long drive, your head started to spin. You didn’t want to leave this car or this boy.

“Bye rafe, thank you for tonight it was really…” you racked your head, regretting not prescribing on the way home “good” you whispered.

He smiled, watching you as you talked. “Yeah? Do it again then baby?” You’re face smiled with your mouth parted in numb shock of everything that was happening. You realised you hadn’t replied and nodded rapidly as he just smiled at your cuteness.

You leant in to kiss his cheek lightly and unlocking the door. You stood on the concrete ground

“Bye rafe”

“Bye y/n”

- fee xxx

[xoxochb]

when he’s so 75 degree weather, august, beach, sun kissed skin, ocean blue, 6x6, 5pm, light blue jeans and converse, sunrise, sunny day, 80% charged phone, brown birks, wet hair, golden retriever, wednesday/sunday, school sweatshirt, english class, taylor swift 1989, new york, airpod pros, sea green

[endwersed]

WIP Wednesday 🎇

Kicking off with my first WIP Wednesday of 2025 - how exciting 😄

As requested by @anon, here is a li'l 🤏 snippet of the fic I'm currently working on! It will be a high school AU with gay loser Stiles and closeted jock Derek. Derek also happens to be dating cheerleader Paige...

-

“Whoa, whoa, just – calm down,” Stiles cuts in, because Derek is dialling himself all the way up here, ratcheting to tip over the deep end in a matter of seconds, and it is really starting to freak him out. “It’s literally just some unoriginally homophobic bullying, dude. I’m used to it by now. Why the hell are you getting so worked up about it?”

A harsh breath flares at Derek’s nostrils, his earlier tirade now bitten back behind the snap of his teeth. His jaw clenches as he looks away once again, the shadow of his pale eyes sliding into the empty darkness over Stiles’ shoulder.

“I’m not,” he says tightly.

Stiles scoffs another laugh. That’s a lie if Stiles has ever heard one.

“You totally are,” he argues, eyebrows knitting together as he searches an avoidant gaze and comes up completely empty. “Seriously. Why would you even, like… care?”

His heartbeat stutters against his ribcage when Derek’s eyes snap back to his. Sharp, and piercing, and almost glinting in the moonlight that streams down from the inky sky above.

It is quiet between them. A light breeze whistles through the green of the trees around them, and distant engines rumble from the highway out of sight to them, and the music of the party still beats steadily on behind them, far away to mean nothing, nothing at all, to either one of them right now.

“I don’t care,” Derek says. “I don’t know.”

Lie. Lies, lies, all goddamn lies. It is clear as day in the break of Derek’s voice, in the nervous flash of his eyes and the hard set of his jaw and the fists he has curling into the grass they sit on. There is no doubt in Stiles’ mind that Derek is lying to him, but he just does not understand… why.

The pieces begin to fall clearer into place when Derek jolts forwards to kiss him.

Stiles feels frozen. His hands hover just above his lap, his eyes open, big and wide and stunned as they stare across at Derek’s closed ones, the dark shadow of his eyelashes against the sharp height of his cheekbones. There is a blade of grass stuck to the heel of Derek’s palm, damp where it presses to Stiles’ cheek, cool against the flush of Stiles’ skin, that shaking, gentle touch holding Stiles carefully in place for the dry match of their unmoving mouths.

A second passes before Stiles can truly catch up to what is happening to him. He breathes through his recovery, closes his eyes, and kisses back.

Their heads tilt, the faint nudge of the tips of their noses as they angle for better, angle for more. The sound of their lips catching at one another is so loud to Stiles, a deafening, repetitive smacking to be heard even above the steady roar of blood inside of his ears. Derek keeps his hand on Stiles’ face. Stiles cannot move his hands from midair.

This is his first kiss. Ever, actually – literally his very first. He really was not kidding about feeling like the only queer kid around for about a hundred miles or more. Any kind of opportunity like this has never presented itself to him before. He barely knows what to do with it.

Derek’s mouth is warm, and his hand is kind of warm now, too, but his tongue – his tongue is hot, so fucking hot. It sweeps along the seam of Stiles’ bottom lip, wet and pressing and burning at the twisting pit of Stiles’ stomach. Derek takes the chance to lick instantly inside when Stiles’ lips part with a humiliating hitch of breath.

Time passes. It’s a cliché, but Stiles truly has no idea how much, loses track entirely of even the concept of its passage as he sinks into the feeling of Derek touching him, kissing him, holy shit, Derek Hale is kissing him. Stiles’ trembling fingers clutch into the fabric of his own jeans, too terrified to even consider reaching out for Derek, too aware of how easy it would be to break whatever fucking spell is happening between them right now.

In the end, his restraint is futile. The crash of a patio door swinging into the wall from the house behind them has Derek ripping away from him so quickly it could tear a hole in the very fabric of the universe.

They stare at each other with wild eyes. Derek is breathing just as heavily as Stiles is. Stiles’ mouth feels weird, puffy in a way he has no experience with, and there is nothing he can do to stop the hand that flies up to his face, fingerprints denting into the bow of his lip.

Derek’s eyes dip down to follow the movement. They are not allowed to linger there long.

“But,” Stiles says, little more than a whisper, raw and quiet, “you’re straight.”

A beat. Derek merely stares silently back. His mouth is red as it parts around a ragged breath, and no words follow after.

“You have a girlfriend,” Stiles presses on.

Derek leaps instantly to his feet.

-

No pressure tags! 🩷 @crownofstardustandbone @dear-massacre @eevylynn @heavensenthale @like-lazarus

@lucky-bishop @nerdherderette @raisesomehale @renmackree @violetfairydust

[slimybeth69]

WIP WEDNESDAY

thanks for the tag @joelmillerisapunk

I got two lil snippets comin' in hot.

1.) GIRL DINNER

-

Joel is drunk again. Fuck, this is never good.

You're in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs with one arm around his neck, your head resting on his shoulder. There is something about the way your fingers twirl around in his hair at the nape of his neck that feels good. Too good.

