#which is partly luck - but still

[starbuck]

really gotta hand it to the mountain goats because i’ve seen them three times now and, between all three performances, they’ve played 57 unique songs! that’s a lot of setlist diversity!

[shadowvalkyrie]

One of the fun ways growing up poor fucks you over is that you spend the rest of your life feeling guilty for your unimaginably lavish adult lifestyle of... *checks notes* eating every day and not having to share your living space with other people.

[yinyuedijun]

translation

Aventurine doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you. (Or: You are the only person in the universe who understands Aventurine in his mother tongue. He often regrets teaching it to you.)

5k words. gender neutral reader, established relationship, angst, non-graphic sex (reader bottoms, anatomy neutral), themes of cultural loss, references to slavery, aventurine’s canonically implied desire to die. MDNI.

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.

Deception does not come easily to him in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak—and too kind. The universe was a different place in the days when his life was coloured by the warble of Avgin dialect. It felt simpler, partly because he was a child and partly because Sigonia was yet untouched by outsiders. There were no corporations, no casinos, no commodity codes. His entire world was sand, desert, mother, sister, father (or more often—ghost), goddess, tent, wagon, luck, sin, rain, blessing, Avgin.

Katican.

Aventurine is sure that he knew more than just those words. He was fluent as a child. He had conversations with his sister that were complex enough to make his heart hurt, though perhaps his heart was just constantly aching anyway. But the rest of his early words escapes him. He could maybe dredge them up if he thinks long enough, but he also isn't sure if his tongue and lips could form the shape of them anymore. Sometimes he still counts in Avgin, memorises phone numbers in it, but he doesn’t remember the last time he actually strung together a full sentence in the language.

When Aventurine was first stolen into slavery (a word that he had not known as a child, and still doesn't know in Avgin), he wasn’t given a Synesthesia Beacon. He had to rely on his ears and his wits, deciphering the harsh edges of the Katican dialect and then the strange garble of Interastral Standard Language. By the time he had a Beacon installed, it was already translating all speech into Standard—his dominant language.

Sometimes he feels a little aggrieved by it, but at least it wasn't Katican. He'd have blown out his brains if it were.

But it is easy to console himself: Avgin is not a useful language anyway. Dead languages have no value, and the Avgin dialect was killed along with its people. You can’t perform commerce in a dead language, can't negotiate contracts, can't enter a gambling den and use your silver tongue to rob people blind. You can't use a dead language to fell governments and extract resources; you can't use a dead language to bring an entire planet to its knees. You can’t use a dead language to gamble your life; you can't use it to save yourself from the gallows.

You cannot deceive people in a language that is defined by sand, sister, goddess, ghost.

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin. His command of it is too weak, and there is no one left to which he can lie, anyway.

When you ask Aventurine to teach you his first language, he gives you an amused look.

“Why Avgin?” he asks. “No one speaks it anymore. I can teach you Common Sigonian if you’d like. Or we could learn Xianzhounese together. Maybe Intellitron code? I know a little.”

“You speak Avgin,” you argue.

“Not often,” he says. “And badly when I do.”

“But it's still your language. And I want to understand you.”

Aventurine has to stop himself from laughing. Understand him? He hates being understood. When people understand him, it makes him predictable. And unlikeable. Hardly a position from which he can manipulate people in.

You understand him well enough to know that.

“You'll have to give me a better reason than that,” he says neatly. “Make it worth my while. Reward me.”

You look at him as you ponder, your eyes lingering on his. Perhaps trying to read him, though he prefers to think you're just enjoying the sight of them.

“I’ll teach you my language as well?”

“You mean—you'll reward my hard labour with more work?” he says, lighthearted.

You frown at him despite the joke. “You don't want to understand me better than what a Synesthesia Beacon would allow?” He blinks, pausing. “It’ll be convenient too. We can talk shit about other people in public and no one will understand us.”

Aventurine considers you. He doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you.

He also likes the idea of talking shit in public.

“I'm listening,” he says, voice lilting. You lean in, smiling. Sweet. It makes his heart feel something he isn't used to. Something addictive. Something disgusting. He scrambles to cover it with one of the usual tools: humour or distraction or maybe just plain old lying—his most reliable weapon.

“I'll throw in a kiss?” you try.

He hums. “Just one?”

“One per day.”

“Three.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“Well, I am a businessman.”

You snort, but he knows you're endeared. You have very noticeable tells when you’re flustered.

“Okay,” you say. “Three kisses on days you teach me.”

“Deal.”

Aventurine remembers more Avgin than he thought he would.

It comes to him slowly, painstakingly. You aren't interested in structured lessons, and he wouldn't be able to provide them anyway. He has a nonexistent grasp of grammar aside from this sounds right and that sounds strange, and Avgin dialect is both so niche and so dead that no textbooks are available. The scholars have abandoned the language as much as the politicians abandoned its people. Aventurine only has you, his fragmented memory, and whatever questions come to mind as you live out your days with him.

Mostly, you ask him about basic vocabulary. Sometimes you ask him to repeat sentences from your conversations in Avgin, like he’s some kind of multilingual parrot. Each prompt forces him to wade through the fog in his mind, the one that’s been shrouding his childhood memories until now. He's startled at how naturally the old words roll off his tongue: One, two, three, four. Good morning. Good evening. Good night. Sweet dreams. Five, six, seven, eight. You're lying to me. Why do you always lie to me? I don't know what you're talking about. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Welcome home. Have you eaten? Have some bread. I made you stew. Twenty, thirty, forty, fifty. That was dangerous. I thought you wouldn't make it back to me. Sometimes I think you want to die. One hundred, one thousand, one million, one billion. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

When you say, How do I ask you to let me hold you, he answers easily. He'd heard the words so often as a child: Let me hold you, Kakavasha. Let Mama hold you. His mouth forms the sounds without conscious thought.

He regrets it almost immediately.

When Aventurine hears it from you—stilted, halting, but no less gentle—he stops breathing. Let me hold you. You say it all the time in Standard, but it feels different in Avgin. More painful. A strange sense of panic closes in on him when he's wrapped up in you, thinking in Avgin, thinking sand, sister, goddess, ghost. He holds you tightly, like the rags cut from his father’s shirt, or his mother’s locket won back from the shell-slashers, or a bag of poker chips beneath a card table, clutched within his trembling grip.

“Aventurine, is something wrong?” you ask in Avgin, and he replies in Standard with his usual smile.

“Hm? No. What could be wrong if I have you here?”

Lying is one of his greatest tools. Sex is another one. So he says, “I think I'd like my reward now,” and he runs his lips along your jaw, your pulse, the spot over your heart (there's a word for that in Avgin but not Standard, he tells you), until you're laughing. I thought you wanted three kisses, you tease, and he replies, Who said I wanted to kiss you on the mouth?

But he coaxes open your thighs, and once he's inside you, he collects his payment properly. He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and you swallow his lies whole.

There are some things that Aventurine doesn't teach you. Mostly, they’re things that he can’t teach you.

There are countless gaps in his Avgin. His speech is painfully childish—probably more childish than it was when he actually stopped speaking it. He doesn't know how to swear (something that disappoints you) and he doesn't know how to flirt (something that devastates you). He doesn’t know any words that would be useful for work either: commercialization, governance, stakes, winnings, profit. When you ask him what his job title is in Avgin (“Was senior management even a thing in Avgin society?”), he laughs and gives you the word for gambler.

Then there are the words that he remembers—has remembered his whole life—but never says. Not to you, and not to himself. He doesn't teach you any prayers. He doesn't teach you any blessings. He doesn't teach you about Mama Fenge, or the Kakava Festival, or how the rain fell when he was born. When you ask him, What holidays did you celebrate when you were little? he shrugs and says, We didn't have any. Sigonia’s too bleak to do any partying.

Then you ask him one day, while your bodies are spent in the afterglow of sex, sticky with sweat and sweetness, how to say I love you. And he goes quiet.

Love is a cheap word in Interastral Standard. In the language of globalisation and trade, love has been commercialised, commodified, capitalised for power. You say it to him in many contexts: I love this, I love that, I love you. He hardly ever reacts, and he's never said it back. It would feel unnecessary and also cruel if he did: Aventurine has only ever said the words himself as either a joke or a manipulation.

But love feels different in Avgin than in Interastral Standard, doesn't sound like a thing that can be traded or bought. Kakavasha only ever said the word love to his mother, to his sister, to his father's grave. Love in his mother tongue feels priceless.

When Aventurine thinks about you saying it—I love you, Kakavasha, in clumsy, earnest Avgin—something so painful swells in his throat that he can hardly breathe.

“There is no word for love in my language,” he tells you.

You blink. “Okay, then what's an idiom for it?”

“There is none. There’s no word or phrase expressing love.”

You raise a brow. “That’s hard to believe.”

“Is it?” He smiles. “There’s no Avgin in the known universe who cares about love. Only scheming, thieving, and treachery—and you can't do those things when love is involved.”

You look at him in alarm. “Why are you saying that?” You're practically squirming in your discomfort. “I don't know why you think I'd believe such a racist stereotype.”

“It’s not a stereotype,” he says. “I'm not talking about the Avgin culture. I'm talking about myself.”

After all, he is the only Avgin left.

It is an unfair thing to say. A cruel thing to say. After all the laughing and kissing and crying and fucking, after all the tender eyes and gentle words from you—it is probably the worst pain imaginable: I don't give a shit about you. He waits for you to cry.

But you only stare at him calmly, studying him. You brush the hair out of his eyes, seeing them clearly.

“If you lie to me all the time,” you say in Avgin, “eventually I'll stop believing anything you say.”

Aventurine is speechless. His heart does that addictive, disgusting thing again. He thinks about leaving, but then you say, Let me hold you, and he can't do anything other than obey.

Avgin dialect was once included in the Synesthesia Beacon list of functions. The Intelligentsia Guild added it before the Second Katica-Avgin Extinction Event, when the IPC was trying to get a political foothold on Sigonia via the Avgin people. The language was alive then, with enough value to be included into the Synesthesia LLM by the linguists.

But since the Extinction Event—since Kakavasha ran away from home—the Synesthesia data on Avgin has been stagnant, a fossil. Aventurine knows because he's subscribed to software updates for certain languages (Avgin Sigonian, Common Sigonian, Interastral Standard, and now your mother tongue). He gets pinged every time there's a new addition for slang, for neologisms—but there hasn't been a ping for the Avgin dialect since he had the Beacon installed. The live translation function hasn't even been available since the previous Amber Era. When he checks its page on his Synesthesia app, it's very clear why—

SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT SPEAKERS: 0 STATUS: Extinct END OF SERVICE: 2156 AE

The complete death of the language has led to an irritating dilemma for you and Aventurine. You keep running into words that he doesn't know—this time not because of his childlike speech, but because they never existed in his language to begin with. Ocean, tropical, rainforest. Starskiff, accelerator, space fleet. Stock market, shortselling, mutual funds. Black hole, event horizon, spaghettification. All things that never came up for Kakavasha, but now come up for Aventurine, and the language has not evolved to include it.

He always wants to switch to Standard to discuss these things, but you're insistent on speaking in Avgin as much as possible. He doesn't know why, but he doesn't mind humouring you—partly because he likes to indulge you, and partly because he’s grown used to hearing the honeyed timbre of Avgin dialect in your household. The place would feel strange without it.

So you start filling the gaps with other languages, filtering them through the lyricism of Avgin. Loanwords, he thinks they’re called. You take ocean, tropical, rainforest from Amazian; starskiff, accelerator, space fleet from Xianzhounese; stock market, shortselling, mutual funds from Interastral Standard. For the astrophysics terms, you try directly translating them—with limited success.

“Can't I literally just say ‘black hole’?” you ask in Avgin, and he nearly spits out his coffee.

“Please don't. That's a dirty word.” He can't bring himself to say what it means, but from the way you’re laughing, you can clearly guess.

“I thought you said you didn't know how to swear.”

“You've just reminded me how.”

“You're welcome.” You look on the verge of cackling. Aventurine finishes his coffee and wonders when you're going to surprise him with your newfound vulgarity.

“Let's just do the space terms based on Standard,” he says. Begs.

“No, that's so boring.”

“Then let's do your language.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Give him a blank look.

“You don't know how to say those words in your mother tongue either, do you,” he intuits.

“Well, ‘spaghettification’ doesn't really come up in everyday conversation, does it?”

“Then maybe we don't need it.” He smiles, senses an opportunity. Smells blood. “How about ‘love’? I'd much rather know how you say that. I bet it sounds beautiful.”

You give him a long look. Your eyes are vulnerable when you share it: Love. I love you. He’s fascinated by the sound of it. Your voice is never that fragile when you say it in Standard. It's never so earnest. He repeats it, staring at you, and your gaze falls to the ground. His mouth curls.

“I like it,” he says. “Let's use that. It'll sound nice in Avgin.”

You try to recover. “Sure. That works. But back to ‘black hole’—”

And the two of you continue like that for days, weeks, months. It feels like a complete bastardization of his mother tongue on some days, in some conversations. Almost unrecognisable. But it doesn't feel bad. It’s all he has, it's all you have, and when he walks into your home, he starts speaking it without thinking: your bastard, patchwork language. The Avgin dialect that exists only in your house. A tongue that can only be understood by a liar.

And then, one lazy Sunday morning, he gets a familiar ping. He expects it to be Interastral Standard, as usual. The language balloons with each planet that the IPC colonises.

But instead, he opens his screen and freezes.

SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT SPEAKERS: 2 STATUS: Endangered. SERVICE RESUMED: 2157 AE NEW UPDATES: 103 loanwords and 5 neologisms added.

He can't stop looking at the status. Endangered. Endangered, which means dying, but alive. The Avgin dialect is alive again. The Intelligentsia Guild determined it, so it must be true. But Aventurine can't agree: there are no Avgin speakers in the known universe other than the two of you, and what you speak isn't real Avgin. The Avgin spoken by his mother and father and sister is dead; the Avgin spoken by Kakavasha is dead. The festivals are gone; the deserts have been terraformed. There are no wagons; there are no dances; there are no prayers. There are no blessings, and he has no home—

As long as you are alive, the blood of the Avgin will never run dry.

His throat locks up.

“Aventurine?” you ask. Your voice is drowsy, but concerned. “Is something wrong?”

He looks at you from his phone, a polished smile on his face.

“No.” His syllables are plain and efficient in the noise of Interastral Standard: “Just looking at details for a new assignment. It’ll be a long one.”

“Oh.” You frown. “Will you be away from home for a long time, then?”

He stops himself from swallowing. “Yes, I'll be away from the house. For several months, probably.”

“Okay.” Your voice is small. “Take care of yourself, okay? I'll miss you.”

Each word you speak resonates with heartbreak. It always does in these conversations, even in Standard—but the sorrow is amplified in Avgin. His mother tongue has an inherently sad quality to it, he's noticed. His people have lost so much over their history—their language is one of loss. It's his language of loss. Kakavasha did all his grieving in Avgin; Aventurine has never felt sorrow in Standard. When the language died, so did Kakavasha—and all his regrets with it.

“You'll come home to me, right?” you ask. It's a beautiful sentence in Avgin. A heartrending one. He feels something that he hasn't known since he was a child.

It's a feeling he has to kill.

“Yes,” he says in Standard. “Of course I'll come back.”

This is not the first time that Aventurine has been mistaken for dead, but this is the longest time.

The latest world to join the IPC network was a tough acquisition. It had been ruled by a despot who wreaked havoc on both the people and the planet, and who was too stupid and reckless to resolve conflicts with his trade partners. He probably would have blown up the whole star system had he been left to his own devices. Aventurine had no qualms about bringing him to ruin, nor did he have qualms about nearly dying in the process.

If things had gone his way, he'd either be dead or missing. This would have been the perfect opportunity to do the latter, actually—to be freed from the IPC. Free to drift alone, speaking with strangers in strange, unfamiliar tongues. No connection to his past, to the cruel history of his luck, to his commodity code. No tether to his inherently unjust destiny. But instead he's back in your house, pockets heavy with his borrowed wealth, speaking to you in his bastardised, childish Avgin. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

Your Avgin is—shockingly fluent. He doesn't know how. He can't think about it right now. All he can process is the wounded animal noise of your speech as you yell at him, as you cry. Like an injured songbird, or a weeping child. Why did you leave, why did you lie, why do you always lie to me, why don't you give a shit about me, you spit. Why do you want to die, why do you want to die, why do you want to die, you keep saying. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost, he keeps hearing. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost. Don't leave me, big sister. People will die. Why do you have to go?

“I’m sorry,” he tries again, this time in your language. “I'm so sorry. Come here. Let me hold you.”

You collapse into your mother tongue. Aventurine is both relieved and horrified. Relieved that he doesn't need to hear the language of his grief—horrified that he needs to hear yours. He's never heard you cry like this. He's never heard you break like this. These must have been the words you used when the soldiers found you hiding in your closet, when they dragged you out of your home. You were just a child.

Aventurine doesn't know the words you are using—you've never taught them—but he still understands them.

You're very malleable when you’re sad; even more so when you're hysterical. Aventurine understands this about you, and he understands how to calm you—this time in your native tongue—and he understands how to kiss you. He understands that you need to feel close to him. He understands that there are ways to accomplish this other than sex. A normal person would talk it out, have an honest conversation, come to a mutual understanding, and maybe even stop trying to kill himself. They wouldn't fuck you into the mattress while your face is still wet with tears.

But Aventurine is not a normal person. He doesn't know how to have an honest conversation, and he doesn't want to be understood. Lying is his greatest weapon, and sex is a close second. So he kisses you until you’re too breathless to cry, fucks you until you can't think, and makes you come so hard that you’re in too much bliss to grieve. And maybe it's horrible of him, but he enjoys it. He enjoys the way your body takes him in so easily, the way your nails dig into his back, the way you tighten around him when you climax, so wet and needy for him. The way you beg for him in your language for liars as he spends himself inside you: I love you, Aventurine, I love you, I love you, I love you—

Only because it feels good. This is all only because he enjoys fucking you. This is all only because you enjoy fucking him. This is all it'll ever be, and it'll be this way until he gets to meet his end.

(Some months ago, Aventurine started dreaming in Avgin.

It surprised him when he first noticed it. The last time he remembers having a dream in his native tongue, he was twelve years old and still in chains. And even then, it had become a sporadic, strange thing. Awful to wake up from. One minute he was with his mother and sister on a cool, rainy day, speaking fluently in Avgin as he laughed and played—and the next minute, he was being shaken awake in his cage, hearing the cruel lash of Katican.

But ever since he's started speaking Avgin with you, he's been dreaming in it. Vividly. Sometimes he's a child in these dreams, and sometimes he's grown. He's always back in the Sigonian desert, among the tents and the campfires and his family wagons. His mother and sister are alive. Sometimes his father is too. The skies roar with thunder and the stellar winds are always harsh, but they always keep him cocooned up in their arms. He's always warm.

Sometimes Aventurine dreams of nicer days. Clear skies, warm sun, cool breeze—all blessings from the Mother Goddess. On these days, he tends to be an adult, and you tend to be there with him. Your Avgin is fluent but strange, filled with funny loanwords and peculiar slang. His father likes the neologisms and starts using them—but only in wrong ways. His sister finds it embarrassing and keeps apologising to you.

His mother loves you. She loves you so much it hurts. This is how I know you're blessed, Kakavasha, she says, glowing. You’re so lucky to have found such a kind person.

Kakavasha knows this. He knows he's lucky, and in his dreams, that isn't a bad thing. In his dreams, his luck means that his home is not violently excised from his heart: his father never dies; his mother never dies; his sister never dies. The tents are not burned; the wagons are not destroyed. He is never forced to forget his people's dishes, their songs, their language, their joy. And in his dreams, his luck means that he meets you anyway, without all the loss and the chains and the lying.

In his dreams, he is able to bring you to the desert. He is able to teach you the Avgin he spoke as a child, to cook all the meals his mother used to make, to share with you their coffee and their tea. He teaches you prayers. He teaches you blessings. He tells you about Mama Fenge, about how the rain fell when he was born. He takes you to the Kakava Festival, shows you how to dance, sings to you all the Avgin songs until you're singing back. He presses his palm to yours in prayer; he kisses you in devotion, not avoidance.

Sometimes the two of you still fight, the same fights that you have in real life, but he handles them with honesty. He listens to you. He apologises to you. He tells you that he’ll change, and he means it—because this world is a kind one, and he has no need to be so cruel to you.

In this kind world, when you lay in bed with his arms tight around you, you smile at him and say, I love you, Kakavasha. You say it in Avgin—real Avgin, not the dialect born from genocide and deceit—and when he responds, there's not even a little bit of insincerity in his voice. Because Kakavasha never became Aventurine in these dreams, so he has no Interastral Standard in which he can lie to you, no silver tongue with which he can manipulate you, no commodity code that inspires his fear of being controlled by you. Kakavasha only knows Avgin, and he only has his sand, his family, his goddess, his home.

And he has you. Finally, he has you.

He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and then he tells you the truth.)

.

.

.

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.

You noticed this very early on: whenever he lies to you, he always switches to Interastral Standard. Probably he wouldn't be able to do it in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak, and the words he knows are all too kind. He speaks with the innocence of a child, and children cannot deceive people in the way that adults can. Children cannot perform commerce or negotiate contracts. They cannot use a silver tongue to rob people blind. They cannot save themselves from the gallows.

So Aventurine’s Avgin is defenceless. Vulnerable. So vulnerable it hurts. You are not so vulnerable in your first language because your captors spoke it on occasion, and you learned to lie in it to gain their pity. You told Aventurine that knowing it would help him understand you, but this was a deception. Aventurine’s mother tongue was a language of trust, but yours is a dialect of abuse.

The Avgin language died before Aventurine could be gutted by it; this is why it disarms him so completely. This is why he’s so indulgent and so warm when you use it with him, why he yields to all your requests. Not requests for money or gifts—you’re certain those are meaningless to him—but for affection. Let me hold you. Let me touch you. Let me kiss you. He can never say no.

This is also why he loves hearing you speak his mother tongue, you think—it makes him feel at home, it makes him feel safe. Maybe it even makes him feel loved. He never seems so at peace speaking any other language, so you try to use Avgin as much as possible. You like seeing him happy. You like it even if it means you need to teach him your own native language in exchange, even when it means you need to hear him say all the things your captors used to say. You don't mind it if it's him. You never mind the harm he inflicts on you, especially not when it brings you closer to him.

It is convenient that he cannot lie in Avgin. You only wanted to learn it in the first place because he talks in his sleep—mostly in Standard, but sometimes in his native tongue. And now that you know he cannot lie in Avgin, you also know he's always being honest in his dreams. Honest when he throws his arms around you in his sleep. Honest when he grabs you so tightly that you bruise. Honest when he buries his face into your neck and whispers prayers into your skin.

Most of the words he says are common ones, the earliest vocabulary that he taught you. But there are some things he's withheld from you—and to learn those things, you had to track down linguists from the Intelligentsia Guild, bribe them with your dirty money, have them give you all their deprecated, extinct data. It felt two-faced, and it was violating, but it was the only way. You already know that Aventurine would rather die than translate his feelings for you, would never want this part of himself understood.

I'm sorry for always leaving you.

I'm sorry for making you cry.

I can't bear the thought of losing you.

Freedom would be too lonely without you.

I don't want to hurt you anymore.

I don't want to lie to you anymore.

I missed you.

I want you.

I need you.