"C'mon, get off'a me," Joel groans, but there's no passion in his voice. It's been almost three weeks of just this, and he doesn't hate it. Not when he's drunk.

Barely dislikes it when he's sober, but he's better at acting like he doesn't want you on his lap when he hasn't had a drink that night. You're soft, and warm, and fit so perfectly on his lap it's like you were made to be there.

"Couple more minutes, Mister-man. Please?" You fucking whimper.

The sound floating through Joel's ear canal sends a shiver down his spine, and directly into his cock. It twitches in his jeans. He's got to start thinking about baseball, and carpentry work, and how he's probably going to die soon.

Nothing works. Joel can feel the heat from your cunt through your jeans, and his hands have been tied down to this chair every time you're not around. The only time you let him up is to use the bathroom-- and you have a gun while you wait for him the entire time, so he's never horny then!

And, as thankful as Joel is for this- you've never even looked at him like that. You look at him like you're in love with him all the time, but you've never once looked at him like you wanna touch him.

Joel tries to push his hips further into the chair, away from the perfect, searing heat of your middle.

"Where'ya goin?" Your voice purrs in his ear, your fingernails ghost across the skin on his neck and he shivers again, his cock feels it tenfold.

You feel it now, too.

"What're ya'--" you pause to look between your bodies, and then your eyes flash up to his. "That f'me?" You're whispering, and your glassy eyes are wide, and look so flattered.

"Ain't for nobody, stop lookin' at 'em," Joel grumbles, again, not really meaning any of it even though he should mean every single word.

"'Em?" you question him with your big, wet eyes and his cock twitches again.

Joel swallows hard, his eyes falling to your bottom lip clutched between your teeth, and nods. "Him, yeah, whatever you wanna call it-- ain't for you." He sighs softly.

"Why not?" you sink down further into his lap. The thin shorts you have on to wear to bed do nothing to keep your warmth contained. It's almost like Joel can feel what it would be like if you just whipped him out and sat-

He's never drinking with you again. Never again.

"Get off'a me," Joel leans forward gently as you lean into him, the tips of your noses touch softly.

"Gunna bite me if I kiss ya'?"

Joel is a goner, your breath smells sweet like raspberries and whiskey and every single thing about you is warm and soft-- Joel knows that if he wasn't fucking drunk he'd be fighting you tooth and nail, but he cannot right now.

He can't think about anything but what you'd feel like wrapped around him, milking him.

"Take'em out," Joel is the one to lean into the kiss, his lips aren't hesitant, or tentative at all when they meet yours. He is going to try and bite you- and he does, he nips at your bottom lip, but gently. He pulls back with it still bitten, and listens to you moan softly.

The quickness of your fingers isn't your friend, you struggle with his belt for what feels like an eternity as you push back against his mouth, eagerly slipping your tongue into Joel's waiting mouth.

Joel groans into your mouth when you wrap your hands around his girth, and then chuckles at your shocked gasp when you pull away to get a good look at him.

"He ain't gon' bite'chya," Joel teases, leaning forward, searching for your lips again.

"Might split me in half," you moan, presumably at the thought of Joel stretching you open.

Joel can't contain his own moan as you put the image in his head. "Fuuck, sit on him-- lemme feel ya'."

--

2.) A Lot Of Things

This is for my @jolapeno Dear-uary epistolary challenge (I can spell epistolary now on the first try, thanks Jo!)

--

Lucien might not be good, but he isn’t stupid. 

What woman would stick around if it wasn’t for the stuff and things? The money, the nice house the two of you shared- granted you were there alone a lot of the time. 

If Lucien was a good man, he would have left you by now.

But you stay, and you take his money, and you let him ‘make it up to you’, so– in his mind, you’re not good either. 

That’s why you’re perfect for him, and he’s perfect for you. 

This is all just a charade put on. The storming off, the sitting in the bathroom for hours. 

It’s gotta be. 

Lucien leaves the bathroom door for the first time since you walked in there, and walks to the table next to the bed, still messy from your early morning ‘wake up call’ to him– only to now have to be searching for that stupid– yep. There it is. 

Lucien grabs the hotel notepad and the pen sitting beside it and scribbles down words that probably mean nothing to either of you anymore- he says them so often.

I'm sorry.

Then he slides it under the bathroom door.

 “Babe?” 

There was a time when his voice saying that name didn’t make your stomach churn. There had been a time in your relationship when you knew he called you that alone.

That’s not the case anymore, so any name that isn’t your name feels like a firm slap across your cheek. 

A part of you wants him to worry that you took too many pills again, or maybe fell asleep in the tub, but the way he’s speaking tells you he knows you didn’t. You wouldn’t. 

Not after last time- you didn’t even want to do it then. You just wanted him to notice you- to see you, to think about you when you weren’t standing directly in front of him. 

Lucien forgot you when you weren’t around, and you had done everything to try and make him remember.

Changed his lock screen background to a picture of the two of you so when he looked at his phone or went to unlock it to take the number of some beautiful woman, he’d have to see you first. 

It was never the same picture when he’d come home from filming or his press tours– and you know what that means.

The hotel notepad comes through the space between the bathroom door and the floor.

I'm sorry.

Guilt. 

There is guilt inside of you, too. 

There is a part of you that thinks if you really loved him, you wouldn’t let him keep doing this to you- you would have put your foot down years ago and told him to man up or get out.

You wipe your tears before they can fall onto the paper, and stain it with the evidence of your sadness.

I know.

Then you pass it back to him under the door silently.

--

npt: @pedrospookie @almostempty @gothcsz @sp00kymulderr

@joelalorian @magpiepills @lotusbxtch

a hopeless, but FULL PRESSURE tag to @creepycorbeaux - I wanna see what you GOT BITCH, JESUS.

[nullcanary]

back at it again with wet jean wednesday...

[munsster]

cropped

A/N: if i had a boyfriend i would simply cut off the bottoms of all of his shirts. it’s not toxic, im just a girl (gif creds: @lomlkeery)

Pairing: Walter “Keys” McKey x GN!Reader

Summary: You convince your easily flustered boyfriend to put on a crop top. 0.7k words

Warnings: a little bit of physical insecurity, fluff, kissing, pet names (sweetheart)

"Keys, get your cute butt out here! I wanna see."