I love you.

end

afterword

[moonvis]

IDIOTS IN LOVE

Steve Rogers x F! Reader

incl. Natasha, Wanda, Bucky and Tony

Summary: Being in love with Steve Rogers isn’t easy with all the dates Natasha sets him up with. One day you’ve had enough and ask her to set you up, something you’ve never let her before – and a certain blonde isn’t too pleased.

Warnings: Angst to fluff! Jealous! Steve and Jealous! Reader. Misunderstandings. Two blind idiots in love with each other. 4.3k words.

“Okay, I’m off to bed,” You said through a yawn and got up from the chair you’d been sitting in for the past hours, drinking and chatting with Natasha and Wanda.

Natasha took a sip from her glass, before asking, “See you in the morning for our run?”

“Count me in,” You nodded and walked towards the exit, your head facing Natasha, “Goodnight ladies.” The second you faced away, something tall crashed into you, making you trip on your own feet.

“Woah careful, doll!” A familiar voice said, as a hand grabbed you by your waist to steady you, “Are you okay, angel?”

“Steve! Oh- Thanks!” You felt a bit embarrassed as he was still holding onto you, his blue eyes looking down at you with what seemed like concern. His face was close, so very close, and his lips-

“Steve you’re back!” Natasha cheered from behind you, interrupting the moment, “How was your date?”

You immediately felt your heart drop at her question. Steve had been on a date. Again. You took a step away from the super soldier, looking down as he shifted his attention to Natasha, “It was good.”

You snuck out of the room in the blink of an eye, not wanting to hear about yet another one of Steves ‘good’ dates that never lead to a second one. Couldn’t he just choose one of the girls and make it official? That way you had no reason to hold onto the hope that he just might, someday, reciprocate your feelings.

You didn’t see the disappointment in Steve’s face when you suddenly disappeared out of sight.

You woke up in the morning with a burning headache. Partly because of the wine last night, but mostly because of Steve keeping you awake for hours. You always stayed to hear how his dates went, but it was always the same: “It was good, but there won’t be a second one, I’m afraid. Better luck next time Nat.”

Though what if it was different this time? What if he finally found the one? Your thoughts and feeling of regret were interrupted by a harsh knocking on your bedroom door.You knew it was Natasha and got out of bed. The floor felt extra cold this morning.

“I’ll be down in five!” You yelled trough the door and went to get dressed for your run. After swallowing some painkillers for your headache, you left your room to meet the redhead, desperately in need to get some fresh air.

You and Natasha jogged from the Avengers compound and ended up in the nearest park. As you felt the morning sun warming your skin, you felt a little relief lift off your shoulders. You needed this.

The two of you sat down at a bench, kind of like creeps, observing the civilians enjoying their own morning.

A dolled-up lady was walking her dog, or more like, the dog was walking her. You shared a laugh with Natasha at the sight. Your eyes followed her movements, watching as she passed a little girl blowing soap-bubbles. The little one let her tongue out to taste the bubbles, only for her nose to scrunch up in disgust.

“Cute.” Natasha commented from beside you. You smiled and let your eyes wander along with the bubbles flying away, which popped right next to an older couple holding hands. “Aww, look at them!” You commented.

The husband of the old couple, smacked his lady’s butt, growing a mischievous grin on his face. “Now, that’s cute.” Natasha commented this time.

“I know! Old people are the cutest.”

“I can only partly agree with you there. Buck and Steve are quite the old men,” Natasha laughed, “Wouldn’t call them cute.”

You chuckled lightly as your eyes left the old couple. To you, Steve was so much more than cute. He was the kindest, most caring man you’d ever met. He always listened to your small and bigger problems. He was always willing to drop everything to help you out. He was always by your side whenever you got hurt on a mission. You had no doubt he cared for you, and yet… he still went on all those dates like you weren’t even an option. He made you feel so special and loved, and you weren’t even each other’s. Oh, how lucky the one who wins his heart would be.

“Y/N? Earth to--”

“Oh, sorry!” You snapped out of your thoughts at Natasha trying to get your attention.

She gave you a concerned look as she spoke, “Are you okay? You seem down.”

“It’s just my head, it really hurts.” You excused, wiping away a tear you hadn’t noticed before.

“I’m sorry. Should we walk back? We can take it slow.” Natasha asked and got up from the bench, lending you a hand.

You accepted her hand and cracked a small smile, “Thank you kind lady.”

Once you started walking back towards the compound, a familiar figure caught your eye. Steve, with a girl beside him, was walking in your direction.

“Would you look at that! Steve’s on a second date,” Natasha cheered at the sight of Steve and Sharon Carter coming closer, “He said yesterday they wouldn’t go on a date again.”

Natasha was clearly trying to share her excitement with you, but all you felt was a knot tightening in your stomach. You liked Sharon, you really did, but of course she, a Carter,  would be the one to finally win Steve’s heart.

Natasha was waving at the pair, just to make sure they saw the two of you. The jealousy in your body didn’t help much with the headache, making you feel sick, “Nat, I’m just gonna go, okay?”

You weren’t in the mood to stand around and wait for Steve to arrive with his new love interest, you didn’t even bother to give Natasha a smile, “You can wait for them if you want. I’d like to have some alone time anyways.”

Natasha wasn’t sure how to react, starting to feel like it wasn’t just a headache bothering you, “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you later.” You left without taking another look back, leaving Natasha to start worry about you.

You didn’t see Steve’s expression go from excitement to concern as he watched you leave Natasha behind.

Back at the compound, you fall down onto your bed, soft sobs rocking your body. You’re tired of loving a man you’ll never have. You have his friendship, but your heart is still not satisfied. Now that Steve has found a beautiful woman like Sharon, maybe you can finally try to move on.

You roll onto your back, looking at the ceiling as your tears dry out. What are you going to do?

Then, it hits you. Natasha.

Just a soft knock on the door and a hug later, the redhead asks what she can do to make you feel better. You let out a sigh and ask away, “Could you help me, maybe… find a date?”

Natasha wasn’t sure she heard you correctly, but when you nodded, her face lit up in excitement, “Of course! It would be my absolute pleasure!” She didn’t even ask why you wanted a date all of a sudden, she was just happy you’d finally give her matchmaking a chance.  

“Oh my god! I have so many guys in mind. They would all be so lucky to have you Y/N. I have to pick one worth your time though!”

You chuckled as you listened to Natasha ramble on about who to pick for you, a feeling of excitement growing in your stomach. You were finally ready to give someone new a chance.

As the moon shone through your window, you thought about what tomorrow would bring. Natasha had already picked out a date whom you’d meet tomorrow night.

Busy in thought, you suddenly felt your stomach growl. Slipping out of bed, you put on a pair of slippers and wandered out your door towards the kitchen. Truth be told, you had been avoiding going around the compound in fear of meeting Steve, which also meant skipping dinner.

You fixed yourself a bowl of cereal and let your thoughts wander back to your upcoming date. What dress would you wear? Maybe the blue one? No. What about the white, the one you knew Steve loved so much?

“Hey.”

The sudden sound of a voice made you jump in your seat. As you choked on your cereal, you felt a hand patting your back.

“I’m sorry for scaring you. Are you okay, angel?”

You looked up to find Steve looking down at you. Damnit. You managed to embarrass  yourself in front of him again.

“I’m fine, thanks.” Your voice sounded hesitant, your eyes going back to your cereal. You listened as Steve made himself a cup of tea behind you, not a single word shared. You felt awkward.

You hoped he would just make his damn tea and leave - but of course not. The man sat down, right beside you, half facing you as he took a sip.

“So…” Steve began, and you felt yourself wanting to disappear. You were in the mindset of moving on a few minutes ago, but here he sat, the man you were so in love with, alone, giving you all of his attention. “How’re you doing? We haven’t talked much since, well, yesterday.”

Steve’s voice sounded hesitant, and you knew, that he knew, that something was up. The two of you hung out every single day, so not talking for 24 hours was unusual.

“I, uh… I’m okay. I’ve been a bit tired lately, that’s all.” You lied, and you didn’t sound very convincing either.

“Nat told me about your headache earlier today, at the park-”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You interrupted him, a hint of annoyance in your voice. You really didn’t want to talk about it. Especially not think about the sight of Steve walking alongside his new girl.

You hear Steve let out a sigh at your answer. You were hoping he’d let it go, though you knew Steve too well. The blonde put down his cup and turned his body fully towards you this time, “Y/N,” His voice sounded serious, “I know something’s up, more than just a headache, and it worries me. So, please, what is going on? Did I do something?”

You didn’t know you had it in you to be angry with Steve Rogers, but when you felt your blood boil, there was no going back. You jumped out of your chair and looked at him with rage in your eyes, “Why do you care, huh?”

You saw the immediate hurt in Steve’s eyes, his expression shocked at your sudden outburst. You didn’t care though, “It’s been a fucking day, and you’re worried about me because I haven’t talked to you yet? You haven’t even been home! The last time I saw you, quoting Natasha, you were on a second date with Sharon! Shouldn’t you be with her now anyways?”

“Y/N-”  

“No! Why the fuck do you sit here and talk to me like I’m the only thing you care about, like it matters how I’m doing? It doesn’t make any sense! You’ve always been like this, yet I’m just a friend sitting around while you go out and fuck all the girls Natasha find for you!” Your breath is heavy, tears threaten to spill from your eyes,

Steve was reaching out a hand to you but retracted it as tears streamed down your cheeks. You pointed a finger at the man, your teeth gritted together as you spoke, “And lastly, I am under no obligation to tell you anything about my feelings! So please, stop treating me like I’m your fucking girlfriend!”

Without taking another look at him, you spun around and left the room. As you disappeared out of sight, you ran down the hallway to escape into your room, not wanting Steve to follow. It was when you shut your bedroom door, you realised what you just did.

You yelled at Steve, for the first time ever. Worst of all, he hadn’t done anything to deserve it. That night, never ending sobs were rocking you to sleep.

As you stormed out of the kitchen, you didn’t see the look of heartbreak in Steve’s eyes. They carried more worry than before, confusion and a load of regret as he started to catch on to what was going on with you. It was all a misunderstanding, and he felt like the biggest idiot in the world.

Getting ready for your date was supposed to be fun and exciting, but after you yelled at Steve last night, nothing seemed to cheer you up.

You regretted every single word you yelled at him. He came to check up on you, but all he got in return was your anger. Though maybe it was for the best, now he had no reason to care about you anymore. You were an asshole. The thought hurt like hell, but you chose to use it as an excuse to ease your feelings.

You dressed up in a white beautiful dress, paired with a pair of white heels. It was Steve’s favourite outfit of yours – he had told you so with words, but his eyes when he looked you, oh, they said so much more. That's were you got the nickname angel from.

It was time to give the outfit a new association, perhaps, the first outfit you wore out with your new potential love interest?

As you walked down the compound hallway to leave, familiar voices came from the kitchen. You knew snooping was wrong, but you couldn’t help listening as it was Steve talking.  

“I’ve been a fool Buck,” Steve sighed, “What am I gonna do?”

“It’s all a big misunderstanding, right? Just tell her everything and I’m sure she’ll understand. Y/N always understands.”

“Yeah, tell her I’ve been going on a new date every week for the past year so that I can forget about her?” Steve groaned, “It sounds awful.”

It did sound awful. He really wanted to get rid of you huh? You didn’t understand why but his words hurt. “-so that I can forget about her.”

You sniffled and was ready to sneak past them, not wanting to hear anymore, but of course, both men noticed your presence. Stupid super hearing.

“Y/N?” Steve asked and walked a little closer to where you were standing, “Wow, angel, you look-” Steve gave you the same look as he always did when you dressed up. He looked at you in awe, which you usually loved, but now, you hated it.

“Princess, you look beautiful!” Bucky commented and walked over to kiss the top of your head, “Where are you headed off to?”

“Oh, I-” You looked at Steve, then shifted your attention back to Bucky, giving him a shy smile, “I’m going on a date.”

The words felt relieving to get out in front of Steve. Now he would know not to treat you like a girlfriend, since you were trying to see someone else, right?

“Oh, really?” Bucky sounded surprised, but you ignored it, “Have uh-” You noticed as Bucky gave a quick look at Steve, before plastering on a big smile, “Have a nice one then! Can’t wait to hear about it!”

“Thanks Buck,” You smiled, “I gotta go.”  

As you rushed out of the room, you didn’t see Steve clenching his jaw and fists. He was irritated at himself for letting it come to this. The feeling of jealusy made him feel sick.

It was an hour into the date, and you were actually enjoying your time. The guy Natasha had set you up with was an agent you had met before during some mission, Christopher. He was cute and had such golden retriever energy - he made you genuinely smile for the first time that day. Apparently he had been smitten with you for a while now, and to no surprise, Natasha knew.

As time passed by, it was time to head home. Both of you had work in the morning anyways. Cristopher followed you all the way back to the Avengers Compound, giving you a kiss on the cheek, “Thank you for giving me a chance Y/N. I had a really wonderful time. Will I see you again?”

Busy with your date, you didn’t see Steve standing nearby, observing the whole thing. He was tense, saddened and growing more and more jealous as he watched you laugh with the other guy.

Steve had come out to get some fresh air, to clear his head, but was interrupted by your arrival. You looked so beautiful, and the sound of your sweet laughter made his knees weak. Oh, how he wished he was the one who caused it.

The morning after your date with Cristopher, you felt the best you had in the last few days. You hummed as you entered the kitchen, the smell of something delicious hitting your nose, “Oh, what’s that smell? It’s amazing.”

“’I made pancakes, so I hope you’re hungry!” Bucky cheered and handed you a plate. You accepted it gladly and sat down at the table next to Natasha and Wanda to your left, and Tony to your right.

“Hey girl, you seem happy. I’m guessing the date was a success?” Natasha asked as she took a bite of her breakfast.

“You finally went on a date with Steve? Rhodes owe me money-” Tony started at the information.

You almost chocked on your first bite of the pancake. Why would he even think that? Didn’t he know Steve was dating Sharon?

“No, Tones, wrong,” Natasha corrected him, “She went with that guy Cristopher. Remember that agent who wouldn’t shut up about her?”

“Oh yeah! The guy who was blabbering about Y/N almost as much as Steve does!”

Steve was blabbering on about you?    

“Anyways, tell us how it went? When’s the next date?” Wanda asked, eager to know.

You chuckled a little nervously, “Well, you see--” You stopped talking as soon as Steve entered the kitchen, shocked to see his fallen shoulders and saddened eyes.

You observed as he grabbed a plate of pankakes, before heading over to the counter to make his morning tea. It was weird not hearing a good morning, or getting greeted with his soft smile. You had no idea what was bothering him, and it killed you inside.

"Y/N? You were saying?" Natasha questioned, as you had left them all hanging.

Your eyes didn't leave Steve's figure, even though he was facing away, "It uh... The date was good."

You watched Steve's whole posture tense as you spoke. Oh, how much you wanted to ask if he was okay. You just didn't feel like you had the right to. The last time you spoke, you were yelling at his face.

"Come on! Give us the details!" Tony pushed.

You shook your head, suddenly not wanting to bother Steve with details of your date. You plasteted on a forced smirk, "You'll have to wait and see if we weet again."

"No come on!"

As Steve was facing away, you couldn't see the tears forming in his eyes. You couln't see the absolute heartbreak on his face from the thought of having lost you. He really felt like he had lost the most important person in his life - and you didn't even know he saw you as such.

Over the past few days, you hadn't shared a single word with Steve, and it was starting to drive you crazy. You didn’t even face each other while in the same room - it was a good thing you hadn't shared a mission yet.

All you wanted was for Steve to be happy, and to be his friend again, so with that, you decided it was time to apologize for your behaviour – even if he wouldn’t forgive you for being such an ass, you knew it was the right thing to do.

Your palms felt sweaty, and your mouth all dried out as you stepped outside his room, “Okay… here goes nothing.” You knocked on the door, feeling your heart thump rapidly against your chest.

When he didn’t answer you knocked twice, then again and again. Giving up, you asked Tony’s A.I. for help, “FRIDAY, where’s Steve?”

“In the gym ma’am.”

You let out a sigh, “Is he… okay?”

“From what I can tell, he seems distressed and angry.”

You felt a knot in your stomach. It was 8 pm, and Steve never worked out in the gym that late unless he was upset, “Fuck… Thanks FRIDAY.”

Earlier that day, Steve had been walking past the door to your room at least five times, with the intention to make up. Though the super solider was way too nervous to bother you and chickened out. It was killing him not having your company every day. He missed you. So, with his emotions changing from heartbreak to anger, and the heavy regret from not telling you the truth and let your relationship come to this, he escaped to the gym.

You entered the gym and carefully closed the door behind you. It took you seconds to see Steve by the six destroyed punching bags on the floor, the seventh about to face the same faith.

Steve’s back was tense, and you could see the anger he was feeling in every punch. You felt the knot in your stomach from before tightening, your palms even more sweaty. Taking a deep breath, you walked up to him; it was time to face the music.

Speaking of music, before you knew it your ears were singing a high-pitched tone, your head hurt and your whole back was facing the cold floor beneath you.

“Oh my god!” Steve rushed to your side, worry in his voice, “Are you okay? I’m so sorry Angel!”

You blinked a few times before looking up at the concerned man above you. Putting a hand to your head, you groaned out due to the pain. Releasing deep breath, you let Steve help you up, “I guess I deserved that.”

You had been so smart to come up behind the Captain and stand in front of the punching bag. Because of Steve’s quick and hard punches, he failed to notice you in time, and punced the bag into you, sending you flying to the floor.

“Seriously, are you okay, doll?”

The concern in Steve’s voice made you forget why you came her in the first place. You only nodded and let him lead you to sit down on a bench. He didn’t let go of your hand as you both sat down.

Steve let out a shaky breath. It was clear it had scared him when he saw you flying in the air, and it was all his fault too. You could see the guilt on his face. He still cared so damn much.

You had enough of Steve feeling so down because of you, he didn’t deserve a second of it, “Steve I’m okay. I’m the idiot for creeping up on you like that… Also, I kinda deserved it after how shitty I’ve been treating you.”

“What are you talking about?” There was confusion in the Captain’s eyes.

“Just… let me talk.” Suddenly you had the courage to just get it out. You took hold of both his hands and looked deeply into his blue eyes, “I’m so sorry Steve. I’ve been an absolute asshole towards you.”

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but closed it as you shook your head, “Let me continue. You’re my best friend and I have so much love for you. You’ve been nothing but good to me, and I was yelling at you for it. Thinking about how good you treat me, your friend, I can only imagine how good you treat Sharon. She’s very lucky and I wish you guys the best.”

Your gaze fell from Steve and down into your lap, “I… I’ve been jealous. With all those dates you’ve been on… Why couldn’t you just pick one the girls and get it over with? I…”

“Cause none of them were you.”

You looked up at him, shock in your eyes, unsure if you heard him correctly. Steve plastered on a small smile, his eyes so soft as he looked into yours, “Y/N, there’s nothing between Sharon and I. The other day, when you saw us at the park, we were walking back from visiting Peggy’s grave. It was only a coincidence we were there at the same time.”

“Oh… but what about your date the day before? You said it was good?” You asked, feeling almost ashamed.

“You left too soon to hear what I told Nat and Wanda. I had a good time, but I wasn’t interested. I’d have way more fun with someone else there with me…” Steve’s voice was low, his hand coming up to caress your cheek, “I can’t hold it back anymore Y/N. I love you; I always have. And those stupid dates?”

Tears were streaming down your cheeks at his confession. Never in a million years would you have thought he loved you back.

Steve chuckled lightly, a hint of sadness in his eyes, “I went on those to get you off my mind. I never belied you could love me back, you’re way too good for me, Angel. Though every damn date I went on, I just couldn’t get you off my mind. Every time they wanted me to come home with them, I only thought; No, I can’t do that to my best girl.”

“Steve…” You felt so stupid for not having confessed your feelings earlier. All this misunderstanding could’ve been avoided, “I love you too. I love you so damn much Stevie.”

Steve breath caught in his throat, not sure he was hearing you clearly, “What?” The word came out weak, like he was scared to wake up from a dream, “What about--”

“Cristopher?” You giggled, “Oh, I had a nice time with him, but you know, he wasn’t you.”

Steve laughed loudly and you joined in. Both of you realised how stupid and blind you had been. You loved each other.

Steve caressed your cheek again, his thumb stroking over your soft skin. The look in his eyes were different than before; you knew it was love. His features, his voice, all soft, “Can I… kiss you?”

You only nodded and let him lead you towards his lips. The kiss was gentle, but a firework erupted inside of you. It made tears fall from your eyes, his too. Pulling away, Steve kissed the top of your head before speaking, “My beautiful, Angel. I can’t believe I finally have you.”

You threw yourself forward and let him wrap his strong arms around you. His embrace felt like home.

It felt so right, and finally, your heart was satisfied.

You didn’t see the tears continue to stream down Steve’s cheeks. You didn’t see the huge weight being lifted off his shoulders. He was so damn in love with you, and he already knew that someday, he wanted to call you his wife.  

THE END! Thank you so much for reading, feedback is very much appreciated <3

[chunksworld]

Swim

IZ*ONE Kim Minju x Male Reader | (Tags: Smut)

A/N: #BreedMinju. Thank you to Kaede for beta reading as always.

————————

You never imagined in your wet dreams, in all of the times you masturbated to her, or even that time you drunk texted her a picture of you shirtless after one too many drinks at the bar that the woman you met inside the elevator during your first day at the company some two odd years ago would be in your apartment watching some rom-com from the 90s that you are too inebriated to remember the title of. Your heart is pounding, partly because of the double serving of triple shot espresso you perhaps shouldn’t have drank this morning and partly because she looks devastatingly stunning in that white shirt that completely conceals whatever shorts she maybe wearing underneath which further accentuates those long legs of hers—

“I don’t remember the TV facing this direction, unless there’s something on my face?”

Shit.

Aside from her God-given physical features, it’s the way she can toy with your feelings and flirt with you so effortlessly that always leaves you wanting for more. Every single little interaction with her is an adventure on its own; the way she would wink at you every time you pass by her in the office, the way she would walk up to you to fix your tie while telling you how your perfume “smells like the oceanside on a summer day” —whatever the hell that means— or how she would always give you words of encouragement with that bright smile of hers during stressful days. 

It should mean something, has to mean something. Right? You can’t ask anyone for advice either, not when you’re the only two people born on this side of the century in your department. Your coworkers are either divorced or having a midlife crisis, and quite frankly, you might be having a quarter-life crisis if such a thing exists. You can’t stay professional any longer, and you are more than thankful that you’re not at the workplace right now because the thoughts swimming inside your head are absolutely not safe for work. And it’s all because of this fucking woman that’s laughing as if everything is sunshine and rainbows: Kim Minju. 

It doesn’t help that she’s the prettiest woman you know. even more so than the handful of girls you’ve hooked up with during college. Evidently, you are not the only one that shares that sentiment because you don’t miss the old way some of your older male coworkers would give her a certain, disgusting look that you wish to erase from your memories and you know she deserves better than them. She deserves someone like you, but you don’t exactly know if that feeling is reciprocated. But as to how far you can push your luck, you haven’t found out the answer to that yet—perhaps tonight is the night. 

“Are you still with me? Or did my goddess face lure you in too deep?” 

That now makes the two of you not paying attention to the movie—granted you’ve already seen it at least a dozen times during college when you were a hopeless romantic but who are you to turn down Minju when she specifically requested it? Plus, that’s not your concern at this very moment when she scoots ever so closely to you and the heat her skin radiates is enough to burn you. “Honestly, I don’t blame you if you have a crush on me. I sort of have that effect on guys.” There’s that fucking wink again, and the way she pouts her lips as if she is posing for a selfie. “I admire your resilience though, most guys would have me moaning their names on their bed already by this point.”

“Not funny, Minju.” It really isn’t, not when she’s mere inches away from you and if you were just a bit more drunk now those irresistible lips of hers would be meshed with yours now. You try to look away but you can’t, they captivate you to no end and you don’t even want to look away now—the sheen on those cherry red lips, the way they stand out against her milky white skin, the way she then bites her lower lips as to tempt you even further, the way sweat slowly drips down the side of her face and to her neck and you think they’d look good with your bite marks all over them.

Even if you look down, her succulent thighs and legs are all that will pervade your senses and you won’t be able to stop thinking about how you just want to rip whatever garments she’s wearing underneath and have her spread her legs while you eat her out like she’s your last meal on Earth. “You can’t just keep doing this for years and not expect me to make a move eventually.”

“Then what’s stopping you, hmm?” 

Minju somehow shifts even closer to you, her lips practically brushing against yours, her eyes staring deep into your soul, her hands resting on your thighs. She probes into you even deeper, much deeper than any other time and emergency sirens are popping up in your head. There have been many close encounters like this, way too many for your liking. 

The way she would wear pencil skirts on certain days and make it her mission to bend over in front of you as much as possible to show the unreal curvature of her ass—then proceeding to smirk as if she doesn’t know how much your cock wants to burst through your pants. The way she would purposely bump into you and pretend to fall so you can pull her into an inadvertent hug. 

Or when she would wear those dresses that hug her curves tightly during galas and she would give you a courtesy hug for a second longer than corporate policies would allow. Or when she kissed you during Christmas party last year and claimed that she had to do it because you two were “underneath a mistletoe.” 

It all has to end tonight, because God forbid you have to spend another night alone on your bed making a mess while you shoot ropes after ropes all over yourself thinking about her. It’s exhausting having to play these games with her when you’re 99% sure she is into you and you have to take action now before someone else does.

“Minju, I don’t think you’re ready for what I’m packing down there.” You test the waters even further, carefully studying her facial expressions while trying not to get lost in her eyes. It’s quite a difficult task when the alcohol is hitting you harder by the minute but when a sly grin appears across her face as if to challenge that statement, you know you have her right where you want her.

“Oh trust me, I know what you’re packing down there.” Minju glances downwards at your erection and your sweatpants are doing a poor job with how it’s about to poke through your pants. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be spending my Friday night here when I could be hanging out with Chaewon and Yujin.” It’s getting dangerous now, her hands traveling down your body and cupping your length through two layers of clothing.

And honestly you might as well be naked now with the way your cock reacts to her touch —your tip is leaking heavily and your breath starts to shorten. “So what’s it gonna be? You can’t tell me you have a different plan for how this night is going to end.” You can’t push back any further, you won’t push back. You take the first dip, lips pressed hungrily onto hers and she takes this opportunity to swing her legs over and straddle you on your couch—the movie in the background is long forgotten and all you care about right now is her.

You straighten yourself up and wrap your arms around her waist possessively; two years of pent up sexual frustration finally coming to an end and you make the most of it. Her lips are everything you’ve dreamed of; soft and sweet and succulent and you can’t help but think about how they slot in with yours perfectly as if you were meant to kiss her all this time. Your hands travel to her face to cup her cheeks, pushing her head deeper into yours and you notice her hands encircling around your back. 

You take a break to catch your bearings, staring deep again at her now lust-filled eyes and you get a front row seat to the facial expression you’ve been dying to see for forever now.  She moans into your mouth when one of your hands slides underneath her dress shirt to feel her smooth skin and the ridges of her abs which itself isn’t a surprise—what is surprising is the lack of bra when you travel further upwards and you come into contact with tits that you are sure is perky and round. “What a fucking slut, Minju. No bra?”

Your suspicions are confirmed when you practically rip the buttons off her shirt and throw it somewhere in your living room and your mouth waters at the sight of her breasts, they are definitely not the biggest you’ve seen but the way they sit on her perfectly shaped body with all of her curves and intricacies is more than enough to make up for it. “What’s the use of wearing one when I knew we were gonna end up like this anyways?” But before you could dive down to taste them you find your shirt being removed as well and the hunger in your eyes is mirrored by the way she’s staring down at your own pack of abs. 

“I mean if I had it my way I would’ve told you to be shirtless already with only your boxers on before I came over but you can’t have everything in life right?” She is as handsy as you, those delicate fingers mapping your chest and your stomach with every little touch as if to decipher where her lips would go later. But you absolutely cannot wait any longer, grabbing her hand and placing it on her sides while you devour her nipples. Taking her left breasts between your lips while massaging the right one and the whimper of your name that escapes her lips is downright sinful while you alternate between the two. 

You lick, slurp, and at times even get your teeth involved—just anything that can get her squirming and writhing on your lap is enough to fuel you. Even more so when she pushes your head deeper into her chest and she’s moaning “more please, fuck” in between whimpers.

Minju is one needy girl and that’s one fact that you find out quickly when she starts to grind on your hips and you can feel just how warm and wet her shorts are. You inadvertently bite on her nipples and she screams your name at the sensation. You utter a “sorry” in response but it doesn’t really matter when she gets off of you and you think you’ve absolutely screwed up. Fucking great. She stands up and you are about to give a more sincere and heartfelt apology but those thoughts are quickly washed away when she removes her shorts and then her panties.

“I want to see that cock. Now.”

You don’t waste a single moment before you proceed to do the same thing to your undergarments and the sight of her fully naked in front of you causes you to leak even more precum with your cock freely exposed to the air. Minju looks hot—which in itself might be an understatement with the way she’s fucking you with those wide eyes of hers, the way her nipples are glimmering under the lights of your living room thanks to your saliva, the way her abs contract with every breath she takes, the way those stocky thighs are slick with her essence. Forget those wet dreams because none of them could match witnessing the actual Kim Minju naked in real life in your apartment.

Minju squeals when you drag her back down towards you to make her straddle your lap again. No more games, no more foreplay, you slowly sink her down your cock and drink in her moans when she buries her face in your shoulder. She is suffocatingly tight, extremely wet but tight and you almost spill mere seconds after finally inserting your entire length inside her. You wince slightly as her manicured nails press into your shoulders and eventually your back. “Fucking—shit—If I only knew—” 

Your pace is slow and methodical, even though you want to just pound her into oblivion and have her screaming to the point your neighbors will complain the morning after. She is Minju after all and she deserves that respect, but as to how long you can control yourself you don’t know. For now, you are content to just have her in your arms and revel in this moment that you’d never thought would ever come. Just feeling how your cock molds perfectly inside her and how her small bunny hops gradually increase over time and her face becomes lost in pleasure is more than enough.

Especially when you feel every inch of her goddess-like body pressed against yours when she arches up to you; her thighs bouncing against yours, her abs grinding against yours, and those breasts pressed against your chest. “—so deep, fuck—harder!” It’s about time you take control and you do just that, you plant your feet to the ground and you grab handfuls of her asscheeks with each hand before thrusting up in time with her thrust and Minju’s gone completely delirious now. 

Gone are the coherent sentences as they are now replaced by expletive-filled chants of pleasure. She’s damn near crying on your cock, tears welling up in her eyes due to pleasure and so you pull her face away to get a glimpse of her sweat-misted face and how her eyes are unfocused. You don’t know what came over you but you feel your heart skip a beat seeing such surreal beauty up close and personal so you pull her in for another makeout session, continuing your long and hard thrusts while your tongue ravages her mouth much like your cock does with her pussy.

“Fucking hell, we should’ve done this sooner.” Another kiss on her lips, then another lick of her nipples—make that two licks, no in fact, you devour them once more. It’s becoming clearer that they’re starting to become your favorite part of her body and it’s completely justified. “ I can’t believe I had to jack off to your pictures when you were just one call away.” The woman in question doesn’t respond but she blushes, the raw honesty of your words is enough to reveal that shy and demure side of her again despite the situation you two are currently in. 

Minju just brushes her hair aside in response while looking away, taking the initiative to bounce on your cock and you let her take over once again. “W-Well I’m here now—“ A particularly hard thrust deep into a certain spot inside her has her clenching around your cock much tighter than usual, you take mental note of this “—I hope I’m as good as advertised.” Of course she is and even better than whatever scenario you were cooking up inside your head, but instead of showing it through words you just smile at her and hope that it’s enough to show your admiration and you let your body do the talking.

You’re noticing how tired she’s becoming being on top so you don’t waste any more time and pick up the pace while still letting her guide the way. It’s silence between the two of you aside from the sounds of passionate lovemaking and that is just enough to push you two closer to the edge. You feel her clench tighter around you again and likewise you can feel your balls throbbing in anticipation too. It’s been a stressful week at work and there’s no better place to unload than inside her welcoming pussy. You’re just as close to her as reaching your orgasm and it’s becoming extremely difficult not to do anything but to burst inside hers. 

Forget the lovemaking, you lift her up by her asscheeks and stand up from the couch and you immediately feel her limbs coil around your body as she gasps at the sensation of being fully seated by your cock. You start to thrust up again, this time more relentlessly without the restrictions of the couch and she’s leaking even more now and you can actually feel her juices stream down your cock and you know she’s extremely close. “D-Don’t stop, please. Don’t you ever fucking stop!” She’s bouncing much higher than before, almost completely unsheathing your length before she crashes back down on it again and now she’s actually crying in pleasure. 

“Hnnghhh! Fuck! I can’t, I can’t—” There was certainly no way she was going to last any longer. “—G-Gonna cum on your cock!” And a few more of those wild thrusts is all it takes to set her off, going limp and forcing you to grab hold of her even tighter so she doesn’t slip off—a task given difficult given how much sweat is emanating both of your bodies but you don’t care especially when all of those juices causes you to slip out of her for a minute and you don’t care about the mess you two are making on the floor at this very moment when you’re about to follow her with your own orgasm. 

“Such a fucking good girl for me, Minju.” You slide back inside her, this time it’s easier thanks to the lubrication she provided and you can’t help but grit your teeth and close your eyes. It’s too much, all of this. What transpired tonight and what it means for your future. It’s all too much to handle and you can’t hold it any longer. You’re about to give her the biggest load you’ve ever given anyone.  “You deserve all of this, I’ve wanted you so fucking bad.“ All she can do is nod as she is still sensitive from her own orgasm but with the way she’s wrapping her arms around you tighter she wants it as badly as you do. “Gonna fucking cum inside.”

“Please! I want your hot—hnggh—I want your cum. Please. When a beautiful woman like her gives you such a permission you don’t waste it, you hold her tight as you begin to pump ropes after ropes of cum in her pussy with every deep thrust. You don’t want to stop cumming, can’t stop cumming—your legs going weak and forcing you to sit down on the couch while you continue to unload deep inside Minju. It feels fucking euphoric, feeling your load drip back down to your cock and balls as that seemed to drain the soul out of you. 

You’ve been holding back from the moment you first saw her all those years ago and there’s no better feeling than this, not even a promotion could rival how addicting having sex with her feels and you want more. You want to continue diving into the ocean that is Kim Minju even if it means drowning, nothing else matters but her.

As if to try to coax more cum out of you, Minju continues to grind her hips while kissing you. This time it’s much more slow and gentle while you lay her on the couch and hover on top of her. It’s beautiful how her hair, though disheveled, cascades down her shoulders and fans out on the cushion below. 

Her limbs are still wrapped tight around you, your softening cock starting to harden while you begin to fuck her once more—you’re making a mess of the couch with how you’re fucking your cam back into her but it doesn’t matter when she’s going to be filled again. “You still have enough cum for me? I’m surprised.” 

You place kisses on her neck this time, making sure to leave marks dark enough that no amount of foundation can conceal it once Monday comes around. Surprisingly she doesn’t protest, perhaps she does want everyone to find out about you two. “Guess I didn’t do a good job of draining you, huh?” You respond by fucking her harder into the couch, feeling the furniture creak and move with every thrust and you render her speechless once again. 

Lean down to capture those bouncing tits in your mouth and continue to work her to another orgasm which wasn’t difficult to accomplish considering how sensitive she still is. It didn’t take long to set you off either and you unload whatever remaining load you have, which is still plenty considering you almost passed out with how much you left inside her just ten minutes ago.

She urges you to sit up on the couch again and she gets off of it to kneel down in front of you before then taking your flaccid cock in her mouth to clean you off. The sight is pornographic, the way she shows off your combined juices on her tongue before making a show of swallowing it all. “Hmm, we taste good together. I don’t mind having some more of that.”

Minju gets off her knees to sit down right beside you and the way her naked body glistens under the natural light outside your apartment is an unparalleled sight that has your heart swooning and doing backflips. “Well, I’m free this entire weekend.” And perhaps shooting your shot when all of this has already happened is quite a ridiculous predicament to be in but you don’t want to be selfish after all. Surely a girl like her has plenty of suitors you’re not aware of and you don’t want to tie her down especially when nothing is official yet.

“I guess I could be convinced.”

Those ten seconds of silence felt like an eternity. But it was all worth it the moment she gives you that smile that makes your heart race even faster. And despite kissing her for what seems like a million times already, this one has special weight. As if to tell the world that the most beautiful woman you have ever known and perhaps will ever know is now yours and there’s nothing that could change that. Screw all of those disgusting old men with their mid-life crisis because your quarter-life crisis just ended in the most satisfying way possible.

You’re embarrassed by the way you whine the moment you don’t feel her lips on yours anymore but you are quickly consoled the moment she stands up and turns around to flaunt that perfectly shaped ass of hers. Suddenly, blood rushes to your cock again as if you didn’t cum twice already. 

“Come on, take me to your bedroom.” Minju eyes you like a piece of meat once again when she pulls you up to your feet. 

“There’s one more hole you forgot to fill.”

[dnptheinfinity]

can’t believe its not even 3 pm yet wtf

[applepiewinchesters]

Doomed (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)

Summary: The arrival of two new mutants at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters brings some excitement to an otherwise normal day, particularly for you, Scott Summers’ sister. When you meet Logan and his cocky attitude, you soon realize you may be crushing on the new guy.

Word Count: 2,988

Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters was never one to turn away a lost mutant, even if they weren’t what was considered a “youngster”.

There were excited whispers all over the school about the two mutants who had been brought to the mansion late last night. One of them, Rogue, was already becoming acclimated, attending classes. You’d had the pleasure of meeting her when she joined your English class.

The other, a man, was still unconscious in Jean’s lab, having taken a nasty beating shortly before being rescued. You had tried to sneak down there during the students’ lunch break but your brother, Scott, had stopped you.

“We don’t know if this guy is dangerous,” Scott had sighed, dragging you away from the lower level entrance.

You pulled your arm from his grasp, “Scott, I’m a grown woman, and we’re the same age, I can take care of myself.”

Scott rolled his eyes which were hidden behind his sunglasses, “I don’t care I don’t want you getting hurt!”.

“Oh but Jean can be by herself?,” you argued,” She’d let me be down there with her!”.

“I’m not Jean, so get over it,” Scott said but turning and heading down the long hallway.

You’d flipped him off while his back was turned before stalking back to your classroom and waiting for the break to be over. All the while your mind on the mysterious man downstairs. You hadn’t even got to catch a glimpse of him when he and Rogue had arrived. He was whisked away for aid and you were tasked with making Rogue comfortable.

Charles felt you would be able to make the younger girl feel safe, she’d seemed a bit shaken up but it was nothing a hot drink couldn’t fix. You answered any questions she had while sitting at the kitchen table. Charles ended up being right in the end, he always was.

It was a bit later in the afternoon when you saw Scott run past your classroom door. You were grading a couple essays and your eyebrows knit together as you quickly stood, heading to the doorway.

You poked your head out the doorway, calling to your brother at the end of the hall, “What happened!?.”

“The other mutant, he woke up and attacked Jean, he’s somewhere in the mansion! Stay there!” Scott called back.

Nodding you walked back into the room, wondering if you should just stay there or risk running into the man.

It seemed fate decided for you when a man with dark hair dressed in black pants and what you recognized as gray zip up hoodie from the school slipped inside your classroom. You couldn’t help but notice the chest hair peeking out from the top of the jacket. He was barefoot and his hazel eyes darted around the room, quickly landing on you.

You couldn’t help but back up slightly at the intensity of his gaze, he looked confused and totally pissed at the same time.

Deciding to press your luck a little further you lifted your hands in mock surrender, “Slow your roll bucko, there’s kids here, don’t get crazy,” you reasoned.

“Where am I?” the man asked, ignoring your attempt at being somewhat humorous, probably partly deserved.

“Westchester, New York,” came a calm voice from behind the man, making him turn.

Charles was there, looking expectantly at the intruder. “More specially, a school, my school, I see you’ve met one of my brilliant teachers,” Charles explained.

You cracked a smile at the compliment, putting your hands down, “Flattery will get you nowhere, you know that.”

“I can always try,” Charles commented.

“What the fuck is going on?” the man asked, his voice was rough, almost a growl as he interrupted your conversation.

“Logan, please, calm down, come with me,” Charles spoke. Without another word he turned in his wheelchair, leaving the room and heading in the direction of his office.

The man, Logan, as Charles had called him, turned to you, almost for what seemed like clarification.

You only shrugged, motioning for him to leave the room as well. When he eventually did you followed, excited to finally be in on the big secret that’s been sleeping all day.

Arriving in Charles’ office you plopped down into one of the chairs in front of the large desk after shutting the wooden doors behind the three of you.

“Would you like some food?” Charles asked Logan, who stood close to the door, eyeing the room warily.

“Why am I here?” Logan asked, answering with a question of his own.

“You were attacked. My people brought you here for medical attention,” Charles explained.

“I don’t need medical attention,” Logan replied.

“Of course not,” you found yourself saying, looking up at Logan.

He glared slightly at you before smirking, “What’s your name sweetheart?” he asked, his chest puffed out a little, hands behind his back, he was cocky to say the least.

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?” you teased, but stood from your seat regardless. “I’m Y/N, Y/N Summers.”

You held out your hand to shake and he took it, his hand was large and warm, his grip a little tight. “Logan,” he told you, “but you’re welcome to call me anything you like.”

“How about dickhead?”.

Introductions were interrupted by Scott throwing open the office doors, almost immediately taking a protective stance by your side.

“Logan this is Scott Summers, also called Cyclops,” Charles spoke, you watched as your brother gave Logan a rather firm handshake.

“Any relation?” Logan asked you, motioning to Scott.

“Twins, unfortunately,” you answered, throwing an arm around your brother to let him know were, of course, just kidding.

Logan looked almost shocked, “Wouldn’t have guessed.”

“And why is that?” Scott challenged, attempting to take a step forward but you gripped the back of his jacket.

“Well she’s…,” Logan trailed off, glancing over to you and giving you a quick wink, “and you’re, well, the sunglasses don’t do you much justice bub let’s just say that,” Logan smirked.

“Watch your f-,” Scott started but was thankfully interrupted by Ororo striding in.

You caught yourself smiling at Logan’s remark, and felt your face heat up slightly when you noticed Logan was staring at you.

Charles ignored the previous interaction, moving on with introductions,“This is Ororo Munroe, also called Storm, Ororo this is Logan.”

The two shook hands without any issue, Scott stayed planted by your side, always the overprotective sibling you never wanted.

“Where’s the girl?” Logan asked once he and Ororo shook hands.

“She’s here, she’s fine,” you spoke up, flashing Logan a reassuring smile, his gaze lingered on you a second more than it should have.

“We brought you here to keep you safe from Magneto,” Charles explained.

“What’s a magneto?” Logan asked.

“A very powerful mutant, who believes a war is brewing,” Charles answered, “I’ve been following his activities for quite some time. The man who attacked you is an associate of his called Sabertooth.”

“Sabertooth?” Logan asked, practically rolling his eyes, “She’s Storm. He’s Cyclops. What do they call you? Wheels?”.

His question was directed at Charles and you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, quickly clamping a hand over your mouth.

Charles let it slide as Logan made his way towards the door, “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said.

Scott moved to block Logan’s way.

“You wanna get out of my way?” Logan asked, stepping closer to Scott who didn’t budge.

“Logan, it’s been almost fifteen years, hasn’t it?” Charles interrupted, making Logan turn away from your brother. “Living from day to day, moving from place to place, with no memory of who or what you are.”

“Shut up!” Logan growled, fingers curling into fists.

“Give me a chance,” Charles tried again, “I may be able to help you find some answers.”

Without another word Charles wheeled out of the room.

“Where’s he going?” Logan asked, looking to you.

You only smiled and motioned for him to follow, and after a moment he did, reluctantly.

That left you, Ororo, and Scott alone in the office. Scott stepped towards you and away from the door.

“What was that?” he seethed.

“What was what?” you replied, “I can’t be nice to a man who’s obviously had a pretty shit roll of the dice recently?”.

“Not that one,” Scott argued.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest, “Oh like we were perfect when we first got here, remember when you shot that huge hole in the roof?”.

“He’s not a kid, Y/N! He attacked Jean when he woke up, I already said I don’t want anything happening to you!” Scott told you.

Ororo was quick to leave the room during your little argument, she hated yours and Scott’s sibling spats, and today was not a day she wanted to be in the middle of one.

“Charles trusts him so I do too,” you replied.

Scott groaned, throwing his hands up, “Fine, whatever.”

You sighed, placing a hand on Scott’s shoulder, “I know you care, okay? And I love that you do but I’ll be fine, got it?”.

Scott only nodded, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and leading you from the office. The two of you met Jean in the hallway, who looked fine despite her surprise attack.

“Met our new mutant?” she asked you, taking Scott’s hand.

You smiled and nodded, “He’s…funny.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Scott mumbled. Jean placed a kiss on his cheek, making him perk up a bit.

“Your sister can take care of herself Scott,” Jean teased, pulling him away from you.

You heard Scott begin to argue as Jean directed him down the hall, she threw a quick wink over her shoulder at you before they disappeared around the corner. Jean always had your back and you loved her for it.

Heading the opposite way of your brother and Jean, you made your way towards the gardens where most of the kids were playing.

There was a basketball court, lots of places to run as well as sit and just enjoy the day. It really was beautiful. You’d arrived there some while ago and even since you’ve been at the school it’s expanded. Charles wasted no expense making sure everyone felt at home.

When you made it outside you saw Charles and Logan talking, when the older man noticed you he waved you over. You obliged, crossing the grass, making sure to be wary of a few kids playing tag.

“Need me?” you asked when you reached the two men.

“Would you please show Logan to his room?” Charles asked you.

You nodded, “Of course! Come on.”

Logan followed you without a fight, maybe his talk with Charles helped. Once inside you climbed the stairs to the second floor which held student’s and teacher’s dorms.

Walking past a few doors you stopped in front of the one you knew to be empty, grabbing the door knob and pushing it open.

“This is where you’ll be staying, there is a bathroom so you won’t need to go looking for one,” you spoke, entering the room, Logan following behind you.

“Umm, food is served downstairs but you’re always welcome to eat up here, if there’s any food you like specifically we can buy it,” you found yourself rambling a bit, “I’m sensing you’re a steak on the raw side kind of guy.”

This made Logan chuckle, “What makes you say that?”.

You shrugged, “Your…vibe? And those dog tags around your neck say Wolverine.”

Logan looked down, seeming to notice the dog tags then, he quickly put them inside the jacket.