Oh, but he's groaning through the door already. You had burst into the apartment parading an overzised bag full of soft cottons and light denim, dropped it at his feet, and declared you bought him a new outfit. And that he must try it on. You picked it out special for him after all.

"Really? I mean, it fits great, I just..."

You've been pining over his midriff since he yawned one wednesday afternoon, arms stretched high above his head, shirt riding up just enough to expose his navel to your wandering eyes. So, of course, you warmed him up to the idea of shorter shirts. Crop tops, to be specific. You know, like the kind Johnny Depp sports in Nightmare on Elm Street. Or Mark Wahlberg in that cheeky Calvin Klein ad.

Keys wasn't sure for a while, but he noticed the way your face lit up at the mere thought, and figured why the hell not. But now, he's staring down at the crop of this particular top and thinking this whole thing might've been an oversight on his part. The light grey tank is loose around his ribcage, the graphic on the front some generic athletic slogan.

I don't want you to realize you wasted your money on an outfit that's a little lackluster now that I'm wearing it, he thinks. Which is silly, and he knows that you like anything he has on simply because he's the one wearing it. But the thought still creeps in. He startles when you knock on the master bathroom door.

"You okay in there?" you coo, tapping your fingers gently across the wood.

"Yeah," he sighs, "yeah, I'm okay. Just..." Worried he'll disappoint you. Maybe he could try and squeeze through the bathroom window before it's too late.

"Can I come in?"

He gulps, tugging on the droopy waist of the jeans one more time before turning the lock on the door. You gasp.

"Baby, you look..."

Silly?

"Delicious!" you squeal, pawing at his waist and latching your lips onto his neck almost immediately. Your thumbs sink into his sides when you pull away, pupils blown and mouth just barely ajar. "You're a total stud!"

"You think so?" His ego's a little out of wack when you nod wildly.

"Keys, you're so yummy," you tease, "Just like Marky Mark." You grab his hand and tug him into the bedroom, stopping short of the bed, much to his dismay. It gets him all hot and bothered the way you cling to his hips and kiss his cupid's bow. You're the prettiest thing he's ever seen, and you're treating him like he's made of molten gold.

He can barely get a word out without a stutter. God, the way you make him blush should be illegal. He's complete mush in your adoring palms, wishing you'd never take your hands off of him lest he combust. Then, you slip your fingertips just under the waistband of the jeans and he hums.

"Sorry," you snicker, knowing exactly what you're doing to him.

"Shut up," he grumbles.

You draw your hands up the curve of his back, tracing the valley of his spine until he shivers. His cheeks are glowing hot as he pecks wet kisses across your jaw and cheek and forehead. You giggle and drag your nails down to the small of his back with a contented sigh.

"Thank you for trying," you admit. Your head bows low, suddenly shy under all the glory of his honeyed scrutiny.

"What d'you mean? Of course I tried, sweetheart. I'd try anything for you," he says. You pout.

"Mean it?"

"Hell yeah. As long as you ask nice enough," he says, holding your jaw and pressing his soft lips to yours in a chaste kiss. You curl your hand around his wrist like a darling threadsnake kissing his fingertips.

"So much access to your mid section," you say, voice frenzied and eyes wide staring hungrily at his faint happy trail.

"What happened to our anti-objectification economy? What about our morals? Our ethics?" he says. Clearly, he's joking but his doe eyes twinkle dastardly behind his glasses. You wind your arm around his waist and smack his ass.

"What morals?"

"Touché, sweetheart."

masterlist

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

WIP well I'm late for everything...

discovered today that it had been nearly two months since I took part in a wip wednesday and its been a little while since a wip music post and I have been tagged most recently by :

@ellswips @neonshrike @imogenkol @inafieldofdaisies @direwombat

@simplegenius042 and @g0dspeeed for either one or the other thank you so much you wonderful people <3

WIP Song:

this is just very much a Rory vibe when it comes to the ship

and for the fic wip, here's a little domestic fluff/banter with Rory and Price. It's not something I generally get to write for them and I've had the hankering to write some of the civilian moments for them. This will be a little aside at the start of chapter 11 before the angst hits:

On a particularly wet Sunday, mid-morning in late September, they stood in the paint aisle of the local hardware store surrounded by an array of sample chips in every shade and tone imaginable, and somehow Rory had managed to bypass them all, gravitating to one bleak little corner. 

“Fucking hell, love,” John gruffs, arms crossed over his chest in his favorite sheepskin lined denim jacket, beanie tucked over his ears, looking down his nose at the paint chips she holds in her hands like a fan. “That’s three different versions of white.” 

“Shut up,” she laughs and shakes her head, the damp ends dripping down the back of her neck. “They’re lace, linen, and cream.”

He meets her giggle with a straight face and a lifted brow. “They’re bloody white. Need your ‘ead checked if you think there’s some sort o’ difference between these and the color of the ‘landlord white’ walls back at the flat, my girl.” Arm curling around her back, his wide, warm hand drifts down to rest on the back pocket of her jeans furthest from him. Giving her hip a squeeze, he presses her tight against his side and his thumb starts to rub circles into her as he shifts his weight on his feet. 

The umbrella she carries drips a steady stream of rainwater onto the linoleum floor, a small puddle forming at the blunt plastic tip. One to join the many others dotted throughout the shop, blockaded by yellow ‘Caution: floor slippery when wet’ signs as the sound of a mop being dragged in the same constrained fashion as Pac-man joined in with the quiet chorus of The Verve’s Bitter Sweet Symphony.

“Oh, I am sorry I wasn’t looking for something garish in the room where guests do their business. Pardon me.” Her words are lathered in sarcasm as she animatedly waves the cards in her hand. 

“Didn’t say garish, did I?” Giving her a dangerous glance from under his brow, he reaches out and grabs the first card from the wall that takes his fancy. “What about this one?”