“So do you have some kind of…dog mutation?” you asked, almost cringing at your words.

This didn’t seem to faze him though, he only laughed again, he seemed less tense than before, even stepping a bit closer to you.

“No, I’m not a dog, I…,” Logan trailed off, and you jumped a bit when three sharp, long blades extended from his left fist.

“I get it now,” you said when you found your voice again, watching the claws retreat back into Logan’s knuckles. “Jean is probably going to make you come back down to the lab, figure out exactly why you have…well, that.”

Logan nodded, “So, do you have a silly code name too or is it just Y/N?”. He quirked up an eyebrow at you, making you smile a bit.

“Roulette,” you answered.

“Oh?” Logan asked, seeming to be intrigued.

“I can switch people’s mutations at will, I could make Scott have your claws and you have his laser eyes, but it’s temporary, so far the longest I’ve been able to make it last is a few hours and that’s been with years of training,” you explained, “It’s tricky, but, ya know, I’m stuck with it.”

“That’s…that’s really amazing,” Logan told you truthfully, making you blush.

“It’s nothing really, sometimes it does more harm than good,” you said, brushing off the compliment.

“Don’t we all?” Logan asked you, making you meet his gaze again.

He was closer to you now, your chests almost touching. You were interrupted by a quick knock on the door frame.

Scott.

“Jean wants him downstairs again,” Scott said, leaning against the door, no doubt glaring at Logan behind his glasses. “I’ll take you.”

Logan rolled his eyes, “Whatever you say bub.”

You glared at your brother before turning back to Logan, “I’ll see you later, and I’m two doors down, if you ever need anything.”

Giving Logan another smile you turned, leaving the room, bumping your shoulder against Scott’s, mumbling a “Be nice,” to him before heading to your own room.

Logan turned to Scott then, cocking his head, “You gonna tell me to stay away from your sister?”.

Scott stood up straight, folding his hands behind his back, “I shouldn’t have to.”

“I think she can make her own decisions,” Logan argued, stalking towards the other man. “Seems like a smart girl.”

“She is,” Scott replied, turning away from Logan to begin their decent down to the lower levels, “that’s why I trust that she’ll see you for what you really are soon enough.”

“Oh and what’s that?” Logan asked, beginning to follow Scott down the hall.

“Another asshole that will break her heart in a week,” Scott said, turning around to face Logan.

“Then you must not be that smart,” Logan smirked, “maybe take some pointers from your sister.”

A loud crack out in the hall made you stick your head out of your bedroom, and you saw Scott and Logan. Scott was cradling his fist, a string of curses leaving his mouth. Logan turned to look at you, shrugging and sending you a wink.

You rolled your eyes. Men.

“Come on you two,” you sighed, heading towards them. “Jean can wrap up your hand while he gets scanned.”

“Scanned?” Logan asked as you steered your still cursing twin towards the stairs.

“It’s an MRI really, nothing to worry about,” you reassured. Logan seemed a bit hesitant but nodded and followed.

Scott kept quiet the whole way after his cursing ended, his pride more hurt than his hand. When you reached the lab you pushed your brother towards his girlfriend.

“White Knight over here needs a bandage,” you joked, and Logan snorted a bit.

Jean sighed and nodded, “Take off your shirt and lay over there,” she directed Logan towards the large machine in the corner while Scott sat on another table.

You grabbed a first aid kit and handed it to Jean while Logan unzipped his jacket, tossing it onto a work station along with his dog tags.

He was, to put it lightly, ripped. You could already tell even with the jacket on, but seeing him with it off was enough to make you stare.

When he eventually caught you, you looked away, letting him climb up on the table while you directed your attention back to Scott and Jean.

Jean was wrapping his hand in gauze, “A sprain,” she mouthed to you over Scott’s shoulder and you nodding, smiling.

Turning back to Logan you walked to the edge of the table, he looked up at you and smirked.

“See something you like?” he asked, making you laugh and shake your head.

“I think that’s enough with the flirting for today lover boy,” you said, patting his arm. “I’ve gotta go help with dinner.”

Logan seemed a bit disappointed but nodded as you turned away from him.

“See you both later,” you told Jean and Scott as you made your way towards the door.

Jean nodded and Scott kept his head down, confirming his ego was more bruised than anything.

When you were out of sight of the three of them you took a minute to lean against the cold metal walls of the lower level, taking a deep breath.

Logan was going to be the death of you, you could already see that, but whether in a good or bad way you couldn’t quite tell yet.

After a second you pushed off the wall and headed back upstairs, joining Ororo and a few older students in the kitchen to help prepare dinner.

You stood beside Ororo, cutting vegetables, your mind wandering to Logan, him lying on that table…

Ororo nudged you just in time to keep you from slicing your finger open.

“Sorry,” you said, face heating up.

“Distracted?” she asked, giving you a knowing look.

“No!” you answered too quickly.

Ororo patted your shoulder as she moved to the other side of you to grab a knife, “Whatever you say kid.”

The rest of the night was spent trying to convince everyone, including yourself, that you were not crushing on the new guy.

But when you were headed to bed that night and Logan stopped you in the hall outside his room to thank you for the help and wish you goodnight, you knew you were doomed.

[gurugirl]

Must be nice | bfd!harry

Summary: You and Harry feel like everything's coming together perfectly. You're both getting all the things you wanted. But when you run into Fae while shopping and she notices something new about you, it bursts your little happy bubble.

Partly based on this request!

Word Count: 3.4k

Warning: 18+ only, smut, age gap, angst, uncomfortable confrontation, pregnancy stuff 👀

Best Friend's Dad!Harry masterlist | Main Masterlist

. .

You had a feeling before it was confirmed. Harry had already started getting the small bedroom closest to the master bedroom ready; painted, new crib, little toys, a changing table. You joked with him about how it was probably bad luck to begin before you’d even taken the test but he reminded you of how your intuition told you he’d gotten you knocked up.

“Besides, if not now, then soon.”

He might have been more excited about it than you were. Which surprised you honestly. You weren’t even married yet, he was freshly divorced, and his daughter was hardly speaking to him.

Sometimes you wondered if he was throwing himself at this new life, new family, to suffocate the thoughts he had about what he’d done. You hated to think that he was feeling guilt and that the only way he could get his head above water was to pretend everything was okay.

But then again, you were doing the same thing. It hurt too much to get into your head about everything. About how you’d ruined your relationship with your best friend and in turn, ruined her relationship with her father. So, there was guilt there, you just preferred to pretend things were perfectly fine.

And things were fine. Really. You got what you wanted in the end. Whether or not you deserved it was another story altogether.

So when you did finally take that test you’d been waiting for and it had two pink lines across the readout, even though you already knew it, you were still excited. Over the moon.

Harry was out of his mind. He took off two days of work to hang out with you and “celebrate” as he called it. Which just entailed him waiting on you hand and foot and making you realize that he was the best thing that had ever happened to you. It was hard to regret everything that had gone down when Harry treated you like a Queen.

When you told your mom, Harry was with you. He insisted on being there. He was trying not to tell her before you did so you had to just spit it out and say it. Harry pulled your mom into his arms and kissed her on the top of her head the moment you got the words out, “I’m pregnant!”

Part of you thought there would be more shame around the whole thing but Harry seemed like a child full of joy. It made you ecstatic to be carrying his baby. He was thrilled and so you would be too. It was easy to feel like things were idyllic and sweet when Harry was so thrilled. It kind of rubbed off on you.

Four months after settling in the new house and two months after finding out you’d been knocked up you and Harry had a few people over for a small party. He’d begun on the garden and it was looking just darling so he wanted to have people over to show off the house a bit.

Harry was set up at the grill with a beer in hand while you were talking to the wife of one of his coworkers and plating sliced veggies and dip in the kitchen. Everyone but you had an alcoholic drink. You didn’t know if that would be obvious or not but Harry didn’t care if anyone else knew. You figured it was just a matter of time before he couldn’t keep his mouth shut anyway.

Everyone invited was someone Harry knew from work. You didn’t really have many friends and the ones you did, you weren’t so sure about having over. Paloma was nosey and disingenuous you felt, and she was still friends with Fae so you knew she’d be reporting back everything. Fae had been your closest friend before everything and ever since losing your job at the restaurant you lost touch with the ones you were closest with. That left you with very few people you felt you could trust other than your mother.

“I am in love with this kitchen,” Shelcin gushed before sipping her wine.

“It’s really nice. We love it here.”

The woman leaned back and peeked into the living room before stepping in closer to you, “Can I just… I want to say something and I hope it doesn’t come off as offensive but I can’t help but wonder how you two moved along this quickly. I mean I know he’s divorced now and you were with him during all that,” she paused and settled her hand on the granite counter, “But… you guys must have really gotten serious quickly. For him to just move on like that.”

You tried not to let the shock show on your face. You knew people knew, mostly, but to be asked about it so directly? You hadn’t been prepared.

Clearing your throat you looked Shelcin directly in the eyes, “Well, we’ve been together, technically, for over a year at this point. And it wasn’t an overnight thing. We know what we did was not good but we just… we fell in love. Wanted to be together.”

“Over a year. I didn’t realize it had been that long. I knew something about Harry getting a divorce and that he met you before the divorce was final. So you two…” she raised her glass along with her eyebrows, “Again… not trying to offend. I’m just curious. You don’t have to answer, but he left his wife for you? You came before any talk of divorce?”

Looking over your shoulder out the window to see Harry looking pleased as he spoke to two of the guys outside you looked back at the woman, “Yes. I’m the reason they got divorced.”

Shelcin leaned her hip into the counter and grinned, “I like you. I never met his ex, so don’t worry. I’m not taking sides. But I can see how much he loves you. That dinner we all went to last month? He couldn’t stop staring at you. It’s really sweet actually. I wish Ken looked at me like that.”

You felt like you could let your guard down suddenly. Her smile and reassurance felt nice. You’d have to get used to answering questions about it you supposed and she hadn’t been catty about it, at least.

“Yeah, he’s great. I feel lucky that he loves me so much because I love him like crazy.”

“I noticed you’re not drinking. Any reason in particular?”

You laughed and shook your head, “You are kind of nosy, aren’t you?”

The laugh that belted from her chest had you laughing harder. It felt good to talk about it and laugh. To not take it so seriously.

Shelcin nodded, “I am nosy. Pardon. It’s the Colombiana in me. If I start asking things that make you uncomfortable you can just ignore me or tell me to shut up. So… is that a question you want to answer?”

Biting your lip you lifted the plate of sliced veggies and motioned your head at her to follow you as you turned to step outside into the backyard. The two other women who were there with their husbands were sitting at the patio set chatting as you sat the plate down.

Turning back toward Shelcin you placed your hand on your hip and glanced at Harry before looking at her, “There is a reason. And right now only Harry and my mother know so don’t say anything.”

Her eyes widened as she leaned in and whispered in your ear, “You’re pregnant?”

You nodded as she moved away and she raised her glass up with a nod at you before taking another sip.

“Burgers are just about done, babe! Sit down! I’ll take care of the rest,” Harry pointed at you.

You had been nervous to have people over but it turned out you had a spectacular time. Shelcin kept you laughing and her prying questions made you uncomfortable but by the end of it all, you realized you didn’t need to be uncomfortable. What was done was done. Life is messy, as she kept saying. Not everyone needed to know everything but you felt like you could finally let go of some of your regrets. It felt freeing to talk about it with someone else.

Harry was with you at every appointment and as your tummy grew little by little he seemed to only get more attached to you and the baby. He called you at lunch every day while he was at work to see how you were feeling, he doted on you, made sure you were taking your vitamins and getting plenty of treats.

And he was kind of supercharged sexually as well. It was like putting a baby in you turned him into some kind of sex-obsessed fiend.

You loved that he found you so sexy. But there were days when you couldn’t imagine him sticking his penis inside of you. He never made you feel guilty about it but you could tell he was pent up because any time you gave him any inkling of feeling needy he was all over you. Some weeks you wanted it all the time, others not so much. Your hormones determined how you felt but Harry was just happy to take what you’d give him.

And this week you were horny. You’d called him the day before on his lunch break and he came home right away to take care of you. And right then, as he was working in the garden with his shirt off and his muscles gleaming from sweat, his lats looking extra strong as he bent at the waist to dig the trowel into the dirt you stepped outside with him and admired his fit body, the tattoos, his big hands…

He turned to look at you over his shoulder and smiled, “Hey baby. What’s up?”

Biting your lip you took another step closer and danced your fingers over his sweaty shoulder blades, “Just watching. You’re working so hard. Why don’t you come in for a bit? Take a break.”

Harry dropped the trowel and stood up, turned to face you, and looked you up and down, “All right. Whatever you want. Come on, baby,” he took your hand and led you to the door. You could see it on his face that he knew what you wanted.

When he tried to take a quick shower you nearly got on your knees and begged him to just take you to bed right then and there.

You ran your hands up to his shoulders and leaned in to kiss his pecks, “Don’t. I want you now.”

Harry laughed, “Baby, I’m all sweaty and stinky.”

You inhaled and (god you were insane or something) moaned, “You smell so good, Harry. I don’t know what it is but I don’t think I’ve ever been more turned on in my entire life. I want to devour you right now.”

Harry had barely gotten you into bed, your panties pulled down when you pushed him to his back and tore his shorts and underwear off his legs. You wanted him in your mouth. You were going to cry if you didn’t get to taste him. The pungent, masculine scent of him had your mouth watering. Which was funny because you were finding so many scents you once loved, off-putting lately. So to be as turned on as you were by Harry’s sweat surprised you. But there was no time to think about it.

You gave him a good glob of your saliva and smoothed it over him as he tucked his hands behind his head and watched you with a smirk. But you wiped that smirk right off his face when you took him down your throat and began gagging around him. His eyes widened and he gurgled a moan as he pushed himself up just a bit to watch you.

His hands were on your face and at the back of your head as bobbed over him and drooled down his shaft. You’d never sucked him off like that before but there was something so enticing about him right then.

“Holy fuck, Y/n… shit…”

You gasped as you pulled off, your hand wrapped around his base, and grinned, “This big cock, Harry…” you dipped down and licked over his tip with your eyes on his, “You use it so well. Makes me feel so good. Got me pregnant with it…” you wrapped your lips over his crown and lowered again, feeling his length push into the back of your throat before you lifted off again, “Deserves all my devotion. Wanna suck it, and feel it, and have all over me, inside of me...”

You were probably delirious. Your hormones had been raging and you were having the nastiest thoughts all day about Harry. He was easy to fantasize about. Gorgeous and tall, kind and gentle… and then there were times when he fucked you into oblivion and you imagined all the filthy things you two had done…

Harry pulled you off of him when you started to go to town again, his words were breathy, “What’s gotten into you, baby? Act like you’ve never seen my dick before.”

You laughed and pulled your cotton, stretchy dress over your head and then your bra with it, tits bouncing out and Harry’s eyes flitting between your breasts and your face, “I’m so horny, Harry. It’s just my hormones,” you grinned as you straddled his lap and smoothed your palms over his chest, “And you are so fucking sexy and you were just out there in the garden, sweating with this big cock between your legs hidden under your shorts…” you gripped his shaft and pointed the tip right at your aching entrance (yes, you were already aching) before putting your weight over it to slide yourself down his length until you were both moaning together.

Sex while pregnant wasn’t that different at first, but as the months drew on and your tummy got bigger, things had to be modified. You were on top a lot and doggystyle was a go-to when you were too tired to ride him. But one of the biggest differences was how fast you’d come.

Shifting your hips back and forth you reveled in the feel of Harry’s whole cock lodged inside of you. He was so stiff and heavy, so thick… you would never get tired of how good he felt. But having him while you were pregnant and extra sensitive and emotional was kind of addicting.

His hands traced over your tummy and up to your tits before he reached down and planted his big palms on your ass, helping you slide forward and back. He began to thrust up, hitting that deep spot that always made you gasp, “Fuck, Harry!”

Your nerve endings were sizzling with need as you rocked over him harder and he drove into you from his spot below as gently as he could manage. He wanted to pound into you until you were crying, watch your pussy spread open for him as you squeezed your eyes closed but he had to take it easy. You were carrying his baby after all.

But that drove him wild. Seeing your belly swollen and your tits grow heavy was the hottest thing he’d seen. And he’d done that to you. Made his official claim on you. Anyone who saw you together recently knew what was up. You were his girl. He was the one who got to have you.

You felt the heat of your orgasm spread and spread as your pussy slid over him and Harry’s tip nudged through your walls and squished into your deepest spot. “Fuck, you coming, baby? Does that feel good?” He panted his words as he watched you drop your head back and you whined a wet moan into the room. Harry finished you off with his knees bent and his feet planted flat on the mattress as he rutted up into you, plunging in to let you feel all of him as you pulsed around his cock.

Harry watched your pretty tits bounce as he fucked into you and then felt his release course through his balls, up into his length, and pump inside of you in heavy, hot throbs.

When oxygen had returned to your lungs you looked down at his face. His half-lidded eyes, heaving chest, and parted lips with borders edged upward in a satisfied grin – handsome and all yours.

.                 .                 .

“I think this one is better. I like the strawberry more. Or should we just get both?” Harry asked as he held up the jar of preserves. You were both standing in an aisle at Target doing a little shopping.

You shrugged, “Whichever one is fine. We don’t need both, though. I like raspberry and strawberry. Get the strawberry if you like that one better.”

Harry pursed his lips and looked down at both jars, “Okay. Strawberry it is.”

“Dad? Y/n?”

You and Harry turned toward the familiar voice. You almost couldn’t believe you were looking directly at Fae at that moment. But she wasn’t looking at your face. She was staring at your obviously pregnant tummy with her mouth dropped open and wide eyes as she approached you both.

“Hi, Fae. How are you doing, honey,” Harry glanced at you and then looked at his daughter. It was clear that she’d made a shocking discovery based on the look on her face.

“Is this for real?” Finally, Fae’s eyes landed on yours before she looked at her dad.

“That she’s pregnant?” Harry replied. You were too stunned to speak as you grasped onto Harry’s arm and watched your ex-best friend scrutinize the scene.

“I- I can’t believe you’re pregnant. This is…” Fae turned to look behind herself and then back at you and then Harry, “How far along?”

Harry looked down at you and then at his daughter, “About five months.”

“And when were you going to tell me?”

You blinked your eyes and placed one of your hands on your tummy.

“Well, I guess we just haven’t really told all that many people yet,” Harry spoke softly.

“All that many people… Okay. So your daughter doesn’t get like first notice. Got it. Makes sense.” She paused as she shook her head and then tilted her head, eyes on you, “Are you gonna say anything at all?”

Swallowing the bile down your throat you squeezed Harry’s arm, “Um, it’s nice to see you, Fae.”

“It’s nice to see me?  Is it really, Y/n? Because I’m not getting that vibe from either of you. It’s almost like you hoped I’d never know about this.”

“No. I- actually I’m happy to see you. I’ve missed you. It was just a surprise to see you.”

“Same. Quite surprised to see you both and to see you pregnant,” Fae looked at her dad, “Does mom know?”

Harry shook his head, “No. Like I said, not many know yet.”

She nodded, “Heard about the new house too. You’re both just living that sweet life, not a care in the world, yeah? Must be nice.”

“Hey, that’s not fair. I know you’re upset about everything and there’s a lot to get through here but we are happy together. I’m sorry–“

Fae put her hand up, “I know you’re sorry, Dad. I don’t need to hear the spiel again. You two are happy and in love, and now you’re having a baby. How wonderful. Congrats,” she turned around and began to walk away.

“Fae. Come on! Don’t just leave like this,” Harry called after her but she didn’t stop until she was out of sight of both of you.

And just like that, the little happy, peaceful bubble you and Harry had crafted was burst. The reality wasn’t as sweet as you’d been pretending it was. Fae was hurt and you’d done that to her. The anger she had toward you was warranted. You still hoped that maybe one day she’d forgive you but the reminder of what you’d done to get where you were in that moment was heavy over you.

You couldn’t avoid reality forever.

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Good Luck, Babe! (2)- Try To Stop The Feeling

Wanda Maximoff X Reader 18+

Inspired by the song 'Good Luck, Babe!' by Chappell Roan

Summary: Returning to Westview after twelve years away causes you to look back on your secret love affair with Wanda, to remember the intimate moments you shared together before her refusal to accept her true self drove the two of you apart, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your broken heart alone.

What happens when you reunite with the woman you've been trying so hard to forget, forced to watch her suffer in an unhappy marriage that was slowly drowning her, still too scared to confront her true feelings?

Chapter 2- 4.6k- Mature Rating

Good Luck, Babe! Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

A/N- This chapter includes mature themes such as Drinking, Descriptions internalised homophobia and Allusions to compulsory heterosexuality.

---

Laughter filled the room as you chuckled around your cigarette, your head tilting to the side to blow the smoke towards the ceiling of Natasha's room, the redhead on the bed next to you copying your actions as she amused you. You looked at your best friend, admiring the playful and casual smirk planted on her lips as you chilled with her, watching happily as she moved her hand to the gentle beat of the music that was playing from her speaker in the corner, partly buried by clothes her sister had stolen before being forced to return them by Melina. The music that accompanied your laughter and rather loud chatter was something her father, Alexi, was not too pleased about as you heard him mutter something disapproving in Russian as he passed her bedroom door, the redhead mimicking her fathers actions only entertaining you further.

"May would smack the back of my head if she ever caught me doing that," you mutter, shaking your head playfully at Natasha mocking her father, the redhead rolling her eyes as she knew that your Aunt May would never do such a thing to you, she loved you too much. That woman was the sweetest woman she'd ever met, her warm, kind and friendly persona something you loved about your aunt, something you appreciated throughout your whole childhood.

"That woman wouldn't even hurt a fly," the Russian teases, crushing the end of her cigarette in the discarded ash tray on her bedside table before leaning over to where you were laying on her bed, stealing the end of yours as she knew how much it annoyed you, a defeated sigh leaving you as you knew there was no point in fighting her, the woman next to you always able to get what she wants.

Before you could make a snarky remark back at her, complaining how everyone seems to steal your cigarettes, the sound of a grunt and a small thud caught your attention as you both lifted your heads off the mattress to look at the window, the sight of Bucky's hair making you let out a small laugh as he climbed through her window.

"You do know doors exist, right?" you tease, deciding to use your sarcastic comment on the redhead's boyfriend as he pushes his long hair out of his eyes, revealing his icy blue eyes which were filled with just as much mirth as yours.

"As if Alexi would ever let me come in through the front door," he mutters, taking his jacket off before sitting in the chair next to the bed, his smile widening at the sight of the adoring look Natasha offered him before her attention was drawn to outside her door.

"Лучше бы там не было мальчика, Natalia! (There better not be a boy in there, Natalia)" Shouted her father over the music, the sound of a deeper voice catching the older man's attention as he walked passed once more, his fist pounding on the door.

In the room, Bucky's eyes widened, his usually casual blue morphing into worry at Alexi's words, the boy wanting to make a good first impression to his girlfriend's father, prompting him to swiftly drop to the floor by the bed, hiding as all three of you heard her door handle turn. Her father's inspecting gaze soon peeked around the door as Natasha groaned at her father's protectiveness, your smile growing at the whole interaction as you could see the end of Bucky's boot peaking just beyond the end of her bed, your teeth biting down on your lower lip to contain your laughter.

"Papa," she groaned, hiding her face with her hands as her father put his hands up in surrender, not wanting to further annoy his daughter as she could be quite scary when pissed off at him. "It's just Y/n," at her words, you wave at the man with an amused and cocky expression, his face still sceptical though.