Her brow cocks at the sight and her lips curl into a little sneer, one that makes her nose scrunch up with distaste. “Forest green? In a toilet?” she asks skeptically. “Love, it’s a small space. You don’t put dark colors in there, it’ll only make it feel smaller.”

“It’s a bloody cloakroom, Ror,” he grumbled, his mouth scrunching up under the bristles of his mustache. “It’s not supposed to feel like the Ritz-Carlton, it’s where someone takes a piss and moves on.”

Rolling her eyes, she takes the card from his hand decidedly and tucks it back into the sleeve on the wall. “It’s too dark. I told you to just leave this with me.”

Truth be told, she was used to making the decisions to the design of the townhouse. It had been her home before John had arrived on the scene, her first purchase after she turned twenty-one and her trust fund that included the money from the sale of her mother’s house in Canada was finally available to her. She had paid for all of the renovations herself, picked out the furniture and lighting. That home was her baby and it was hard not to be the one to have final approval on all the changes, it was like letting a little piece of herself go, handing over more control to her dear Captain.

“And I told you I wanted to make some decisions around the place,” he says, tugging her into him a little tighter. “Still feel like a guest in our ‘ome sometimes.”

“Oh piss off, now you’re just taking the mickey.”

“Am not.” Shoving his hand into the pocket of his coat, he jutted out his square jaw, and stretched out his lower back.

Placing her hand on his chest, she uses the other to sweep across the wall of samples like she’s Vanna White. “Fine, if choosing the toilet color is of such great import to you, go ahead. You have my blessing to freely choose.”

His eyes narrow as he looks down at her, leaning back slightly to keep her in his full view. “This is a test.”

The quiet chuckle that bubbled out of her was one she could hardly contain, looking taken aback by his sudden wariness of the task. “Classic coming from you of all people.”

“What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“I am not dignifying that question with an answer.” She juts an accusing finger up at him, and pokes the underside of his chin. “You know damn well.”

Grumbling in response, he reaches out and grabs another sample card to try and change the subject. “And this one?”

“You want lavender?”

“’S grey.”

“It’s not,” Rory says with a chipper giggle. “It’s bloody purple.”

“Now you’re taking the piss.”

Laughing, she reaches into her purse on her shoulder and digs out her mobile. Doing a quick search on her phone, fingers tapping away on the screen, she pulls up a picture of a dress and gives him a cocky grin. “Is it white and gold, or black and blue?”

“What are you on about?” Peering at her phone screen, he gives it a quick glance before answering, “Tha’s white and gold,” stating it without a second look, absolutely sure of his decision.

“It’s not.” She locks her phone and slips it back in her bag. “It’s blue and black.”

“Proves nothin’,” he says with a sharp nod of his head, directed by his tightly clenched jaw.

Giggling at his reaction, her dimples emerge and her eyes shine. Even in a moment where he’s clearly proven wrong, Captain John Price has to believe he’s right. 

His face immediately softens, hard eyes turning crystalline as he regards her warmly, his scrunched lips curving into a gentle half grin. “Christ, I'll never get enough of that laugh, y’ know tha’?” 

She hums and she meets his gaze, curling into him and wrapping her arms around his, her hand finding the rough palm she has come to know so well, intertwining her fingers with his. “I'm aware.”

Her hand wrapped in his, dwarfed in comparison, he lifts the conjoined skin and bones and brings her slender wrist to his lips, pressing a kiss to the tender flesh. His mustache tickles against the raised veins, smiling as the smell of her perfume fills his nostrils. Fills him. Refusing to let her go quite yet, he presses another to the center of her palm, lingering for a moment against the softness of her.

“What was that for?” she murmurs. 

“Don’t need a reason. Not with you, love.”

tagging (no pressure to interact): @aceghosts @taciturntraveller @voltac @voidika @chadillacboseman

@strangefable @josephseedismyfather @statichvm @clicheantagonist @tommyarashikage

@raresvtm @cloudofbutterflies92 @cassietrn @carlosoliveiraa @la-grosse-patate

@roofgeese @silkcrows @devil-kindred

[toxicanonymity]

Good Morning precious, I hope you have a blessed Wednesday<3 could I possibly have a lil request of Dad's friend Joel miller X fem reader who's attracted to Joel but he's same age as her dad and feels queasy at the thought but couldn't help herself so one day when Joel was in her dad's house talking and her dad slipped out for a few hours she grabbed his belt by her finger and started to kiss him..🤭 thank you angel for blessing me with you blog every day!!💗😭ilysm!!😭💗

ohhhh yeaahh 🥵 love it!

Coming onto Joel when your Dad leaves

master list | CW: 18+ NSFW unsafe PIV sex, dubcon kiss?

When you pull up to your dad's house and see Joel's truck, you get butterflies. Joel is old, too old, but painfully hot. Your dad has to pick up some supplies across town. Joel stands at the front door, jeans as tight as always. He rolls up his sleeves as you walk up the driveway, then holds the door open, but not all the way – your skirt brushes up against him on your way in. You smell his aftershave and sweat, and the butterflies in your stomach migrate South. It feels weird if you think too much about him being your dad's age, but that fades entirely when he says your name as he greets you good morning. There’s something intimate about how he says it.

As soon as he closes the door behind you, something comes over you. You've never needed anyone so bad. You drop your bag on the floor and turn to face him, getting just a few inches away. He looks back and forth between your eyes and his brow furrows. The air is electric between you. You slip your finger into his brown leather belt and pull him into you.

"Whoa, sugar" he says, and swallows. "What are you-"

You cut him off with a kiss. He's minty. His salt and pepper beard pleasantly prickles your chin. It takes him a second to reciprocate, but when he does, that kiss is spring-loaded with need, even before your tongues meet. He moans, “mmmm," into your lips. His tongue invades your mouth and he sucks the air out of you. You breathe through your nose. Your hand slides down to massage the front of his jeans and a bulge hardens into your fingers. You unbuckle his belt, frantically unzip him and plunge your hand into his jeans. He grunts into the side of your mouth as his hard package swells into your hand.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asks between heavy breaths. He kisses your neck and gropes your ass.