"Нет мальчиков (No boys)" Is all he mutters before shutting the door, a sigh of relief leaving the couple whilst you can't help but let out your laughter, Natasha smacking you at how much their nervousness entertained you, your hands coming up in surrender just like her father's did, your turn to playfully mock the man.

"This is why I can't wait to go to Uni," she mutters, annoyed hints in her tone, Bucky climbing back to his feet and flopping back into the chair, his feet going on the edge of the bed after he reaches over to steal Natasha's drink, winking teasingly at her before taking a considerable sip of it.

"Have Shield gotten back yet?" You ask, tilting your head to look at her as you remember that you were supposed to ask her about the university she applied to earlier on, your memory too busy thinking of a certain brunette most of the time to function adequately. At the smile that breaks on her face, the redhead attempting to play coy but unable to as happiness carves its way onto her face tells you the answer, a proud expression taking over your face as you grin at her. "Congrats, Nat," your tone is genuine and sincere as she offers you another thrilled smile, "I'm so proud of you." You look at the woman you'd been friends with for your entire life, warmth enveloping your chest as pride filled you, seeing her accomplish her dream making your day.

"Thank you," she whispers, bumping her shoulder against yours before continuing, "Have you heard anything back yet?" She asks, knowing you were hesitant about University, not wanting to leave May all alone and abandon your home as your options for your future were limited.

"The only place that's willing to give me a scholarship is MI: 13," you say, voice growing more unsure as you tell them, Bucky's brows furrowing as he places where he had heard the name, concern growing on his face as he knew you didn't want to travel far.

"But that's in England," His tone conveying his confusion as you shrug your shoulders, not wanting to talk about the possibility of having to leave your home, the university the only one willing to take you.

"Yeah," you whisper, clearly growing uncomfortable with the mere thought of it, causing you to sit upright and check the time, wanting to switch the topic to something else. "Anyway, enough about me," you joke, Natasha knowing you were just pushing the feelings down, face growing sympathetic as you continue, going along with what you were saying to make you comfortable, "Don't we have a party to sneak off too?"

The two of them chuckle at your antics as you jump off the bed, grabbing your own jacket before finishing off your drink, motioning for the other two to start moving, wanting to just have fun for the rest of the night at Tony's party, to think about nothing other than being free for the moment.

***

Chanting echoed around inside your head and the room, the music blaring out of the speakers deafened by the collective cheer as you downed the last of the vile drink someone created for you, your face screwing up into a grimace at the way the alcohol burned the back of your throat. You felt a few pats on the back of your shoulder as you offered Bucky a dazed smile, the earlier drinks from the night seeming to have reached your head as you held onto his shoulder, chuckling at your drunkenness. His face only showed he was just as far gone as you were, the two of you laughing like idiots as you stumbled your way to the kitchen to make yourself another drink, the sound of your tipsy giggle catching the attention of Natasha as she shook her head at the state of the two of you, the pair of you too much of a chaotic duo for her to handle sometimes.

"What are you two doing?" she asks, raising her brow as she fixes herself a vodka, the Russian much better at handling her alcohol than you or Bucky, the two of your attempts at an innocent smile causing a small, endearing smile to break out onto her face.

"Nothing," Bucky mumbles, leaning against the countertop for support, purposely bumping into you to make you bump him back, trying to be subtle in front of the redhead but failing miserably as you annoy one another.

"So you weren't about to get shots?" She teases, grabbing another couple of glasses that were available, seemingly offering to pour you some, your gaze blurring briefly as you try to remember why this was familiar, the redhead confused at your puzzled and thoughtful expression.

"Nope," Bucky slurs, popping the 'p' and smiling at her charmingly, his blue eyes filled with love as he gazes at her, flashing her an affectionate smile to make her roll her eyes as he aims to make her blush. "But if you wanna pour us some that'd be ok," he murmurs, knowing if the two of you tried to do it there'd be a lot of broken glass or spilled drinks as well as an array of disappointed complaints about the waste of alcohol.

"Wait," your tone raising in a dramatic fashion as you point your finger at her, remembering the memory briefly, "Don't trust her. She's gonna give us shots of water," Bucky's face morphs into disbelief that Natasha would do such a thing, the redhead rolling her eyes as she downs her shot, needing it right now.

"I'm surrounded by idiots," she mutters to herself, smiling at you both as she pours you each a shot of Vodka, proving to you she wouldn't to make you both trust her, knowing full well she'd switch it to water for the next round.

"Salut," Bucky cheers before you all take another shot, a grimace taking over your face at the alcohol and the sight of Bucky kissing Natasha, the redhead chuckling at the man she cherished so much before kissing his cheek and wrapping her arm around his waist to keep him upright.

"Get a room," you groan, Natasha sticking her middle finger up at you as she kisses him again, your face showing your distaste for the view causing you to leave the couple alone, not wanting to see anymore.

You mutter nonsense to yourself as you stagger around, trying to slip past people who were dancing to the blaring music to find somewhere a little less crowded for a moment, eyes slowly drifting across the room as your vision blurred once again, the sight of a familiar head of brown hair making your dazed smile widen, warmth bubbling inside you.

Deciding to go and see Wanda, you attempted to make your way through the busy hallways to get to her but the sight of a drunk Maria stopped you in your tracks, the intense blue of the woman staring at you as her mouth moved, rambling to you about something but you couldn't hear anything she said, simply offering her a drunk smile back in response as you stared at Wanda.

God you missed her. You just wanted to go up to her and tell her how beautiful she was, how amazing she was. You wanted her to know how much you loved her, all her little quirks, her pretty smile, that amused look in her eyes when you'd do something stupid. You longed to hear that angelic laughter of hers, to hear that soft, embarrassed giggle. You yearned to hear the more sinful noises too, your drunken gaze eventually being torn away from her face to the outfit she was wearing, smiling to yourself at the skirt she had worn and the red jacket that she knew you loved, your intoxicated mind unable to think of anything but her. You were drunk on the thought of her and you were addicted to it.

Maria noticed your unfocused stare, the expectant look on her face fading away as she realised you hadn't listened to a word she said, a gentle chuckle leaving her as she took in how drunk you were, advising you to go to a bathroom for a moment before leaving as she saw her friend Clint across the room, leaving to have an actual conversation with someone.

You hadn't even noticed she left you, too busy letting the world fade around you as you gazed at Wanda, taking one, unsteady step forward before stopping, the sight of a blonde entering your vision wiping the enamoured expression off your face.

It felt like a piercing pain in your chest as you watched Vision lean next to Wanda, his body towering over hers as she grinned up at him, shooting another shot someone offered her before peering up at him like she always did to you, an ache building in your chest at the sight of them.

Thoughts raced through your mind, anxiety coursing through your veins and mixing with the alcohol, the room spinning a little as you felt that familiar tightness in your chest, your breathing accelerating as you gripped onto a piece of furniture to stop your knees from giving way, somehow unable to look away from the sight that would only cause you more pain.

His hand cupped her cheek before he leaned down to press his lips to hers, his other hand moving to hold her waist as she kissed him back just as passionately, trying to stop the feeling that gnawed away at her as she focussed on him, desperately trying to forget everything else as she pushed her body further into his, unknowingly pushing you further into your state of panic and anxiety.

You wanted to leave, to somehow escape the claustrophobic space of the party happening around you but your body seemed to freeze, your muscles not listening to your screaming brain as your breathing continued to become more laboured, your heart beating harder against your ribcage at the way her hand threaded through his blonde locks, scratching at his scalp as his hand drifted lower, slipping under the hem of her skirt.

At the feeling of bile rising up your throat, you managed to turn away from the painful sight of them, your heart squeezing in agony as you blink back the tears threatening to spill, your hand clutching at your shirt, the fabric feeling restrictive against you whilst you drowned in a spiral of negative thoughts.

Why? Why did she do this? You thought she cared about you. You thought you were more. It felt like more. Was she really that scared? That scared to confront herself? Or was she ashamed of you?

When the thoughts became too much, you realised you needed to get out of there. You needed to be alone. You pushed past people, not caring if they were annoyed at your actions as you stumbled across Tony's house to find one of the bathrooms, slamming the door shut as you fell to the floor, back resting against the wood as you held your head in your hands, struggling to steady your breathing at your incessant thoughts.

Why couldn't she just love you the way you loved her?

***

Leaning your head back against your truck, you felt a deep pit of regret stirring inside you, a tired and defeated sigh leaving you as you waited for the usual footsteps to sound next to you, your eyes closed as you waited for her to arrive. You hated how you agreed to see her again, how you pushed down the events of that night to pretend that nothing was wrong with you, that you didn't have your heart shattered by the woman making her way over to you. You just wanted the anxiety and hurt to go away, the only person in the world who made you feel safe and free from your thoughts ironically the person causing them, Wanda the only person able to clear away the lingering fog of anxiety wrapped around you and clear the sky for you, to make you feel free from all your problems for a brief moment. It was stupid really, you just hoped that if you drown yourself in the safety she provided you'd forget about everything, be able to draw a line under it and move on.

The sound of her footsteps made you plant a smile on your lips, your eyes gently fluttering open as she moved to stand next to you, her green observing the hint of uneasiness in you as she peered up at you, offering you that smile she knew calmed you down. The nerves only subsided a little at her delicate and soft look, the various shades of green gazing into you causing a small flicker of warmth to tickle your heart, not the usual fire that would warm your chest as doubts still gnawed away at you, part of you wanting to confront her about last night but deciding not to, simply asking her where she wanted to go tonight instead of vocalising your thoughts.

You drove her to the Lake as she requested, the car ride filled with light banter as you wanted to hear her laugh, to feel that flutter in your chest every time she did so, your mind slowly starting to push the memory of the party further down as you focussed on this moment with her, her mesmerising green still observing you with a small hint of confusion at your odd behaviour from earlier. Her worry faded as the car ride prolonged, your usual smile growing on your lips whilst your hand moved to her knee, squeezing softly as the country roads passed you by, the scenery of open space soon changing to deep forests as you approached your hidden lake.

Once you had arranged the truck as you always did, you laid down in the back against the pillows, watching tenderly as Wanda climbed in to join you, your eyes widening at the way she effortlessly straddled your lap, intent in her eyes as she smirked down at you, heat naturally pooling between your thighs at the seductive sight of her on top of you.

"What-" your words are cut off by a desperate kiss, a moan escaping you as your mind clouds with arousal, the feeling of her pressing into you, her hands cupping your jaw in an attempt to deepen the passionate and messy kiss, enough to free you of your thoughts as you wanted.

It was similar for Wanda, her mind craving you to push away her thoughts, body begging for you. She needed you. She needed you to touch her, to caress her hips and body in that loving way, to replace the feeling of his large, selfish and over confident hands, to feel your soft and gentle lips claim hers over and over again, not his dry ones that made her feel nothing. She didn't enjoy his wet and wanting tongue, she wanted to chase your teasing lips, to hear that smug little groan you'd offer her at her sinful moans, she needed to feel pleasure crash through her body, not the disappointment that washed through her that night. It was you she needed, not him, she just didn't want to accept that.

"I need you," she sighs out against you lips, a string of saliva connecting them before you lean up to claim her addictive mouth once more, your hands moving to her hips, gently squeezing the soft skin and having her moan in pleasure and almost relief as she concentrated on the way your electric touch made her feel. She couldn't help herself as she ground her hips down against you, sparks of pleasure and arousal building in her abdomen as she moaned and gasped into the heated kiss, your hands guiding her desperate movements as you naturally took control, something the brunette adored about you. You were always in control but also always caring, dominant and soft most of the time but rougher when you knew she could handle it. You knew how to read her body, to tease her and give her what she wanted, unlike Vision.

"Yeah?" you husk out in that smug voice, tone lowering and hands sliding lower down her body, appreciation and adoration in all of your touches, despite how sinful they were, as your fingers ghosted over the edge of her skirt, letting it hitch up slowly. You can't help but think back to the way his hands did the same to her, how his fingers slipped under to reach the soft skin of her thighs as yours did now, your touch faltering as you slide them off her inner thighs, going back to her hips. You try to ignore the unwanted thought as she lets you slide your tongue into her mouth, effortlessly controlling the kiss whilst your hands continue to guide her movements, her clit brushing against her soaked panties with every desperate rut of her hips. "Show me how much you need me," you murmur against her lips, her sinful sighs pushing the memory away briefly before you bite down on her lower lip, soothing the dull pain with your tongue, the brunette's body burning with desire and lust at your teasing actions, her hips rolling against your hips with more vigour, desperate to feel the pleasure building in her to overpower her.

"Fuck," she groans out when on of your hands slide under her shirt, nails scratching against the impossibly soft skin at her stomach, the sensation causing her muscles to tense as a small amount of pain mixes with pleasure. "Please," she whispers, tone pleading whilst her hands leave your jaw, threading through your hair and scratching at your scalp, needing you to do more.

The action however stops you, your mind once again returning to the memory, remembering the same way she let her fingers slide through his blonde, how she pulled his head closer to deepen the kiss, disgust filling you at the unwanted thoughts that followed. Did she do this when he fucked her too? Tug on his hair like she does with you when you push her over the edge over and over again? It sickened you, the mere thought of them, making you break the kiss off, uncomfortable with what was going on. You needed to know what you meant to her, what the two of you were.

"Wanda, stop," you croaked out, your hands stilling her hips as her mouth ghosted over yours, her body pulling back immediately at your tone, the lustful look in her enchanting green dissipating into concern.

"What's wrong?" she whispers, eyes searching yours as her fingers brush some of your hair back affectionately, only further increasing the confusion stirring inside you at her tenderness.

"What are we?" you ask, vulnerability swirling in your eyes as you look up at her, her body still on top of yours, her brows furrowing at your question.

"What?" her tone acts confused as she avoids your gaze, a harrowing sense of dread filling her at what she thinks you mean, not wanting to talk about what the two of you were. She wanted you, she knew deep down that was all she wanted, but she couldn't. You were wrong for her, something to be ashamed of. Her love for you was shameful. She just wanted to be normal.

"What are we doing?" You ask, keeping your gaze on her as you whisper the words, scared to hear the answer but needing to know whether she cared about you. "I saw you and Vision at the party..." your words trail off at the way her eyes instantly snap back to you, guilt and something undecipherable washing over her face whilst you continue, "I just- I thought we were-" you cut yourself off with sighs, not wanting to say what you mean, too scared to be rejected.

"Were what?" her tone hardened slightly, scared you were going to say something that would make her confront herself, a small part of her hoping you'd still say you were something more. She crushed the small glimmer of hope just as fast it came, her reluctance to be like that too powerful. She wasn't one of them. No, she was going to be normal. She was going to have Vision and he was going to give her everything she'd need to fit in.

"I thought you cared," you murmur in a quiet voice, the small tone of your voice creating a dull ache in her chest, her features softening momentarily before confliction etched its way onto her face.

"I do care," she sighs out, trying to figure out how to unravel her messy thoughts and put them into a sentence, her hands moving to brush her own hair back in a stressed manner, her head looking away from you to try and distance herself momentarily. "What we are is... casual," she says after a moment, a nauseous feeling stirring inside her at saying the words, knowing that they weren't true. She was just making another excuse, coming up with another stupid reason to not have that conversation with you.

You scoff at her words, feeling the bottled up anger from the last few days seep into your veins, your gaze conveying your irritation at her as she meets your gaze, her fingers anxiously playing with one another at your reaction.

"You know that's not true," your tone matching her provoked one, shaking your head in disbelief as she looks away from you, trying her best to not let you see the tears threatening to spill as she tries to stop the feelings towards you.

"We agree on this being casual, no strings attached," Wanda manages out, the brunette biting down on her lower lip to stop it trembling as she builds up the courage to look at you, preparing for the pain that would envelope her heart at the idea of hurting you.

"But Wanda-" you try, wanting to argue that this was never just casual, the two of you always having been drawn together.

"No," she interrupts, not willing to hear you out. "We agreed on that and-" she pauses, hesitating over her own words which only disproves her point, "Nothing has changed for me. If it's changed for you we need to call this off." 

Her words pierce your heart, the usual playful look in your eyes replaced with a blank stare as you looked behind her at the lake, forcing yourself to keep it together and suffer in silence whilst contemplating your answer. You should tell her the truth, break off the arrangement to stop any more pain for the both of you, but you were selfish. Having her like this, just a little bit, was more important to you than not having her at all.

"No," you whisper out, clearly not meaning the words as you answer her, "Nothing's changed."

"Good," her tone is shaky as she mutters the word, not having it in her to call out your blatant lie.

Once the two of you grew silent, you realised she was still on your lap, the brunette moving off you swiftly and apologetically before sitting next to you, not leaning her head on your shoulder as she usually would, simply staring out at the scenery in front of her as she truly grasped how hard it was going to be to stop the way she felt towards you.

She'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling.

[justporo]

Rooted within each other

The two of you shared tender glances, loving touches and slight laughs as you imagined what it could be like: to truly be with each other. All the while though neither of you dared to speak what was on both of your minds.

This pleasant back and forth went on for seemingly an eternity until both of your bodies were covered in a sheen of sweat, hair dripping and messily falling into your faces, skin glowing feverhot.

MASTERLIST | AO3 | PART 3

Author's Note: It's time for dessert and thereby the hopefully sweet and overly emotional conclusion to this smut fic. Partly inspired by this post here by @brain-rot-central and another by @davenswitcher

Gif by @cheekylittlepupp (pls follow them!)

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You) Warnings: explicit sexual content, porn with feelings, vaginal sex, creampie, slight religious imagery, aftercare, Astarion speaking Elvish, lol Wordcount: 3,1k

Astarion’s words gently waved the oncoming dreams and rest away. You slowly blinked your eyes open laying on his chest and cuddled up even closer to him. There was no way you could tell when you had last felt this at peace.

“What?” you asked sheepishly as you had to fight to keep your eyes open. Post-orgasm haze and the way Astarion’s hand on your back had slowly caressed you close to slumber were making it difficult for you to grasp onto his meaning.

“Let me take care of you, darling,” Astarion muttered again. The words tumbled out of his mouth a little too quick - as if they had to be pushed out before they got lost elsewhere.

“Please,” he added. Which made you frown even more than the way he had spoken before.

Your arms still felt wobbly from the sex before but you pushed up with a bit of struggle to be able to look into the vampire’s eyes.

His hand on your back dropped slightly but stayed there a bit helplessly as you observed Astarion with some concern on your face. Red eyes were already wide and surprisingly vulnerable but while you just looked at him for several heartbeats they began flitting around nervously, tongue darting out to wet his lips and he cleared his throat as if the words had left an unpleasant, dry feeling behind.

Suddenly the fact that you were both completely naked and had just been deeply entwined felt like nothing anymore. In an instance Astarion second-guessed everything. Despite the physical closeness he suddenly feared you being far away. Just like it had been with so many others. Nothing but a transaction at best.

Astarion almost wished he could take back his words as you kept staring at him without saying anything. He’d been pushing his luck already he felt like. You had already been so generous with him.

That was exactly it though: he felt like he owed you. But not in the way he thought before, in that way he had dealt with way too often over the past couple of centuries. He had meant his words: he wanted to take care of you in turn after you had given him so much: blood, safety - and now so much tender and honest affection, he could feel his undead heart in his chest clench just looking at you. He hadn’t felt like this in centuries. Maybe he had never quite felt like this before.

And he just wanted to give you something in return. Not with an ulterior motive behind it. Solely because he wanted to see you smile at him. So you would laugh at one of his stupid jokes again, so you would whisper his name again when you came shivering in his arms and there was nothing and no one else on your mind.

Solely because Astarion  found - he liked you; in lack of better words (or lack of courage to use them, yet).

But the longer the silence drew out between you, insecurity took the better of him. He should have just kept quiet and enjoyed the serene silence with you in his arms.

Astarion was just about to wave off his request when you finally spoke.

“You know, Astarion,” you began and the vampire’s chest clenched, anxious for your next words “you don’t owe me anything in return.”

You cocked your head to one side, strands of your hair falling over your shoulder. Your fingers wandered lightly over Astarion’s chest.

He was immediately lost for words.

Out of everything that was not the reaction he would have anticipated. Immediately this felt wrong. There always was a price to be paid, a debt to be claimed some time - right?

You saw his sceptic thoughts on his face almost as clearly as if he had spoken them aloud. The time, and especially the nights spent together, when Astarion had sometimes allowed you to take a peek behind his tightly worn armour, had made you good at reading him.

And you knew that he wouldn’t deal well with a rejection - even if it was entirely out of pure motives. Not right now. So you opted for something that you thought might be even better - for both of you.

“How about-,” you started and placed your hand on Astarion’s chest firmly - right over where his heart must be. He immediately covered it with his own as he cautiously waited for your reply.

The way his crimson gaze glinted despite there being barely any light made you almost forget what you were trying to say. Three little words once more almost pushed themselves to the front, almost tumbling from your mouth.

Whatever this was that had seemingly manifested between the two of you this night, you hoped it wasn’t only a temporary spell. You hoped it would stay. Because the way Astarion stared up at you, eyes so open and his thumb tenderly brushing over your hand on his chest gave you a whole new desire to overcome all of these hardships that had been thrown your way. For him. And for you. Maybe even together.

“How about we take care of each other? Make it equal,” you proposed and immediately bit your lip after the words had left your tongue.

Astarion’s eyebrows lifted as your words surprised him once more. But a genuine, happy smile spread over his face rather quickly.

“I think I would like that, my dear,” Astarion replied and you felt how his remaining hand on your back slid over it as he nudged you to lean down to him.

He didn’t want to waste another precious moment with words if his lips could be otherwise occupied with kissing you. You leaned into him with a huge grin at how eager the rogue had suddenly become.

But when your open mouth met his and he kissed you like a starving man while your arms wrapped around his neck you quickly got lost in the moment. Never had he kissed you like this: his tongue slipped into your mouth, toyed with yours while his head turned to get more of this, of you. His free hand lifted to the nape of your neck, gently pulling you in closer while he dragged you right on top of him.

You sighed into his mouth as your body squished against his, your heart beginning to beat faster again as your naked body slid along his. Your softer curves fit perfectly with the harder lines of his body as you melted together - made for each other.

Astarion’s kiss was so greedy and hungry and giving and offering at the same time. Your hands wandered to his face, cupping it, thumbs wandering over his cheekbones, the line of his jaw, trying to really feel him. So you would remember this forever.

He moaned so softly it was barely perceptible when your fingers touched his sensitive elven ears. Your hands dug into his lush, white curls, fingertips dragging along Astarion’s scalp.

Simultaneously, the urge to feel you, everywhere and all around him became almost unbearable for Astarion.

Desire for each other grew quickly within you, generously laced with feelings reaching much deeper. Depths the two of you had barely scratched the surface off.

With roguish quickness Astarion grabbed you and flipped you over, immediately climbing on top of you, leaning on his elbows above you, holding himself there for a moment to take in the sight of you.

You gasped at the sudden change of position. Without hesitation you moved your hand to his face again as you drank him in much the same: a few curls were falling into his face in some disarray, lips parted and swollen from kissing, red eyes molten.

You were awestruck.

And much the same was true for Astarion. The way you stared up at him, one arm stretched out to him lovingly, your eyes so wide and yearning and full with nothing but love and wonder and that delightful full body flush turning your cheeks the most pleasant shade of pink.

He almost made confessions of love right then and there as he kept gazing upon you and knew he was a changed man. But before he felt he said something foolish that might ruin it all he busied his mouth again by pressing it to your neck.