“Nothing yet, that's your job," you say as his large hands slip under your skirt to knead your naked cheeks clad only in a thong.

Joel groans and pulls your body closer against his. A surge of arousal floods you when you feel his hard cock through your skirt. Keeping your body close against his, he walks you into the nearest room and pushes aside all the home renovation plans he and your dad were looking at. He pins you up against the table and hikes up your skirt. His hand travels down your crack and hooks under your body, finding your crotch from behind. Two fingers slip under your moist thong.

His breath deepens as he grinds his arousal into you from the front and rubs your warm wet folds from the back. Your clit is pounding and your body is begging to be filled with his. You wedge your hand between your bodies and free his cock. It’s thick, rock-hard, and weeping.

"Fuck," he breathes. He forcefully turns you around and bends you over the table, pressing the small of your back with one hand and holding his raging erection in the other.

You tilt your hips, spread your legs, and your thong is pushed out of the way as he nestles the tip at your entrance. You can hardly stand to wait another second. The head nudges inside you and the gentle stretch makes you gasp. You push back onto him at the same time he plunges inside you. Your mouth falls open with a moan.

“God damn,” he says. He stays there for a moment and you twitch around him before he retreats and plunges into you once more.

He buries his length in you again and again, and you push back, sheathing his cock with your tight warmth. He gropes your breasts and his breath is littered with moans as he continues to fuck you. He says your name, and the tension in your core begins to release.

“Joel, I’m–” your words devolve into a groan as you come. He fucks you hard through your climax. Your walls clench around him with every wave, then you feel him pulse inside you. He sighs loudly in relief as he pumps you full of his cum.

-

-

Megan, you have some of the best asks 🖤 I'm honored to receive them. Have a great day!

[catboyartist]

Wet Jean Wednesday

---

Sorry I didn't post I was busy doing this ^^^

(As in lying depressed and uselessly on my bed looking hot instead of doing art. It will happen again.)

Here's a low effort Jean as an excuse

[ladysomething]

I forget, is it snippet wednesday or full chapter wednesday today?

hi!

it is snippet Wednesday, and I did post one last night, but after the day we've alll had .. fuck it, lets have another one.

this one will also be heavily edited before it makes it's way to ao3, so that's exciting! yay for seeing the process!

“You can talk to me,” Max murmurs, voice so endearingly awkward and unsure. “If you want. I—I’ll listen.” 

He’s so nice. He’s always so nice, always just wants to be kind to him, but Charles doesn’t think he deserves it. 

“Why would you do that for me?” Charles asks, sniffling loudly. 

It’s pathetic. He’s pathetic. 

“You know why,” Max answers, a little helplessly. 

Charles’ heart squeezes, so painfully it makes him whimper. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve Max, and his unwavering loyalty, his dedication to keeping Charles safe even when he was being such a dick. He definitely doesn’t deserve to still have Max’s love, even when Charles can give him nothing back.

“I’m sorry,” Charles says, but it comes out almost as a sob. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ve been so mean to you and now you’re stuck with me forever and I can’t even . . .” 

“Stuck?” Max asks, clearly bewildered. Charles doesn’t blame him—he’s just as confused at his own behaviour. It makes him cry harder, because Max is being so gentle, even though Charles is acting crazy. “What on Earth makes you think I feel stuck? If anything, you’re the one stuck with me.” 

“You are,” Charles cries, fists tightening in Max’s shirt. “You’re so nice, and you always defend me, even though Lando was right, because I can’t make any food and you always have to do it and maybe I can’t have kids but everyone keeps telling me that you want them! I’ve ruined everything. I ruined your life, and my life, and what if I can’t even win the Championship? What if I’m not good enough? And—and—Kelly! What about Kelly? Jean-Luc is here, all the time, and not with Kelly and Penelope and it’s all my fault, I’m so stupid, I don’t know why all of you would do this for me! I’m not worth it, I’m not, Max, I’m so stupid.” 

Max rubs gentle, soothing circles on his back as Charles sobs desperately into his neck. He doesn’t even know where half of that came from, which just makes him cry more. 

What is he even saying? What is he talking about? He really is so fucking stupid—

“You’re not stupid,” Max whispers fervently. “Don’t even say that. You’ve been put in an awful situation and you tried to make the best of it. That doesn’t make you stupid.” 

Charles sobs loudly, rubbing his wet face against Max’s shirt. 

“Don’t be nice to me,” Charles whispers desperately. “I don’t deserve for you to be nice to me.”

[httpscomexe]

Runaway 6

Summary: After Logan is locked away somewhere in the mansion, you’re no longer safe.

(Find What I’m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Logan Howlett x Hybrid!Reader

Warnings: Gore, fire, kidnapping, drugging, needles, mind control, blood, crude descriptions of death (Individual warnings per chapter)

Word Count: 4309 (Find all chapters here) CH7

P.S. If you’d like to be tagged, ask in the comments, you also have permission to send an ask, but make sure it is NOT anonymous, so I know your username, don’t worry, I’m scared of confrontation too. But this is a SAFE SPACE where I will not judge. Thank you again

“It’s just not safe for her anymore.”

“Well we can’t leave her with Logan.”

“Well she also can’t be here.”

“Okay then what do we do? Drop her off on the sidewalk?”

“No, we gotta find someone else that can take care of her.”

“I’ve already called someone, they are going to take care of her.”

“The Avengers? They’re gonna ruin her.”

“They’ll teach her to fight.”

Their voices eventually become nothing but white noise, drawn out by your brain as you stare at the little bumps of paint on the walls, your ears folded down your head, and your tail tucked between your legs as much as it could be. Obviously, they were talking about you. The sorry looking animal sitting on the floor in the hallway outside of Xaviers room, still spotted with Scotts blood. The realisation makes you shiver, and only then do you suddenly feel disgusted. It wasn’t the first time you were covered in a friend's blood, considering your past, but it was the first time you’ve witnessed your friend kill a friend. More over your owner, killing a friend.

Logan was now locked up somewhere in the mansion. They hadn’t told you where because they didn't want you to look for him, which you understood. You also however didn’t believe that Logan would ever intentionally hurt you. You know he loves you. You just wished you knew why he attacked Scott.