The vampire held your head up much more tenderly than in the beginning of the night. Again feeling your quickening pulse under his lips and his fangs only an inch away from where they had been buried in your neck not so long ago, right when this night and everything had started.

He breathed in your intoxicating scent and kept kissing and caressing your delicate skin, leaving a wet, sloppy trail where he pressed his lips and tongue to you. Occasionally he suckled at your skin, leaving slight marks.

He just wanted to make you his, if only temporarily so.

You felt your own lust rear its head again inside of you as Astarion kept mouthing down your throat and his hands were once more roaming your body: cupping your breasts, redrawing the lines of your ribs, squeezing your butt as you wrapped your legs around his slender hips and arched towards his body.

Gasps from each of you filled the night air but neither of you spoke as your hands explored his body as well. Your hands wandered over his shoulders, his arms, felt the muscles tense up under your touch.

You didn’t even stop at the gruesome ridges on his back. With flat hands you stroked over them at an even pace while Astarion slightly shivered under your touch but didn’t withdraw. He just kept seeking the comfort in your touch and your body as you held him in your embrace.

Neither of you had any intention of stopping anytime soon as you kept exploring each other’s bodies unlike you had done before. You simply wanted to truly see and feel each other - not a layer between you.

In between Astarion lifted his head up again, locked eyes up with you while your touch wandered over his tortured back. You didn’t stop. He didn’t want you to you realised as you locked eyes with him.

You saw him, accepted him with everything that came along with him.

And Astarion felt seen, truly, maybe for the first time in his life.

What followed then was messy and sloppy as your limbs tangled even more, hands, mouths and eyes solely focused on each other. It wasn't practised or neat, not an act. It was raw and tender and loving and passionate. And more than anything: it was honest and real.

You dragged your bodies along each other as you felt your core throbbing with lust and Astarion’s hardened length kept rubbing against your heated skin.

The two of you kept writhing against each other, desire rising agonisingly slow as you took your time. The flames had been high all night but now they lazily rose higher until the embers were glowing white and hot beneath.

For all you cared, this could well go on forever. You wouldn't have minded staying in this limbo of lust and love - maybe forever.

Lazily you went through all sorts of different caresses and new positions to press yourself against each other: you on top, dragging your core along his cock, Astarion diving between your legs to pleasure you with his mouth until you almost already fell for him again, kneeling in front of each other as your hands each stroked each other's most sensitive parts, rolling around in the small space of Astarion's tent until you had gotten lost even in the tiny bit of room you had there.

You drew out this small piece of heaven for each other for as long as you could while keeping the other just right off that edge so you could let yourself fall down together when you chose to do so later on.

The two of you shared tender glances, loving touches and slight laughs as you imagined what it could be like: to truly be with each other. All the while though neither of you dared to speak what was on both of your minds.

This pleasant back and forth went on for seemingly an eternity until both of your bodies were covered in a sheen of sweat, hair dripping and messily falling into your faces, skin glowing feverhot.

You were sitting on his lap, Astarion kneeling on his bedroll, both arms wrapped around you to hold you close to him. His hard and weeping cock was pressed pleasantly between your hot bodies as you were kissing again. Your time much better spent with your mouth on each other but with words you couldn’t be sure you might regret come the next morning. Your arms were holding onto his face as you kissed him messily, rocking back and forth, heads leaning and gasps and moans passed between each other. 

Astarion’s hands were grabbing onto your thighs like a drowning man would a lifeline - and that was pretty much what he felt like with you. He’d been drowning, already dead inside. But then you came along, offering him another shot at something he’d long thought forgotten.

Then you broke the kiss, cradling his face in your hands as he looked upon you as if you were a deity finally descended from the heavens to answer all of his prayers.

His white curls were falling into his face, dripping with sweat as he breathed heavily, eyes so full of yearning it made your chest clench. This was probably the most vulnerable you had ever seen him. And you wished to cradle his heart just as gently as you did his face.

“Do you even have an idea,” Astarion whispered as he gazed upon you with wonder in his eyes and began to lift you by your thighs until your entrance was lined up with the head of his cock “how much I want you?”

You could merely hold onto him and feel your pulse race even faster as you anticipated being one with him once more.

With his words he slowly but firmly pulled you down on him. He immediately bottomed out, leaving you only to let your head fall back and groan his name as you got to experience the pleasure of Astarion filling you for the second time this night.

The vampire began to engage a gentle rhythm, more rocking than thrusting for now. But heat was quickly rising even higher now that you finally felt him inside of you again, your walls already clenching around him in desperation to feel, to have more. The way you wrapped your arms around him was just as desperate: trying to be as close and joint with him as possible.

“I have an inkling,” you breathed and heard Astarion softly chuckle in response, feeling the soft vibration echo through your wrapped up bodies.

You kept moving with a tenderness that was at odds with how you had indulged each other before. But it seemed this night was made out of differences and shifting them.

Astarion began to fuck you gently. You rocked your hips in rhythm with his slow but forceful movements, each of you savouring every moment.

It became rougher and faster and harder as you went - the air filled with nothing but gasps and moans. No more room or breath for sweet nothings or words of affection that merely danced around the real thing.

Your breaths become rugged as you felt yourself rocked to the core, orgasm fast approaching as Astarion kept thrusting into you - the sounds he made just as desperate as yours. Different feelings within you became nearly overwhelming as you skyrocketed towards the end of this road.

Your head fell back with a mewl as you felt you were only moments away from completely unravelling for the vampire. And you already knew your only wish was  to keep doing this again and again and again - until maybe someday you would have nothing left to give, but the vampire finally would feel loved.

As your head lolled back Astarion wrapped his arms even closer around you as he kept speeding up the pace and he was making you come undone. He felt lost in you - but pleasantly. The way his chest swelled as he gazed upon you, saw drops of sweat run down your already glistening, exposed throat and he heard his name on your lips like the sweetest promise.

In a final effort he bowed you on his lap while his cock plunged in and out of you and you felt the edges of your existence fray.

“Come for me, darling,” Astarion murmured with a voice barely above a whisper, hands on your spine and neck, bowing you to him further as he willed you over the edge. His mouth licked and suckled on the space in between your breasts, feeling your fluttering heartbeat and he sensed and heard you comply to his request - positively falling for him but only to be caught by him.

Astarion felt you clench down around him, his own demise only a blink or two away. But he needed to watch you, see the utter bliss on your face as you fell without hesitating.

And when he knew you were completely lost in the magic of moment he finally couldn’t resist anymore. As he fell himself, dick inside of you twitching and spilling himself inside of you, Astarion heaved a breath against your trembling chest, words barely distinguishable as he mumbled them: whispering them in hopes you wouldn’t hear and understand but with the desperate wish to put them out there to give them some reality.

“Ai Armiel Telere Maenen Hir!*” Elvish words dancing over your glistening skin, Astarion’s breath between your breasts making you shiver without you knowing why.

The words kept ringing in his own ears as he held your trembling form afterwards. More sweet words, touches and glances were exchanged as you snuggled up with each other in the aftermath. Meanwhile each of your yearning grew almost unbearable.

And as you lay there in his arms Astarion made a realisation and a decision: he couldn’t go on like this anymore. Either his earlier words became real and so the thing that had formed between the two of you - or he would perish.

Tomorrow, he vowed to himself, tomorrow he would tell you.

For now he was too lost in how your head was resting on his chest, low light and shadows painting your face lovingly - and Astarion couldn’t imagine a more beautiful sight to behold for the rest of his immortal life.

(*You hold my heart forever)

~~~

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[xbellaxcarolinax]

Futile Devices

Miguel O'Hara x civilian f!reader

Summary: The deal was explicitly no strings attached. You were finding it harder to keep up your end of the bargain. 

Word Count: 8.2k (A behemoth of a fic, I'm so sorry guys)

Warnings: FWB, language, angst, reader is totally in love with Miguel, Miguel being a bit of an ass, probably a tad toxic? SMUT, p in v (no protection), cum play, low-key breeding kink? Like super low-key. Oral (f receiving). Miguel climbing through windows. Idk why I'm obsessed with that thought lmfao I make him climb through windows every chance I get. Idiots in love. Probably a rushed ending, sorry!

Thanks to @whatthefishh for beta-reading. Partly inspired by this.

Also, this is mega ultra cliche, we all know they're gonna end up together, so just enjoy the ride! It's not the destination, it's the journey 😌 Hope you guys enjoy, and if you do, pls let me know what you think! I love reading your comments!

MDNI pls.

...

It was always a mission getting to Miguel's office.

Headquarters wasn't built to accommodate civilians, the winding pathways and corridors a danger if one wasn't too careful.

You had to be extra careful. 

You hurried toward Miguel's office, heels clicking against clean tiled floors as you dodged a fuck ton of spider people and the inescapable attention of one annoying Peter Parker.

"Come on," Peter Parker number two hundred tried his luck again, "just one date. I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go." 

"No." You rolled your eyes, swatting him with the manilla folder in your hands like you would a fly. 

“Look, all I’m saying is you should give me a shot. I’m funny.”

“So is every other Peter Parker I’ve encountered.”

“I’m different.”

“I doubt it.” 

He deflated, keeping up with your quick steps. “Who doesn’t like funny guys?”

“Me.”

“Sure,” he stretched the word out, unconvinced, "so if not funny guys then what? The ones with sticks up their asses, like Miguel?" He snorted with a shake of his head. You knew it was a sort of rhetorical question but you couldn’t help swallowing thickly, your hands gripping the folder a little too tightly. 

Yeah. Something like that.

You felt your heart drop to your stomach when Peter Parker two hundred raised his brows at your silence. So maybe he did want an answer.

"Nah, there's no way. I'll try again tomorrow." He smiled, shooting a web out in some random direction and swinging off toward the floor above. 

Fuck. That was close.

You breathed a sigh of relief, loosening your fingers over the folder before quickly hurrying toward your destination. 

You pressed your watch against the sensor outside of Miguel's office, waiting for the metal door to slide open. It didn't. You tried again. Still nothing. Again. It wouldn't budge.

"Ugh, come on, Miguel!" You banged the door with a tiny fist as if that would make a difference, "open up!" 

Lyla appeared suddenly, her sprite-like form circling your head once before she faced you.

"You probably shouldn't go in there," she warned, "he's in a…mood." 

"He’s always in a mood," your hands were on your hips now, the manilla folder crinkling further in your hand, "I need to report a couple of grievances—"

"Mmmmmm, I'm sure that's the last thing he wants to hear right now, Miss HR." God you hated when they called you that. You rolled your eyes, swatting her away with the folder which did nothing, of course, and pressed your watch against the sensor. 

"That's not gonna work, honey."

"So let me in." 

"Promise to be nice?"

"To who?" You snorted, "You or Miguel?" 

"Me," Lyla grinned, adjusting her heart-shaped glasses, "forget Miguel." 

You sighed, cracking a smile, "Lyla, would you please let me into Miguel's office?" The Ai made a noise of approval, comically saluting you before granting you access.

"Don't say I didn't warn ya." She sang, disappearing from your sight. 

You sighed. Miguel's shifting moods were nothing new to you—not anymore. Back when you both worked at Alchemax, he was passive and less quick to anger. But that seemed a lifetime ago. 

Life progresses. People change.

“Mig?” You called out, peering up toward his solitary platform. You could hear the soft hisses of machinery, the yellow glow of Miguel’s holo screens illuminating the area above like a radiant star.

He didn’t answer. 

“Miguel,” you tried again, “we have some things to discuss.” You slapped the manilla folder against your hand as if he’d recognize the sound of formal complaints filed within the last week. 

The platform began to descend after a moment, and you breathed a sigh of relief as his figure came into view. His shoulders were stiff, his body rigid as he swiped through the yellow screens.

“I told Lyla not to let anyone in.” His voice was cold, frigid even. He didn’t bother to face you, his eyes pinned to his screens as he leaned forward, the muscles of his back flexing through his suit. 

You couldn’t see what he was looking at but you could hear it: the soft giggles of a little girl, the cheers of a soccer game, the chuckles of a man now broken. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard the sounds of Miguel’s past. It probably wouldn’t be the last either.

“I-uh, got some reports to share with you.” You felt foolish. Lyla was right. HR complaints were the last thing on Miguel’s mind. 

“Reports of the anomaly on Earth 9811?” Your brows pinched in irritation. He knew those weren’t the reports you had. You were fucking HR, not on active duty, let alone a spider person. 

"No, you'd have to ask Jess or Gwen about that, but you need to listen—"

“I don’t want to hear it.” He grunted. You saw his hands form fists at his sides, the same hands that’d fisted your sheets in the throes of pleasure just days ago. 

You shook your head. It was not the time for that kind of thought. 

You carefully opened the crinkled folder, pulling out the paperwork you’d printed from your antique printer to read aloud from it.

“Peter Parker of Earth 5431-02 has formally filed a complaint,” you began, your eyes scanning the black text before releasing an exasperated sigh, “he’s saying you threw a chair at him?” Miguel grunted, the holo screens shutting off at his (Lyla’s) command.

“He’s an idiot.” Miguel snapped, finally turning to face you, his sharp features shadowed by the lack of light. He regarded you carefully, red eyes tracing your figure. You’ve grown used to the way his eyes lingered over you, especially when you were under him, his body pressed against yours, but sometimes you couldn’t help but squirm under his more severe gaze.

“Well, yeah,” you reluctantly agreed with a tilt of your head, “but a chair, Miguel?”

“It’s not like it hurt him...badly.”

“That's not the point."

“The point is that I got my point across.” Miguel snorted. 

"It's the principle. You don't go around throwing fucking chairs at the people who work for you!" 

"Mhm." 

"You're their boss! What kind of behavior is that?"

"Uh-huh." 

You were about ready to strangle him but knew your fingers couldn’t even go around his throat properly. You’ve tried before, under very different circumstances. You settled for pinching the bridge of your nose, as he often did, taking a breath to calm yourself before you completely lost your shit. "Listen to me."

"I'm listening, HR."

"Ugh, look," you pointed a finger up toward him, your brows knitted in obvious irritation, "annoying or not, he's still a member of the Spider Society, therefore, he has every right—”

“—to file a grievance under any circumstance as a result of an injustice, discrimination, or harmful behavior, and is to be given the respect to which every spider person is due as a valued member of the society. I know.” Miguel finished the legal jargon for you, hopping off the platform with an ease that’d always surprised you.

He stepped into your space, his large body casting a long shadow over you as he snatched the crinkled paperwork from your hands. 

“I’ll speak with him.” He grunted. You pursed your lips, watching as his eyes scanned over the page.

"Make it right, Mig. Apologize. Formally. Or informally. It doesn’t matter— there’s nothing normal about this place anyway.” You placed your hands on your hips as you leaned forward, aware of how he was suddenly gazing down at you. “Just be nice, okay? Compensate him with, I dunno, a minor mission. He always wants to get involved, so let him.” 

Miguel rolled his eyes, heaving a great sigh while running his hand through his hair. “Fine.”

“And no more throwing chairs to make a point.”

“Uh-huh, fine, anything else?” God, you wanted to smack him. You opted for snatching back the paperwork from his hand, smoothing out the wrinkles over your skirt-clad thighs before searching for the proper page.

“Yeah," you brought a finger down on the page, "the spiders are getting bored of the cafeteria food.” That was enough for Miguel's face to pinch in displeasure.

“What’s wrong with empanadas and churros?” He scoffed, waving his hand to dismiss the complaint, “And that stupid blue burger with my face on it?” He paused, eyes squinting for a moment, “You know what? That can go. Get rid of it.”

“Fine. Do I have permission to organize a survey?”

“For food?” 

“Yes, for food. They want options.” 

“Aye, por Dios,” Miguel grunted, waving his hand again, “Fine.” 

“Fine.” 

“Anything else?” 

“Nope.” You organized the documents back into the manila folder before handing it over to him.

“You know you could just send this electronically, right?” He looked down at the folder, his eyes tracing your neat cursive in black ink.

“I’m old-fashioned.” You shrugged, turning on your heels. You heard him snort out a laugh, a tiny thing that made you smile. He has a nice laugh.

“One more thing,” Miguel called out, demandingly. You looked over your shoulder at him as he regarded you with heavy eyes.

“What is it?” 

He boarded the platform once again, the machinery coming to life and slowly elevating him back to his preferred height. He tossed the folder somewhere over the desk, to be forgotten. It was the least of his worries at that moment.

You watched Miguel ascend above you like some kind of heavenly being, the yellow light of the holo screens illuminating his tan skin till he glowed molten gold. You waited on him with bated breath, his response sinking straight to your core.

“Keep your window unlocked tonight.” 

…

He loves it when you ride him. 

His large hands were glued to your hips as you bounced on him expertly, your cunt soaking him in your sticky juices. 

Most nights began this way—with Miguel's cock buried deep in your pussy after a long day of enduring his insufferable attitude. You'd fuck the stress out of him—fuck the astronomical weight of the multiverse off his shoulders if only for a few short hours.

"Been thinking about this all day." He groaned under you, throwing his head back over your pillow when he felt your walls grip his length viciously, fighting to keep him in.

"Yeah?" You gasped, your hands firmly planted on his bare chest as you made work of your hips, rotating them in delicious circles—the way he liked—your thighs spread wide to accommodate his massive size. "W-wasn't enough to curb that a-attitude though, huh?" 

Even amid the utmost pleasure—of Miguel's length hitting a spot that had you trembling—you found the strength to taunt him, your hazy eyes catching a glimpse of the twitch in his brow. That meant trouble.

Within seconds Miguel had you on your back, his imposing body trapping you against your mattress. His cock slipped out for a moment but he had no problem finding his way back into your slippery channel, snapping his hips strategically to reach as deep as he could.

You cried out, your hands scrambling to find purchase over his shoulders, your pretty manicured nails digging into his perfectly golden skin.

"F-fuck! Miguel!"

"Wanna say that again?" He growled, his face hovering mere centimeters from yours, "Go ahead, say it again." You did nothing but whimper as he pounded into you mercilessly, his cock stretching you open. 

"That's what I thought." Miguel chuckled smugly, delighting in your little chokes and stutters, egging him to keep pounding you relentlessly. You tried speaking—tried to articulate your words to him, but you couldn't, too cock drunk to focus on anything else but his gorgeous face twisted up in pleasure and his thick cock kissing the secret place within you.

He had you coming soon after, stars exploding behind your lids as you trembled in his arms. Your cunt squeezed him just right and he came, panting in your ear as he filled you to the brim. 

His spend stained your sheets when he pulled out, and as always, he watched it dribble out from your swollen cunt with lidded eyes. He wasted no time in taking his fingers and stuffing the mess back in.

“Keep me in there.” He muttered, swiping through your puffy folds one final time before he ripped himself from you. You immediately soured, keeping your gaze on him as he quickly cleaned himself off with a cloth you left for him on your nightstand. 

You admired his figure: the ripple of his muscles as he moved, the broadness of his shoulders, the glow of his skin in the dim lighting of your bedroom. 

Miguel was gorgeous. You’ve always thought so.

His suit glitched before coming to life, covering his sculpted body in the usual blue and red you've come to know. 

“Did…you want to eat before you go?” Dinner was on the stove, cold but still good. You sat up against your headboard, more of his spend leaking out as you fiddled with your fingers over the soiled sheets. 

Miguel shook his head, sighing as he closed his eyes for a moment.

“I have to go.” He said, stepping forward, grabbing your hand, and placing a chaste kiss over your knuckles. It was the only form of affection he’d allowed himself to give you. He’d never kissed you before. Probably never will. It wasn't part of the deal.

Your heart sunk, your skin searing where his lips had lingered. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Most nights ended this way—with your aching cunt full of his seed and your eyes wet with unshed tears as you watched him leave through your window, disappearing into the night.

…

A few days later, Peter B. Parker landed in your office. Quite literally. 

He plopped down on the seat in front of yours from seemingly nowhere, a messily packed diaper bag hanging loosely from his shoulder. He had his daughter snuggly pressed against his chest in her carrier, her chubby arms and legs flailing over his pink robe.

You yelped, dropping the pen in your hand, clutching your chest in freight. 

“Jesus! Where the hell did you just come from?!”

“Up there.” Peter pointed up. You followed his line of vision, noting the door to the air vent busted open, barely hanging from its hinges. “Sorry about the vent.” He offered sheepishly, taking a large bite of a slice of pizza he'd pulled from a greased-up brown paper bag. 

"You could've just taken the elevator!"

"Takes too long to get to the basement.” He said between a mouthful of pizza, “Why'd Miguel give you an office down here anyway?" 

"I'm scared of heights." You reminded him, watching Mayday struggle to release herself from her carrier prison. Peter snorted out a laugh, dropping the diaper bag on the floor while simultaneously taking another bite of his pizza.

“Doesn’t make sense to work in a place like this.”

“It was the deal I made when Miguel asked me to work for him. Chew with your mouth closed.”

“Have you tried the cafeteria pizza?" He asked suddenly, ignoring your demand and speaking with another mouth full of the greasy treat, "It's the new thing. Everyone's going crazy."

You smiled smugly. "I know. You’re welcome."

“Ah, I should've known Miss HR was behind this!” You rolled your eyes at the nickname, rummaging through your drawer before tossing him a few napkins.

“What can I do for you, Peter?” 

Mayday whined, crawling out of the carrier and over her father’s thighs. She hopped on your desk, scattering some of your paperwork. You quickly caught her before she tumbled off the edge, cooing at her before placing her in your lap. You squeezed her in your arms and she let out a scream of delight before squirming, reaching out in wonder at the different knick-knacks on your desk. 

“Right, almost forgot." Peter took the last bite of his pizza, wiping his face and fingers with the napkins you provided before his face morphed into something serious. "Is this guy bothering you?” He pulled out a yellow holo pad, one presumably given to him by Miguel, revealing a video of you and Peter Parker two hundred from the other day. 

You blinked, your eyes tracing the moving image carefully.

”Oh. Not really,” you finally said, ripping your gaze away from the screen, “Nothing I can't handle. Why?” 

“Miguel asked me to investigate the situation discreetly.” 

"Asked?"

"Well, demanded, you know Miguel," Peter shrugged, reaching down into the diaper bag and procuring a lollipop when Mayday began to whine, “he’s concerned. I figured it’d be easier to just ask you about it.” 

You frowned, grasping the sweet when he handed it over to you, pulling off the wrapper and placing it in Mayday's chubby hand, “That’s hardly discreet.”

“I didn’t wanna follow the guy around!” 

“He's making you do that?”

“‘Of course he is. Doesn't like the guy. He barely tolerates me!” 

You snorted. “Why does Miguel even care?”

"You know him better than any of us do. If anyone would know, it’s you." 

Well, that was true.

You knew Miguel before he created the Spider Society, before he was ever Spider-Man. You knew him before his addiction to Rapture, before he experienced fatherhood, before he lost Gabriella. 

Back when, to the world, he was just some guy in a white lab coat. 

But he was never just some guy to you. 

You’ve loved Miguel for years. You’d loved him in your early days at Alchemax, when he was fresh out of college and eager to begin his shaky career, back when you were hanging on to the corporation by a measly thread of an unpaid internship. You were a pair, stuck to each other like glue.

A few years later, when you both decided to take it a step further and mess around, well, that only ignited your feelings further. Miguel was an attentive lover. He knew your needs and fulfilled them, taking you to the heights of pleasure before humbling you just as smoothly with his strict rules about your agreement. 

He didn’t have time to cater to someone's feelings—didn’t have time for a romantic relationship when he had too much on his plate. But his sexual appetite demanded attention—and why not with someone he’s called a friend for years? 

You were just a friend. And that’s all you’d ever be. 

It was just sex. That's all it'd ever be.

“You okay?” Peter ripped you away from your thoughts, his brows furrowed in concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You answered with a sigh, gently resting your chin over Mayday’s soft curls. “Is Miguel worried?” 

“You’re the closest thing he has to a friend, of course he’s worried about you. Those were his words, not mine.” Peter shrugged, putting his holo pad away, “so is there a cause for concern?” The thought alone almost made you smile. Almost. Instead, you scoffed, shaking your head.

“I’m usually the one that handles these situations, you know.”

“And who’s supposed to help you?”

“I don’t need help.” 

“Right.” He didn’t seem convinced. “Miguel doesn't seem to think so. You sure?”

“Very.”

“Alright, I did my part!” He clapped his hands as if he’d successfully completed a mission, “Time to go, Mayday!” He stood, grabbing the babbling baby from you and placing her back in the carrier.

"She's precious." You said, gently pinching Mayday's drool-covered cheek as she teethed over her lollipop.

"Takes after her dad." Peter grinned, snatching up the diaper bag, "Listen, if you ever need any help—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, get outta here, Parker." You shooed him away, quickly organizing your wrinkled paperwork together. You could still feel his eyes on you as you kept your hands busy, and when you finally looked at him he had a silly smile on his face.

"What?"

“You guys are idiots." He was still grinning.

"What?"

"Nothin'," he said, pressing a kiss to Mayday's red curls, "Just do me a favor. Don't mention any of this to Miguel, alright?" 

You crossed your arms, leaning back against your swivel chair. "Sure."

...

"So you think I need help?"

Miguel's hands immediately stilled on your hips as you stirred the boiling pasta over your electric stove. 

You didn't hear him come in, but you had a feeling he’d show up. It had been a couple of days since he’d fucked you, and there were many stressful days between then and now.

So you’d left your window unlocked just in case.

"What are you talking about?" He muttered, his fingers lightly dancing on your waist before pulling away completely.  

"Nothing." You huffed to yourself, cutting off the heat and getting on your toes to reach for the pasta strainer on the shelf above. After a second of watching you struggle, Miguel put a hand on your shoulder to stop you, reaching forward to grab it for you.

"Doesn’t sound like ‘nothing’.” He finally said, observing you strain the pasta over the sink, the steam from the hot water engulfing you both in what felt like a thick cloud of tension. You peered over your shoulder at him, your eyes raking over his solid form.

“You know, Peter Parker two hundred?” You asked, witnessing his face contort from passive to extreme annoyance.

He sucked his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. He leaned back against your counter, looking so out of place in your tiny kitchen, his broad shoulders almost the entire width of your cupboard. “I told Peter to be discreet.”

“He said you’re worried about your only friend.” You continued to tease him, emphasizing the word as you lifted the lid to a pot where a homemade Pomodoro sauce was bubbling. 

“I said that?” Miguel muttered, feigning innocence, watching you take a spoon and scoop some of the red sauce for a quick taste. You could feel his gaze on you, his eyes tracing the way your tongue licked off the remnants of sauce. 

You hummed in approval before scooping up some more and turning to offer Miguel a taste. You lifted the spoon toward him, and after a moment of contemplation, he hunched forward with arms crossed over his toned chest, mouth opening slightly to allow you to press the spoon past his lips. 

His eyes fluttered as he savored the rich taste, humming his own tune of approval. 

"Is it good?" 

“Mhm.”

You beamed, eyeing how he licked his lips like a satisfied cat, his fangs protruding slightly when he ran his tongue over them. The same fangs you’ve felt over your delicate skin from time to time. 

Miguel was a biter. You didn’t mind.

Miguel grunted, using his thumb to wipe off a bit of sauce that lingered near the corner of your lips. You inhaled a shaky breath, your eyes fluttering from the heat of his touch.

"What else did he say?" He murmured, looming over you, his hand now gently cradling the back of your neck, thumb caressing your skin. 

"T-that you're worried about me?" You breathed. Miguel pulled you closer suddenly, the faintest noise of surprise escaping you. His suit always felt strange under your fingers, the digitized fabric almost slippery, like fine silk. It was ridiculous how perfect you felt wrapped up in his arms. You sometimes wished he'd show up in civilian clothes. You missed his lazy outfits when he'd throw on an old t-shirt and a pair of sweats. 

You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen him in anything other than his suit (and his naked form, of course). It meant he was always on the clock, devoting all his precious time to the multiverse. 

It meant that whenever he was alone with you, he considered it work.

And yet, the suit made you feel secure and safe—like nothing in the world could harm you. And there was truth to that, though the only thing harming you these days was Miguel himself. But that was your fault too.

The deal was explicitly no strings attached. You were finding it harder to keep up your end of the bargain. 

You gazed at his full lips. You desperately wanted to taste them, to know how soft and warm they would feel molded against yours. If you were brave enough you might have stolen a taste, might have felt those sharp canines for yourself on your tongue.

Miguel’s thick fingers trailed into your hair, gripping the roots with just a hint of pressure, his lidded eyes taking in every part of your face: your brows, your eyes, the bridge of your nose, and your supple lips—wet and swollen from biting them so damn much.

"Maybe just a little," he finally answered, his shoulders shifting in a slight shrug. You could feel his length press against your hip, hot and throbbing, demanding attention. 

It filled you with pride knowing your proximity was enough to get him excited. It shouldn't though. It was only arousal. Basic primal instincts. 

You shouldn’t be feeling pride for any of this. You had to remind yourself of that.

You closed your eyes, willing your heartbeat to slow down just a bit. Could you really be this love-sick? So hung up on a man who was emotionally unavailable? If you hadn’t fallen before, then you knew you were plummeting now, so far gone that you’d let Miguel do anything to you.

So when he whisked you away to your bedroom, dinner long forgotten, you didn’t put up a fight.

He fucked you from behind. 

It was a tight stretch, your wet cunt fighting him as he tried pressing his swollen tip in with little luck. 

"Gotta let me in," he grunted, spreading your cheeks wide to gaze down at your twitching holes, "you're too tight. Let me in." 

"I'm trying," you panted, tears in your eyes as you buried your face into the sheets, "i-it's been a while." 

"It's okay," his large hands caressed the globes of your ass in comfort, "it's my fault. Haven't been fucking you enough, hm? S'my fault." Miguel rubbed his cock through your soaked folds a few times, the obscene noises of your sopping cunt causing him to grunt. 

"Goddamn, so fuckin' wet." He muttered before lining himself up and carefully pushing in again. You cried out, fisting the sheets when he successfully got the tip in. He groaned, the guttural sound masking your tiny mewls as he pushed on, your wet cunt coating him entirely in your sticky essence, easing his entry just a bit.

"Fuck, Miguel, it h-hurts." You whined, the stretch of him both painful and pleasurable as he bullied his way in, his girthy cock plunging through your fluttering walls. 

"Shh, I know." He rarely cooed as he did now, reassuring you with gentle noises and tender touches as he eased into you, balls deep in your core, “Look how good you’re doing for me. S’good.” A fresh wave of arousal dripped from you at his praise, your fluttering cunt allowing him to push and pull as he pleased.

He began a steady rhythm, holding your hips tightly to work you over his length, muttering to himself all the while as he watched how your creamy juices clung to his cock and covered his skin.

The pain quickly subsided into blinding pleasure. Miguel had you mewling into your mattress, your eyes rolling and drool slipping past your lips, your back impossibly arched, and your swollen cunt wetter than it’s ever been. The slapslapslap of his hips against your ass was loud in the quiet of your bedroom, your moans even louder when he skillfully hit something inside you that made you see stars every single time. 

You loved the feel of him, loved the stretch of his cock, loved how your cunt would ache for days after as if to remember him. 

“Coño,” Miguel growled, keeping a large hand on your lower back to keep you steady in your arched position, “you sound so pretty when I fuck you.” He suddenly gripped your hair, pulling you up as he curved over you, continuing to spill filth into your ears.

It was too much. 

“M-Miguel, I’m g-gonna—”

“Cum for me.” 

That was it. The dam burst within you, your eyes rolling back as you cried out, cunt spasming and gushing all over him.

“That’s it,” he muttered, sloppily thrusting into your tightening core, “good girl.”

“Miguel,” you continued to whine, grinding against him, “Fuuuck, I love you.” 

You didn’t even realize what you said until it was too late, so wrapped up in the bliss of it all that your mouth worked faster than your brain could think.

You froze when you felt him still above you. He released your hair, bringing his hand back to your hips before gripping them viciously, chasing his own release. He rammed into you faster, slamming his hips against your ass one final time before letting out a guttural groan deep from within the confines of his chest. You could only imagine how he looked: tan skin glistening, chocolate hair plastered against his brow and head tossed back in pleasure. 

Miguel said nothing as he gently removed his cock from your aching sex, letting his seed dribble out from you and soak into the sheets.

As soon as you turned around he was already in his suit, pushing a few buttons on his watch before he brought his wine-colored eyes to you. 

"I have to go."

“Mig?” You whispered his name softly, your naked body burning with embarrassment, “I-I’m sorry I—”

"I’ll see you tomorrow.” It was the same thing he always said, but it hurt twice as much. It was as if he were on autopilot, disconnected from what just happened. 

You felt your heart plummet into your stomach as you watched Miguel leave through your window with a speed he usually reserved for missions.

His spend caked your thighs. There was so much of it coming out of you, more so than usual, his cum ruining your sheets enough that you’d need to change them before bed. 

You sniffled, eyes watering, tears threatening to fall. He didn’t even kiss your hand goodbye.

You ripped yourself away from the soiled sheets, stomping over to your window as his cum leaked down your inner thighs before slamming it closed, locking it for good.

...

“You made this?” Miles exclaimed with a mouth full of spaghetti, clumsily twirling another forkful over his paper plate. You were handing out some of the spiders' leftover Pomodoro pasta from the previous night. You’d lost your appetite. It’d be a shame if you let it all go to waste.

“Yeah, eat up, there’s enough for everyone.” You scooped out more pasta from a Tupperware and onto a paper plate for Gwen. The younger girl’s eyes sparkled as she grabbed the plate, immediately slurping up a bite.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, lips covered in red sauce, “why are you working at the Spider Society when you could be a chef?”

“It’s because Miguel begged her to work here,” Miles quipped, a lone spaghetti hanging from his mouth.

“And who told you that?” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Uhh,” his eyes flew over to Peter B., who was waiting patiently for his own plate of pasta to be served. You turned and narrowed your eyes at Peter, who chuckled nervously. 

“Listen,” he began, hands thrown up in surrender, “the kid got curious, okay? He was convincing, I mean, look at those eyes.” You huffed, snatching Peter’s plate and loading it up with pasta.

“You guys are annoying,” you muttered with no bite, shifting your gaze toward Hobie, who sat quietly with his legs thrown up on the table, “Hobie, fuck the government and all that, but you need to get your dirty boots off the table if you want some food.” 

Hobie sighed dramatically, letting his boots drop to the ground.

“Fine, boss lady.” 

Satisfied, you handed him a plate.

“So, let’s talk about you being a chef?” Gwen tried again, scrapping the remaining bits off her plate. 

“It’s just pasta,” you shrugged, pulling out a chair and taking a seat, “anyone can make a Pomodoro.”

“My dad can’t.”

“…why?”

“He’s Irish.”

“And a bloody cop,” Hobie interjected, twirling his pasta with a plastic fork, “hate those.”

“Here we go,” Gwen huffed, the beginnings of an argument forming. You chose to ignore them, letting Gwen, Miles, and Hobie bicker between themselves.

You squirmed in your seat, crossing your legs to cure the throbbing within. You could still feel Miguel, the stretch of his cock, and the inevitable ache that lingered afterward. You were still full of him, your cunt wet even hours later, plaguing you with the thought of never feeling him again. 

You drummed your fingers over the messy table littered with paper plates and napkins, your body hunched forward, lost in thought.

“So…” Peter began, adjusting the collar of his pink robe, “you gonna tell me what’s going on or am I gonna have to force it outta you?” You whipped your head to look at him, brows furrowed as you regarded him.

“What makes you think something’s going on?” You whispered, hoping the cafeteria was loud enough so the rest of the table wouldn’t hear.

“Something’s going on or you wouldn’t be whispering,” Peter whispered back, his blue eyes pinned to yours as he searched for answers. 

“It’s nothing.” You answered quickly, continuing to squirm in your seat, fighting to ignore your achy cunt. 

“Did you guys finally smooch?” You froze, your hands gripping the edge of the table with a force that made your knuckles go white. 

“Peter, what the fuck are you talking about?” You hissed, watching him happily eat his Pomodoro.

“You think I don’t know?” He challenged, “It might not be obvious to everyone else but I know what’s going on.” He winked at you, dabbing a napkin messily over his mouth.

Your heart was pounding, ready to beat out your chest, but you schooled your features as best you could. You swallowed thickly, crossing your arms over your chest as if to make yourself smaller. 

“Okay, fine, you know. What of it?” 

“Miguel’s being mopey.”

“Mopey?” You snorted, shaking your head, “He’s always mopey, isn’t he?”

“This is a different kind of mopey,” Peter raised a brow, “it’s actually kind of… frightening.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s got nothing to do with us, for once. Usually one of us pisses him off enough to throw things but he’s on a mission. Said he needed to clear his head. So what happened?” You sighed, shoulders sagging.

“I might have said something I wasn’t supposed to last night.”

“What?”

“We made a deal,” you explained in a whisper, “no feelings, just…you know,” you wiggled your fingers, hoping it would be enough of an explanation. Peter nodded, urging you to continue, “Well, I messed up.”

“How?”

“ItoldhimIlovehim.” You blurted out, your hands flying over your mouth. Peter blinked with a subtle tilt of his head, before a grin stretched over his lips. You groaned, now covering your eyes, “W-what is that, why are you smiling? Stop it.”

“I mean, one of you had to say it first.”

“Peter, you’re killing me here.” He rolled his eyes, inching close enough till your knees brushed against his.

“You don’t think the big guy feels the same way?”

“No!” You squeaked incredulously, “There’s no way. You should’ve seen him yesterday. He could barely look at me!” 

“You caught him off guard.”

“I know that, but he still could’ve said something. Anything.”

“He’s a guy. Guys are stupid.” You groaned, pushing your hair out of your face. You turned to look at the other spiders. You knew they’d been listening given the way they all turned away immediately.

“Someone is stupid,” you muttered to Peter, feeling dejected, “and it’s definitely not him.”

...

You took a deep breath before placing your watch over the sensor.

The door to Miguel’s office didn’t budge, not to your surprise. Lyla must have blocked the systems again.

What were you even doing there? 

You hadn’t seen Miguel in about a week. That was ample time to inform you he wanted nothing to do with you. You couldn't blame him but still, it was…unprofessional. He was your boss at the end of the day. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have started fucking the head of the Spider Society. Your weak heart wouldn’t be in shambles if you didn’t.

It was a stupid move, you knew, telling someone you love them in the throes of passion when they clearly weren’t on the same page, unprovoked or not. He probably hates you. He must. 

You’d given yourself enough time to think it through and given yourself so many pep talks before deciding a professional relationship with Miguel was for the best. No more friends with benefits. 

No more keeping your window unlocked.

You took a breath and tried again. No luck. 

Did he fire you? That couldn’t be right. You were still in the system and able to enter HQ with your keycard just fine. 