“She can stay here until Wednesday, but then she needs to leave.”

And that was your que to stand up. You look through the little window of the door into the room they were in, none of them noticing you as you walk away through the halls, searching intentionally for the kitchen. You just wanted to wash off your face already.

You make it to the sink in the kitchen, quickly turning on hot water and washing your hands and face of Scotts blood, the water turning a faded pink as it runs down the drink, making little images of Scotts body pop into your head, a single tear falling from your eye at the memory as you splash your face with water, trying to wash the image from your brain.

“Fuck.” You curse under your breath, your hands gripping the counter as you let more sink water run down the drain, the white noise of it calming your brain, a deep breath leaving your lips.

“Bambi?” You whip your head around at the voice, and there was Jean standing there in the doorway, putting her phone into her pocket.

“Hey…” You mumble, your wetted face hiding your tears.

“Do you know why… why Logan did that…?” Her voice shakes a little. She tried to make it out as if she was horrified, but you sense her anger. She was pissed. If it was possible to kill Logan, she surely would’ve done it already.

“I- I don’t know. I heard them fighting so I went into the bathroom… And then-” You try to recall is as best as possible, your throat knotting at the memory.

“But he didn’t hurt you.” You don’t know how to respond to that. Her face was staring straight at you, and you weren’t even sure she expected an answer. It felt like it was more of a statement than a question, which made you shiver.

“No he uh… He was a little too focused on Scott…” You turn your eyes away from her, and everything in your head tells you to turn back around and face her again, fearing she’d pounce at you like a jaguar, but you don’t. She didn’t seem threatening, just angered. If she wanted you dead, she would’ve already killed you. Surely she knew it wasn’t your fault, that you had nothing to do with it. You had no control over the situation at the time. If anyone did, it was her. But she decided to separate from the group. Don’t think like that. You squeeze your eyes shut, the sink water still running and you bite your lip. Now wasn’t the time to blame someone for the death of their own boyfriend.

The sink water stops running, and that's what makes you open your eyes again, Jean has her finger tips on the handle of the sink, and she is staring down at you now, both of her hands returning to her middle to cross her arms.

“How are you feeling?” You look up at her, and she doesn’t respond for a minute. You see her swallow, staring down at you with some sort of hatred.

“I just watched my boyfriend get gutted in public… I’m not very sad though… Xavier says it’s just a ‘defence response.’ But I think it’s pretty reasonable.” In other words, yes, she was blaming you. She wanted to do something about it, but there was something deep inside of her that knew she wasn’t being logical.

“I’m sorry…”

“For what?” You look at her a little stunned, her tone didn’t sound logical.

“For what happened to Scott…”

“But it wasn’t your fault.”

“I know I just-”

“It’s fine.” She cuts you off, leaning off the counter, her arms still crossed as she continues to stare down at you. “Did you hear the conversation in there? I know you were listening to most of it. We can’t keep you here for too long.”

“Yea I uh… I heard that part.” You sniffle a little and turn around to lean back on the counter and face her. “What uhm… What are Avengers?”

“They’re a team. Like the X-Men, but people love them.”

“What makes them different?”

“They weren’t born with their powers… They were abused into them.”

“Like Logan and Wade?” She seems to stiffen up at the mention of Logan's name.

“We lost this universe's Logan for a reason.” She shuffles on her feet, preparing to leave. “Wade should have never brought that one here.” She moves to the snack cabinet, grabbing a chocolate bar before leaving without even saying bye.

You take another deep breath, rubbing your hands down your face with some pressure as you try to collect yourself. You brush your hands down your clothes, a little bit of the pressure of your hands on your body calming you down, and for some reason you think that Logan's touch would be so much more comforting now. You run your hands through your hair, your fingers getting a little caught in some tangles. A groan leaving your throat. Normally, Logan would be there to brush your hair every night before bed, but tonight was different, considering he was locked up somewhere inside the mansion and probably knocked out on drugs.

You finally find it in yourself to walk forward, turning off the light of the kitchen before heading up to the rooms, heading straight to Logan’s room, knowing the scent of him would at least bring you back to yourself.

You wake up to the sound of a few different people running outside of your door, stretching in bed a little. Logan's bed of course, you wouldn’t have been able to sleep without his scent.

You sit in the bed, your ears twitching as you listen for more movement, the clock on the bedside table only reading as twenty seven past three. What the fuck were they doing up so early? You swing your legs over the side of the bed, shaking your head of your sleep a little, ears making a flapping sound as you do, standing up from the bed and stretching again, another group of feet across the wooden floor boards making you even more curious.

You grab a brown sweater that you earlier threw to the floor and a pair of slim jeans, tossing on the hoodie quickly and stepping into your jeans as you walk up to the door, but the second your hand touches the handle, the hair on your arms has goosebumps, and your ears and tail automatically go into defence mode. Something was wrong, and even though you couldn’t see it, you could feel it.

Then there's a scream. It’s not directly outside of your door though, you can tell it came from somewhere downstairs. Normally a scream wouldn’t be too surprising in the mansion. It would normally mean someone who can’t control their powers accidently lit something on fire, or a playful scream as some younger children run down the halls. But this wasn’t the case. The scream wasn’t playful. It was long, and drawn out, shaking with fear and cries like the girl was crying before being abruptly silenced.

You quickly run to the front of Logan's bed, kneeling down to grab his bag full of weapons out from under, but it isn’t there. It’s still at Wades. “Shit.” You curse outloud and run into his closet, opening and closing drawers, praying you’d a dagger or even a box cutter for fucks sake, anything to take with you before you went to inspect the scream.

As you stand up after checking the last bottom drawer, ultimately finding nothing, your head knocks on the edge of the dresser, making your hand shoot to your head in pain, but it fades quickly when you hear the top of the dresser close. “What the fuck?” Your hands quickly grip the lip of the dresser, where you would normally set things like books or shoes, and it lifts. A dagger set underneath. The same dagger you had found before with the wolverine engraves on one side, the deer engraved on the other. Both of your names engraved next to each other.

You take a deep breath, closing the top of the dresser where the dagger was hidden, and you quickly move back to the door, listening for a moment before swinging it open, a few younger kids being led by some adults, the only movement you see before they disappear around a corner. Other than that, everything was silent. You didn’t like it. You knew the halls were quiet at night, but there was always at least one room in every hall where some older kids were having a ‘sleepover’ in one of the rooms, watching a movie or playing some games, failing to be quiet.

With your first step forward, the wood creaks under your lightweight, and it makes you tense a little, the air seemingly getting thicker. You step forward again anyways, your steps slow at first before quickening, leading yourself downstairs to where you think the screaming had come from. The entire walk it had felt like an external force was trying to drag you away. Like your spirit was walking behind you but your body was stepping quickly ahead, ignoring and pushing away your soul's warnings. It made you shiver, and quite frankly, you wanted to cry. But you wouldn’t, you couldn’t cry. Especially when you were trying to be quiet.

I could really use Logan right about now. You tell yourself, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out softly before peeking around the corner of the meeting room. Everything seemed normal. The couch was in the centre of the large space, slightly crooked from older students pushing it back a little every time they would throw themselves down on it, the lamp slightly off centred from the end table and turned on, casting a soft light throughout the room, just enough to see. But there were two things that really were sticking out for you. That was the broken TV, shattered beyond repair like something heavy was thrown at it, and the glass coffee table, bent and also shattered. So there was a fight, you tell yourself. And you calm down just a little as you notice the bit of white hair sticking over the back of the couch, and you take one step forward. Obviously, in your rush, you hadn’t put on shoes. Figuring you wouldn’t be leaving the mansion. But after taking just one step forward, you freeze a corner of the carpet coming into view. Originally white, but now stained red, and your eyes trail along the floor. Bloody shoe prints leading into the kitchen. There wasn’t much space between each step, meaning whos ever it was, they weren’t running. They were walking as if having blood stained on the bottom of their shoes was normal, and suddenly you weren’t so sure if you wanted to approach the couch, and to see who you assumed was Ororo, sitting down quietly on the couch.

Not that you had a choice.

You don’t know how you didn’t hear them approaching, not when everything was quiet, but it was probably because you were lost in your thoughts, distressed about the girl sitting on the couch.

You heard a single footstep, directly behind you, but just before you could whip yourself around, the bottom of a heavy boot comes in contact with your back, making you fly forward, your hands shooting out to catch yourself on the floor, your grip tight on the dagger you were holding still quickly loosening as both of your palms catch a handful of glass each, the stabbing pain would be unbearable if your animal instincts hadn’t already kicked in a barrel of adrenaline, making your blood slippery hand grip around the dagger only tighter again, and quickly get to your feet just before the man grabs the collar of your sweater, slamming your back against the wall, his own hand wrapping tightly around your wrist, slamming your knuckles against the wall behind you with an unrelenting force, your held back tears finally coming to bay at the pain as you feel your bones crushing with each pound against the wall, your grip on the dagger ultimately failing as it clatters to the ground, a cry of pain coming from your lips as you try to flex your fingers, two of them refusing to even move.

You try to look up at the man before you, your eyes watering as you clench your jaw, gritting your teeth as you struggle to see through the salty tears clouding your vision. Then you feel his large hand gripping around your face, his palm easily larger than your face as he begins to pound the back of your head into the wall, your hands wrapping around his wrist quickly, one of them painfully as it felt like a thousand tiny needles were moving, stuck under your skin. You groan, crying out again as the the feeling becomes worse, just before his own hand wrapped around one of your ears, your eyes dilating with fear immediately, a fear you didn’t have before, and he throws you to the ground onto your hands and knees again, quickly moving to stand above you, his fingers lacing through your hair to pull your head back, your back against his front, and the second you feel the edge of a blade to your throat, is the second you needed to fight back, throwing your elbow back against his side and making him flinch just enough for him to give you enough space to crawl away, your knees pressed down against the glass shards on the floor but you ignore the pain as you stand to your feet, immediately tossed back down, flying into the couch, landing on Ororo, and as he approaches you again, your head throbbing with pain, too focused on fighting back with the fight you’ve never had in you, you pick up the lamp yanking the lightbulb out of its place and smashing it to the side of his head, making him stumble back, giving you enough time to stand up from the couch, ignoring the pain on your bare feet as more glass entres your skin, and you feel some of it graze the bone of your heel, causing another pained moan to leave your lips, and you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, not covered in glass, wiping your tears to clear your vision.

And there she was.

Ororo…

Her mouth agape, blood leaking from her mouth, most of it dried by now, her eyes open, also leaking blood from the corners, the sight making you wince. Your eyes trail down her body, and you realise the darker skin around her neck, some loose skin from the crushed bones inside of her body, making her throat look like a sagged rotten fruit, she was strangled. His grip had been tight enough to break bones. He wasn’t normal, he was a mutant.

“You fucking bitch…” You choke out, and he runs at you again, giving you just enough time to duck down and avoid his grasp this time, almost falling to the floor from the slip of blood under your still bleeding soles. He reaches for you again, his chest huffing in annoyance, goggles and a mask covering their face when you look up to determine their identity, rendering it useless. “What the fuck is wrong with you…?!” You shout as he lashes out a knife, twirling it in his hand skillfully before trying and succeeding to slash at you with it, the thick skin of your arm cutting  like rubber easily under his blade, and you resist the urge to cry out this time, quickly sliding to your knees again, the blue jeans you’re wearing quickly becoming brown with the mix of your blood and the colour of the fabric. The thick material matting and sticking to your skin like a wet rag covered in glue, and your hand finds the dagger again, gripping it tight. He leaps forward again, tackling you to the ground and you manage to slit his arm, the sound of the fabric ripping on his arm was like music to your ear before he turns you around, pressing your chest to the ground, his hand crushing your head almost against the solid floor, but with your hands and arms free to move, you quickly stab the dagger into the side of his thigh, a bit of his structure crumbling in pain as he loosens his grip, giving you time to crawl out from under him, his hand gripping your ankle just before you can get away, making you turn, facing him as his own knife slices through your jeans, leaving a gash in your thigh, another scream leaving your throat before you scoot forward just enough to let your knee collide with his jaw, causing him to let go of you so you could spring up to your feet and run, legs pumping quickly for you as your body leads you down the mansion, the layout not exactly perfectly remembered considering you weren’t living in the mansion for too long.

You manage to run into the infirmary, catching yourself between the door frame as you look around, hoping you could maybe even find a hiding place, but your thigh was bleeding out quickly, you needed stitches or you would die regardless.

You turn and look down the hall, once you see no one is close behind you, you break into a limp, quickly moving to a nurses desk to sift through her drawers, hands looking for what you needed to keep yourself alive. You eventually find some thread and a needle, not bothering to waste any time looking for numbing spray as you make your way into the back, where they keep students who are sick or angered with their powers.

The room is dark as you shut the large door, some lights turning on from your movement as you stumble over to a nearby chair, and you rip open the packet with the thread inside with your teeth, hands shaking like crazy as you try to slip the thread into the small pinhole of the needle, but the sound of something shuffling in the room with you makes you shoot up from your seat, the needle being your own weapon clinking quietly to the ground with the sound of a pin drop, and your ears perk up, expecting to hear footsteps behind the door.

“Bambi?” The voice is quiet, and it makes you whip your head around. “Bambi…?” The voice comes a little louder, sort of strained and your eyes squint in the darkness at one of the holding cells. Stepping closer, keeping your distance from the glass thick enough to withstand an elephant, you see Logan.

You didn’t want to admit, but part of you was believing the mansion's attacker was Logan. This only proved you entirely wrong as he stood up from the concrete floor, eyes tracing over your wounds, which were still bleeding profusely.

“Bambi, what’re you doing?” You run to the wall, yanking a fire extinguisher from his place before running back to his cell, blowing off the pain in your feet as you let the butt of the red container crash against the class, barely even scuffing it. “Bambi-” You do it again, the sound of the metal against the glass surely giving away your location, but you didn’t care, if you could just Logan out of the fucking cell, you would be safe. He can’t die, and you know the attacker can. You cut his arm, he didn’t heal. “BAMBI!” He yells, making your ears fold and your face contort in a mixture of fear and sadness.

“Logan-!” You sob.

“No! Bambi, honey, you need to leave. Now.”

“He’s gonna kill me…”

“Baby he’s not trying to kill you…”

“What- What do you mean…?”

“Jean gave him instructions to take you, not to kill you…” You freeze at his words, your grip loosening slightly on the fire extinguisher still in your hands, and you blink a few times as if you were blind to his words.

“J- Jean… What-?” You stutter, your voice cracking.

“She thinks you’re the reason Scott is dead… She won’t fucking listen to me, so she told me she would hire him to take you and torture you.”

“Why not just kill me?”

“She wants you to suffer, Bambi, and that’s why you need to leave. Right now.”

“I can’t go without you Logan, I won’t be fast enough…” Your grip tightens around the red can again, and your muscles tense a little as you prepare to swing it.

“Bam-” Crash! The red metal clashes with the glass again, barely scratching it this time as you swing at it and hit it with the butt of the extinguisher relentlessly, his words falling on deaf ears as your sensitive eardrums are numbed with the sound of the metal hitting the glass.

“BAMBI!” You’re thrown to the ground, the fire extinguisher rolling out of your hand and across the tile floor, pain shooting through your body as you land on one of your elbows, and the large hand tugs at you ear again, a cracking sound filling your hearing as he breaks the cartilage, pulling you up to sit on your heels, and your feel the cold metal of his knife against your throat again, making you swallow.

“Hey!” Another voice fills the room, and you open your eyes to see Jean walking in like she owned the place, staring down at you on your knees in front of the man who was still gripping your ear with one of his hands. Then she smacks you, the back of her hand colliding with your cheek and you’re simply too exhausted to react, only turning your head at the force. “I told you, I don’t want her dead, how hard is that to understand?” She talks cruely to the man holding you still, his hand moving from your ear to gripping your hair now, exposing your neck more as your head was turned, and you can see Logan behind the glass, along with your reflection. Your brown ear is limp and bleeding a little. Broken.

“Jean-”

“No!” She looks back down at you so quickly you almost wished her neck would’ve snapped. “You’re the reason my Scottie is dead…” She crouches down in front of you. “And I’m gonna make sure my little friend here has his fun with you…” You keep your eyes on the reflection in the glass, Logan staring down in fear for you, and you notice the dagger still lodged inside of the man's thigh, and you waste no time in using your elbow to hit it, making him double over in pain and he throws you at the glass, the only thing keeping Logan from keeping you safe, and it cracks even further as your back hits it, all of the air leaving your lungs and putting you into a coughing fit as you watch the man yank Logans dagger out of his thigh, tossing it somewhere else in the room.

You take the moment to look the man up and down. You swear you recognise him, but you can’t be sure from where. His long black hair, covering his face a little, and the lower half of his face covered by a black mask. He was wearing a vest, along with a leather jacket and tight black jeans, not a dot of colour in his apparel, guns and knives scattered along his thighs and his sides in their holsters and sleeves. But then your eyes find his arm. A metal arm.

“It's nice knowing where the world keeps one of their most dangerous weapons…” Jean approaches you with an evil grin. “It’s easy to mindwash someone… put them back into the program they were made for…” She crouches next to you, and you’re too weak to move at all now, staring at her with your lips slightly parted, slowly catching your breath. “Bambi… I hope you like your new friend…” She uncaps a syringe, one you hadn’t bothered to look at, and she sticks it in the side of your neck, the world immediately feeling darker.

“The Winter Soldier…”

🏷️ @shybluebirdninja @rebeccawinters @atomicheartbroken @hazydespair @kindazombie @themaidenofdarkness

Also a bit of an honorable mention to @officiallymakingthechimichangas for giving me inspiration when I was freaking the fuck out about writing this.