“You’re always catching him at a bad time,” Lyla sighed beside you, whipping out her tiny little holographic phone, “he didn’t even want to take a photo! Unbelievable!” The small image on her screen revealed a snarling Miguel, clearly unamused by the bunny filter plastered over his face. It was cute, even if he looked a bit terrifying baring his fangs. 

Lyla shifted to face you, hands on her little hips as she looked you up and down.

“You look niiice,” she quickly snapped a photo of you, “no cute filter needed.”

“Uhh, thanks?”

“Now it’s your turn to say something nice to me.” The Ai grinned when you rolled your eyes. 

“You look…extra yellow today, Lyla.” 

“Thank you! I’m in default mode.”

“Okay, so I’ll just come back later then?” You rushed to leave but Lyla stopped you, zapping in front of you suddenly.

“Nah, I’ll let you in.” You could hear the door to Miguel’s office opening, “Fix him.” 

“What? How am I supposed to do that?” 

Lyla shrugged, “I dunno, I just know you’re the only one that can.” She waved farewell, disappearing in a glimmer of gold. 

You groaned, dropping your head in your hands for a moment to collect your thoughts. Your palms began to sweat—they always did when you were nervous—so you quickly wiped them over your black pencil skirt before facing the office entryway. 

It was dark as usual, the only light illuminating the area was Miguel’s bright yellow screens. They hung above him as he sat slouched in his chair, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His head turned lazily to regard you. 

“I heard you’ve been mopey.” You began, cracking a smile when he snorted. He shook his head, watching you slowly approach him like one would a wounded animal.  He didn’t confirm nor deny the accusation.

“What do you need?” 

“To talk to you.” You said, finding the courage to step into his space, leaning back against his desk and blocking one of the yellow screens.

“About?” 

“Us.” Miguel hummed, running a hand through his messy hair. He sat up in his chair but said nothing else, allowing you the space to speak freely.

“I-I wanted to apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable,” you began to fumble with your fingers, unable to keep eye contact with him for very long, “I know that what I said was…crossing the line—”

“Did you mean it?” He asked abruptly, the question forcing your eyes away from your fingernails and toward his chiseled face. He looked exhausted, eyes heavy but swimming with curiosity.

“W-well, I mean, it was a moment of—”

“Did you mean it?” He repeated, his tone stern as he awaited a proper answer from you. You bit your lip, slowly nodding your head.

“Yeah. I did. Still do.” 

The silence that stretched wasn’t very long but it felt like an eternity. Miguel only stared at you, his jaw tight as he sat forward, his elbows resting on his toned thighs.

You wished you could read his thoughts, take a peek at what ran through his mind. He was always so good at hiding his emotions, never showing an ounce of what he felt. That wasn’t always the case but after Gabriella, he didn’t show much of anything. 

“I think it’s best we don’t see each other anymore,” you finally concluded, crossing your arms, “we should stop.”

“What?” Miguel’s eyes narrowed, “What do you mean stop?” He was towering over you in a matter of seconds, forcing you to crane your neck to look up at him. Your heart was pounding, your hands flying to grip the edge of his desk.

“Mig, we can’t keep doing this.”

“Yes, we can.” He caged you in his arms, bringing his face just a few inches away from yours. He never had much of a problem with eye contact, but you did. You chose to look at his collarbones and the large swoop of his shoulders. It was intimidating and arousing all at once and you weren’t getting anywhere with this speech, were you?

“We can’t. Not when we’re not on the same page.” 

“Who says we’re not?” You felt his fingers graze the side of your face, pushing a lock of your hair behind your ear. You turned away, squeezing your eyes shut, feeling the familiar prick of tears behind your lids.

“Stop playing with me.” You said, pushing him away with little luck. Miguel shifted slightly at your touch, watching you rub at your eyes. 

“I’m not.” 

“Then why have you not said anything for a week?” You hissed, the frustration threatening to boil over, “You’ve left me agonizing over this for a week, Miguel!” You wiped furiously at your cheeks, catching a few stray tears. “I’m such an idiot.” 

Miguel grabbed your wrists in his hands, yanking them away from your face. His concerned eyes met your wet ones, a frown tugging at his lips.

“Stop.” He demanded, taking your flushed face in his hands and wiping the wet streaks away with his thumbs. “Don’t say that about yourself.” You glared, cheeks puffed and swollen from the pressure of fighting away tears.

“Fine,” you snapped, ignoring the way he stroked your cheeks, “you’re the fucking idiot.” 

“I am,” Miguel agreed with a sigh, refusing to release you, “I didn’t know what to say. Thought you might have been lying—don’t look at me like that.” 

“You’re pissing me off.”

“I know, beba.” The endearment startled you for a moment, your glossy eyes peering up at him as a rush of excitement settled in your stomach. He’d never used endearing words with you before. It had you stumped for a second before you remembered yourself, your brows furrowing in irritation

“Why would you think I was lying? Mig, I’ve loved you for years, you buffoon!” Miguel loomed closer with every word before he kissed you, silencing you effectively. Your eyes fluttered, your lips unresponsive at first until he coaxed you into a gentle rhythm. 

Kissing Miguel was so much softer than you imagined. 

You thought he’d be all tongue and teeth, desperate to devour his victim. His kisses were syrupy and deliberate, steady and reassuring. He was taking his time learning the shape of your lips, the plumpness, how perfect they felt molded against his. 

“I’m sorry, beba,” he said between kisses, letting you snake your arms around his neck to pull him closer, “perdoname. I’m an idiot.” You hummed in agreement, continuing to assault his lips sweetly. You couldn’t stop kissing him if you wanted to, sneaking your tongue past the seam of his lips to taste more of him. 

He growled, tightening his hold on you, allowing you to taste at your leisure. He tasted fresh, like the spearmint gum he always had on hand.

“Perdoname,” he repeated, wanting so desperately for you to forgive his transgressions, slotting himself between your legs.

“Yeah? You’re sorry?” you teased, feeling the familiar ache of arousal blooming in your core, “show me how sorry you are.” Another growl ripped from him, animalistic and provoked. He wasted no time, pushing you down so that your back was flat against his desk and your legs were wrapped around his hips. 

He pressed a button beside you and suddenly, the platform began to elevate. 

“Mig,” you sat up in a panic, but Miguel only pushed you back down, lifting your skirt up till it pooled over your waist, “w-why are we moving up?”

“Privacy,” he grunted, spreading your legs, running his thumb over the soaked patch of your panties. Your hands scrambled to find purchase on something over the desk, your heart hammering in your chest as the ceiling seemed to loom closer.

“Y-you know I’m scared of heights!” You squealed when the platform came to a jutting halt, squeezing your eyes shut. You didn’t even want to think about how high up you were.

“It’s okay,” Miguel purred, gently rubbing your clit through the fabric, “you’re safe, you’re with me, beba, no tengas miedo.” 

“M-Mig, please,” you didn’t even know what you were begging for at that point, you just needed something, and whatever that was, he gave to you. You felt him push aside your panties, and you finally spared him a glance, almost choking at the sight of him mesmerized by the sweetness between your legs.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he muttered, slipping a finger through your folds, “you dripping all over my desk.”

“Y-yeah?” 

“Mhm,” he hummed, easily ripping your panties apart before getting on his knees, “smell s’good.” He muttered, licking a stripe up with his fat tongue, scooping whatever mess you made. He moaned at the taste before completely diving in, eyes closed and large hands keeping your trembling thighs spread for him.

As always, you were a whimpering mess for him, mewling with every precise stroke of his tongue. It was the first time he’d done something like this, and god, it was nothing you could have ever dreamed of.  

He moaned into your cunt, the gentle vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. You trembled and whined with every loud slurp of his mouth over your clit, his tongue swiping over your precious bud before working his way down to dip inside your hole. 

“Fuck, Miguel,” your hands flew to his hair, your fingers weaving through the thick strands to keep his head in place. He skillfully nipped and licked the surface, lifting his face away slightly to spit into your cunt, watching it run through your puffy folds with lidded eyes before devouring you again.

“You taste fucking amazing,” he groaned, sucking your clit between his lips.

You threw your head back, letting out the prettiest moans for him. You forgot about everything, about where you were and how high up you were from the ground. You couldn’t care less as long as Miguel continued to eat from you like a madman. 

You could feel the tension in your abdomen, the clear sign that you were close. Miguel continued to drink from you, slurping obscenely at the fresh arousal that dripped into his mouth.

“Close?” He asked, giving you kitten licks, his hands squeezing your thighs encouragingly. 

“God y-yes, so close.” You could feel him smiling against your folds before starting up a vicious rhythm again with his eyes closed. 

With a loud cry, you came into his waiting mouth, your back arching and body withering over the table from the overstimulation. Miguel licked and sucked every inch of you, determined to catch every drop of your orgasm. 

“Oh my god,” you moaned, releasing your grip from his hair and draping an arm over your eyes. Miguel stood, removing your arm and leaning over your fatigued body. He looked down at you with intense red eyes, his mouth and chin completely covered in your slick. You bit your lip when a smile curved at the edges of his lips before he swooped down to kiss you.

You moaned, completely aroused all over again from your own musky taste on his lips. He slipped his tongue in your mouth, allowing you a proper taste. 

“Perdoname.” He begged again over your lips before gently brushing the tip of his nose against yours. You giggled, pushing him away slightly so that you could sit up on your elbows. 

“Mm, I don’t know,” you teased, “you’re gonna have to try again.” Miguel shook his head, tapping a button on his watch, and allowing his suit to vanish. You gasped at his sudden nakedness, your eyes glued to his throbbing erection. Miguel grinned, fangs bared, tapping his cock over your sensitive cunt.

You closed your eyes as he immediately pushed in, moaning as he worked himself into your tight channel. 

In your euphoric state, you barely registered him grabbing your hand and placing a chaste kiss over your knuckles, whispering over your skin. Your ears picked up a few words, some naughty and some sweet, but your heart fluttered and your chest tightened when you caught the last two words before he began pounding into you.

“Te amo.”

[xoxoavenger]

Can I request wolverine x reader where both of them were madly in love with each other, but reader was unfortunately by one of the sentanails (mutant killing robots), absolutely wreaking him. Then, he went back in time and when he gets to the mansion, and meets past reader (let’s say she also have longevity like Logan) who doesn’t know him at this point and taken of guard. When he’s trying to convince Charles that he’s from the future and needs his help and Charles is being stubborn and gets a little heated, reader is trying to calm things down and try to get everyone on the same page

so sorry this took literally forever. it was partly bc of how busy I was and partly bc I was afraid to write it, having such a popular dofp fic already (literally my fic with the most notes 😅)

Missing

pairing: Logan x Fem!Reader

word count: 2719

warnings: major character death (in the request but just in case), cannon typical violence and talk of violence

masterlist

Logan should have known this was coming.

His luck is shit. It always has been. For a hundred years now, he's felt like everything he touches goes to shit.

And then met Y/N.

She she wasn't shit. She was kind, smooth where he was rough, fitting him in all the right places. He was scared for awhile, afraid that it was too good to be true - her mutant ability being the projection of light. This power, the power of light, caused her to age slower. Charles had tried to explain it, multiple times in fact, but Logan was so lost every time that he just gave up eventually on trying to understand. All he knew was she aged slowly, just like he did, which means they could be together without him having the ever-present fear of watching her grow old.

He just never expected her to die.

He had known this was always a risk. She knew it too. And he also knew that they could have lived together, pretending like they weren't mutants, hoping from town to town, but she would never allow that. Him? He would have ran to that in a heartbeat, because he was selfish enough to want her to himself. To want to live, for the first time in two hundred years. He tried to fool himself, but how could he ever forget that he would always survive, while she simply didn't age as fast.

And that's how he should have known that everything was about to go downhill.

It happened in slow motion. But even then, it was 'unpreventable', as Charles would say. Logan knew the truth, though. It should have been him. He should have been the one to be hit with the laser. He should have been the one to have the hole inside him.

"No!" He screamed, running to her and sheathing his claws. He slides to catch her before she falls, but she's already dead in his arms. Her eyes are wide open, mouth paused in shock. Her body is limp, neck snapped back. And there's the four inch hole in her stomach, which he can see right through.

But he can't help but scream for her, calling her name. He shakes her, as if she's just asleep. As if he can fix this.

"Y/N," He cries softly, not moving as he's being pulled back. Suddenly he realizes his whole team is around him, trying to move him away from of his love. From his dead love. They're all screaming at him, and he knows that he's putting everyone in danger. But he can't let go of her. He can't bring himself to move. He closes his eyes, and then he lets out a guttural scream.

The next thing he remembers is being in a shelter, back against a wall and knees pulled against his chest. He blinks, realizing that he has no idea what happened after Y/N -

He doesn't want to think about that.

Everyone is under the shelter, talking and bandaging each other up. Logan wishes he couldn't heal, wishes he still had the marks on his body. But instead, he's left with just blood and and an empty chest.

"I can't send someone back that far. It would kill them." Kitty says, and hey, dying sounds exactly like what Logan wants right now.

"Send me." He speaks up, causing everyone to stop talking and turn to him.

"Your healing factor would help. As long as Kitty can keep you in the past that long." Charles says, and Logan remembers that his healing factor will keep him from dying. He thinks maybe he just hasn't tried hard enough to die. He's never wanted to more than he does right now.

"I can try." Kitty says with a nod. They all seem to know that if they don't do this, there is no future. They do this, or the Sentinels kill them all. They're at the end of the line. So they explain the plan, how Logan needs to get Charles and Erik on speaking terms again and stop the government from getting Mystic's blood. They think this will do the trick, that they may not be able to stop the downfall but they can stop the Sentinels. Logan realizes, then, that if he does this and it actually works, Y/N doesn't die. It reinvigorates him, starting his heart again.

They get into position, Logan laying on the makeshift table with conflicting emotions. He's mourning his lover, but he has some hope at least. He feels Kitty's hands by his head and before he knows it he's screaming, but it's not too long before he's in a bed, the bright sun beating down on him. He's with a girl - not Y/N, he didn't meet her until he met Charles, unfortunately - and he feels a little gross for it.

He gets into a fight immediately, and when his claws come out he realizes he doesn't have the metal that usually protects him. Shit. This stupid mission just keeps getting better and better. He gets shot, always a fun time, then starts the fight, just wanting to get it over with. He forgot how sensitive his stupid regular claws are, and he's tired of it by the time he makes it through the three guys. Now he needs to go to the mansion, which he has no idea what to find there.

~

He knocks on the door, sunglasses still on. It looks different, and not just because of the time, so he waits outside for a couple seconds for someone to answer the door. He can't even hear any kids running around, which is weird. He's so focused on this, he barely realizes someone answering the door.

"Hello, sir. We're closed, unfortunately, but I can give you directions to the nearest gas pump." She says with a smile. She's got a yellow shirt and jeans on, and Logan is pretty sure he doesn't know how to speak.

"Y/N?" He gets out, eyes clouding with tears. She looks taken aback, which shakes him up a little. He forgot that she wouldn't know who he was, of course.

"How do you know my name?" She asks, trying not to sound too skeptical. Her skin is glowing slightly, and Logan pulls his sunglasses off. It's all he can do not to cry,

"You're not gonna believe me." He chuckles, instantly feeling more at ease. How could he have forgotten that she would be here? He's never been more grateful for anything ever.

"Try me." She says, crossing her arms. He smirks and makes his way past her and into the mansion. "Hey! I didn't say you could come in!" She yells, and he looks around and his home, glad to see it standing.

"Where's the professor?" He asks, knowing it'd be easier to speak to Charles, who could read his mind.

"There is no professor. You must have the wrong place." Hank says as he walks down the stairs. Y/N turns and has a panicked look on her face, and Logan knows he needs to smooth this over.

"Listen, if you just let me talk to him, he'll know who I am. You won't believe me if I just tell you." He repeats, and Hank looks at Y/N before looking back at Logan, his face set.

"Like I said, there is no professor here. I think you should leave." Hank walks to be in front of Y/N, who looks conflicted.

"Who are you?" She asks, and Logan's heart skips a beat as he realizes that she's sticking up for him. She always said it was love at first sight, and maybe this is proof.

"I'm Logan." He says, and then he thinks about if he's actually going to tell them the next part. "And I'm from the future."

"Are you, now?" Charles is at the top of the stairs, and Logan startles when he sees that his friend doesn't have a wheelchair.

"Your legs," Logan starts, not sure what to say. He's caught off guard by a lot right now.

"Perceptive." Charlies says with a smirk as he walks down the stairs. Logan turns to Y/N, whose brows are furrowed.

"How did you know my name?" Y/N is still stuck on it, but it's almost like she's looking through him. She knows something is up.

"I'm from the future." He says, and the rest of the mutants in the room just stare at him. He looks at Charles, who is smirking. "You can read my mind. You know I'm telling the truth." At this, Charles' smile drops and his eyes squint.

"You have the wrong guy." His voice is low, and Logan shakes his head.

"No," Logan says, and Y/N tilts her head. It sounds crazy, someone from the future, but why would he lie? "I know who you are, Charles Xavier. So, read my mind, tell everyone I'm telling the truth, and can get on with what I came here to do." The room is silent as Logan and Charles stare at each other.

"I'm not that man anymore." Charles insists. Y/N knows he's not going to help, but she needs to know what this guy's deal is.

"What exactly is it you came here to do?" She asks, drawing his attention. He stares at her for a moment, making her a little concerned, but he looks lost and hurt, so she feels bad for him.

"In the future," Logan starts to get choked up, not able to look at any of them. He clears his throat, then continues. "The government was able to get Raven's blood. Because of you and Erik's feud. And they make these killers, called Sententials. Mutant killers." He can't look at them. Something happened, something bad. Clearly, if they're mutant killers, but this seems to be cutting Logan deep.

"How far in the future?" She asks, and it unsettles Logan. It's almost as if she knows, as if she's asking how long she has. He tries to remind himself that if he succeeds, she'll be okay. But will they still bet together if he changes the future? He has to hope. It's better for her to be alive, even if they aren't together. Everyone will be saved.

"Far." He answers, because he doesn't know how to tell her it's 50 years, doesn't want them to worry if they can't figure this out.

"How is this Erik and I's fault?" Charles asks, starting to get worked up. "If anything, it's solely his. I had nothing to do with this." He starts to leave, and Logan doesn't know what to do.

"You and Erik sent me from the future." Logan answers, causing everyone to pause. "You sent me because you need to work together."

"You're lying." Charles accuses.

"Well if you had your powers, you would know I'm not." Logan is starting to get worked up. This is harder than he thought it would be.

"I think you need to leave." Hank says, stepping forward. Y/N surprises them all by stepping forward as well.

"I think he's telling the truth." Y/N says, her gaze finally moving from Logan to Hank. "I think we should listen to him."

"Raven will die." Logan says, looking at Charles. "She's going to be experimented on and die. You can prevent this." Logan tries, hoping this will work. Charles glares at him, clearly not convinced.

"What about you?" Charles asks, lifting his chin. "What do you lose?"

"Did you miss the whole part about the mutant-killing machines?" Logan scoffs. Unbelievable, this young version of Charles. He'll take the old guy any day.

"No, no, no." Charles walks toward him, vacant look in his eyes somewhat clearing. "I may not be able to read minds anymore, but I know that you're in it for more than that."

"That's my business." Logan resists looking at Y/N, instead staring Charles down.

"And this is mine." Charles huffs. "I asked for your help years ago, and you told me to fuck off. I don't know what happens in the future, if you're telling the truth or not, but I do know that Erik will not be the one to stop it." He turns, and Logan knows he's losing him. He sighs, looking away from the small group.

"I lost Y/N." He says quietly. Somehow, the room goes even more silent as everyone stares at him.

"What?" She asks, barely able to breathe. He looks at her, face full of emotions she doesn't know how to decipher. She just met this man, but clearly he has known her for years.

"I found the school in 2000. You and Charles ran it, and I only stayed because of you. In my timeline, in 2023," He chokes up as the images of her flash through his mind. He wants to erase it, but it's there every time he closes his eyes. "The Sententials kill you. And they're going to kill all of us in the future, if you don't get your head out of your ass and make up with your boyfriend." Logan snaps the last part at Charles, who starts to get angry.

"Listen here-"

"Charles," Y/N starts, hand on his arm to stop him from walking even closer to Logan. She's glowing softly, emitting a calm, soothing light that even Logan can't help but admit makes his pulse slow. "Logan is giving us a chance to change the future. To save Raven."

"You're just saying that because you die." Charles lashes out, and that's how Logan knows he's not okay. He would never do that to her.

"We're all going to die!" Y/N yells. "Are you listening to him? You're probably dying in his timeline as we speak." She looks over to Logan, who is staring like she is the only person in the room.

"This is Erik's fault." Charles says, as if that made a difference.

"And it's going to be your fault if you don't listen to him." She softly speaks, and finally Charles sighs. Logan is grateful for Y/N; who knows how he would have convinced Charles without her.

"What do we have to do?"

~ When Logan wakes up, he's disoriented. The last thing he remembers he was being in the river, a rebar stuck through him and his brain shutting down from lack of oxygen. He can hear people outside his room, but what gets him to actually leave is the laugh that rings out through the hallway.

He sees her as soon as he opens his door, her smiling brighter than the sun. His heart pounds as he wonders if they're together - they didn't exactly get together in 1973, but she had helped him and believed in him when literally no one else had.

"Hey, baby," Y/N says when she catches his eyes, and he can't help the sound that escapes him. Her eyebrows raise as she realizes something is different. "What's going on?" She asks, leaving the group of people - mutants, kids, that had died, but are now here.

"Am I dead?" He asks, head reeling. She tilted her head with a small smile.

"What?" She asks, grabbing onto his arms gently. He doesn't have the same self control, however, and pulls her in. She sighs, and seems to understand. "You just got back."

"I thought I lost you." He admits, pulling back. "I at least thought we weren't going to be together." It's a hard thing for him to say out loud, but she just pulls him in for a kiss.

"James," She whispers as they pull apart, and he feels like no one has called him that in so long. She is the only one who is allowed to, the only one who won't get their throat ripped out for even thinking of uttering his real name. "There is nothing you could do to keep me away." She kisses him softly again, and he tries not to let the tears fall.

"I love you." He tells her, resting his forehead against hers.

"I love you too." She responds, giving one last peck before pulling back. "Now, I'm sure a lot has changed, so how about I catch you up on the last fifty years as we take a walk." She grabs his hand, and Logan swears he's never been happier.

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler

[bynineb]

my favorite & least favorite Pokemon from each generation!

GEN 1

FAVE: VENONAT

my lovely buggy boy! this is partly for nostalgic reasons as my very first slot car i built with my father was called VENOM, and had a little Venonat figurine perched on top. but the design is also precious, a Kuriboh style fuzzball gnat in a whimsical purple. also when it runs it hops!!! like a bunny!!!

Runner Ups: Nidorino, Poliwhirl, Porygon, Charizard, Haunter

LEAST FAVE: GOLDUCK

a wet fart of an evolution that loses all of psyduck's walleyed charm and replaces it with... nothing. it has no identity. even its pokedex entries are lame - it can swim fast and that's it. usually the simpler gen 1 pokemon still appeal to me just due to sugimori's art style, but no such luck for the duck.

that being said, i don't completely hate it. it just needs more to latch onto design-wise

Runner Ups: Rapidash, Hypno

(the rest is under the cut!)

GEN 2

FAVE: FLAAFFY

once my all-time favorite pokemon, although that has since been ceded to Venonat, i adore Flaaffy to bits. it has that perfect amount of cuteness and patheticness that endears me to some of my favorite designs, said patheticness owing to its stubby arms, mangy coat, watery eyes, and peculiar bowed stance when it stands up. i love the striped horns and tail, the colors are very pleasant, and the wool gives it a je ne sais quoi that the otherwise similar Ampharos lacks, almost like a wooly muffler and hat. (not knockin Ampharos btw, love it too). there's a reason Fynn took so much inspiration from this fluffy fellow!

(also, the rental Flaaffy in Pokemon Stadium 2 had Thunder Punch and Fire Punch. considering the sorry state of rental movesets in that game, and my lack of an N64 link cable, Flaaffy carrying me through those fights may have helped cement our bond!)

Runner Ups: Skiploom, Dunsparce, Forretress, Unown, Magcargo

LEAST FAVE: TYROGUE

not only does it not really resemble the hitmons - maybe hitmonchan? - it's just not a flattering design. the bandages and ear guards give it some definition and trainee-like character, at least, but the colors are gross, and frankly it just looks too much like a human being. in general i dislike pokemon that too closely resemble humans and Tyrogue is one of the biggest offenders. even its name is dumb! it's not roguish at all! what a hitmonchump

(also the beta version was so much better imo. linked art by @racieb)

Runner Ups: Qwilfish, Smoochum, Noctowl

GEN 3

FAVE: DUSKULL

aww duskull... what a charmingly spooky spirit. the single red eye behind the skull mask is a killer design motif and i love its fishlike phantom body, arms tucked behind its back in eternal contemplation. so halloweeny!

Runner Ups: Trapinch, Lunatone, Illumise, Shedinja, Tropius

LEAST FAVE: DELCATTY

it lacks in personality, and i don't think the color scheme looks good. its head shape also freaks me out the longer i look at it... but i do like that its neck resembling a pincushion, that's clever

Runner Ups: Castform

GEN 4

FAVE: REGIGIGAS

hey look, it's game freak's favorite whipping boy! i'm a sucker for hulking construct-type designs and regigigas is such a thoroughly excellent example of one. the black runes and mossy accessories give it a feeling of ancient, unknown significance. unlike a lot of gen 4 legendaries, it doesn't feel overly busy but still feels complex enough to have that "legendary" impact

Runner Ups: Giratina, Carnivine, Torterra, Bastiodon, Gliscor, Drapion

LEAST FAVE: AMBIPOM

i have to say gen 4's designs usually feel distinct, particularly the new evolutions for older pokemon, which go out of their way to differentiate themselves from their previous form, for better or worse. not so for Ambipom, though!- which is just Aipom but worse in every single way. its once nimble fingers reduced to swollen udders, its cheeky grin slackened into a vacant smile and marred with an unpleasantly singular nostril, that dreadful haircut, and even the introduction of elbows to its vestigial arms that further emphasize the seeming impracticality of those wretched bulbous tail hands. and maybe even worse, it doesn't evolve the base concept in any way, aside from doubling the number of party balloons that limply float behind it, possibly the least interesting iteration on the existing concept

nothing unique to it is good or interesting, and that to me is way worse than a design that tries something new and fails

in terms of what i like about it... i guess it does seem like a pretty friendly guy. maybe he does tricks at parties. and it's nice that they can hold hands with one another in a group

Runner Ups: Gallade, Lopunny, Magmortar, Glaceon,

GEN 5

FAVE: HAXORUS

god if this thing isn't cool! the exquisite color palette, the subtle contours of its armor, the bloodred axe-tusks... elegant simplicity in a terrifyingly brutal beast. it feels out of time, jurassic yet medieval...

Runner Ups: Roggenrola, Heatmor, Scolipede, Cofagrigus, Mienshao

LEAST FAVE: GURDURR

there are very few pokemon that make me feel disgusted by looking at them, but here's one of them. its creepy lumpy head and bulging veins make me deeply uncomfortable. i must give credit for the base concept of a clown-ogre-construction-worker... that's ambitious, at least, and i think it pays off pretty well in Conkeldurr.

Runner Ups: the monkeys, the genies, & the musketeers... the fillerest of filler

GEN 6

FAVE: GOURGEIST

SUCH a fun design. it blends a candle and a jack-o-lantern into its own original creature with a very unique shape, and what a cutie at that! it coming in multiple sizes like a real pumpkin would just seals the deal. another perfectly halloweeny 'mon, it and Duskull would be best friends

Runner Ups: Avalugg, Barbaracle, Clawitzer, Espurr, Trevenant

LEAST FAVE: VOLCANION

one of the pokemon i forget about the most, and i am never happy to remember it. what a waste of the first fire/water type! its face looks constipated, its colors are lame, and it doesn't do jack-all with the concept besides the most obvious "it can shoot out steam." at the very least, though, i can say it has a unique silhouette. i think the design has potential, it's just that a lot of the particulars are very clunky and lame

(also, give me the fireball seal from the beta game freak!!)

Runner Ups: Hoopa, Braixen

GEN 7

FAVE: CHARJABUG

BEEP BEEP!!! oh how i adore this little battery buggy. i didn't think much of it back when it was first revealed, but as soon as i heard its cry i immediately fell in love. it really is unique, too - no other pokemon has this shape. even cooler it has a support-based playstyle unique from its evolution based around its Battery ability, improving its allies' damage passively. thanks charjabug : )

Runner Ups: Type: Null, Celesteela, Bruxish, Stakataka, Melmetal

LEAST FAVE: LYCANROC-DAY

i don't particularly dislike Lycanroc really (Alola's designs are bangers), but the rock typing is so thoroughly phoned in. and if you get rid of that you're just left with a wolf, an animal i don't care about. midnight form is fun though!

Runner Ups: Passimian, Toucannon

GEN 8

FAVE: SNEASLER

this pick is probably not too popular, but i can't help but love Sneasler because it looks so much like what i would doodle in my high school notebooks, monster people with huge claws and wicked eyes. it's a cringe OC and that's badass. it carrying you around in a basket is also just precious...

special mention also to legends arceus for making the diamond/pearl legendaries look way cooler. to me, anyway, i just think they're so much more fun in this surreal state

Runner Ups: Carkol, Cursola, Falinks, Ursaluna, Hatterene, Toxtricity

LEAST FAVE: CINDERACE

i generally don't care for the set of designs made for sword and shield. (my favorite gen 8 mon isn't even from sword/shield!!) it feels like over half of the dex is either a guy with a job, or tries way too hard to be "memetic" and funny. cinderace falls into the former camp, an uncannily humanoid and unnatural design. i also don't like the colors used... that being said, it's going for a very different aesthetic than what i prefer, so i can imagine some people loving this design just as much as I dislike it.

i think the idea of kicking a pebble that becomes a blazing fireball is rad though, and Court Change is a sick move

Runner Ups: Boltund, Eiscue, Kubfu, Coalossal, Skwovet, Greedent

GEN 9

FAVE: GLIMMORA

this perfect angel was one of the most unexpected delights of my scarlet playthrough. i love how otherworldly and surreal it is, its beautiful flower-like blooming petals that conceal its deadly poisonous nature, and its barreleye-fish-like-eyes that are at once adorable and haunting. it's amazing that we're 1000 designs in and game freak's artists are still able to create wholly new feeling concepts that are this cool...

Runner Ups: Slither Wing, Espathra, Houndstone, Ogerpon

LEAST FAVE: RELLOR

WHY DO YOU HAVE THE FACE OF A HUMAN, RELLOR?! WHY!?! i am begging gamefreak to stop giving so many pokemon mustaches and beards. i also don't like the weirdly smooth dunkin-donuts-lookin' dung ball and how none of its colors match the bug's colors... that being said, it does at least have personality, i can't deny that...

Runner Ups: Iron Jugulis, Frigibax, Iron Crown

well that was cathartic! to end on a positive note, i must say that I think Pokemon's overall design track record is very good. most designs have a likeable quality to them, and so many are bursting with creativity and charm. honestly even the ones i just criticized are probably some people's favorites, and they're not wrong to think so. thanks for reading!

[nataliasquote]

Midnight | n romanoff

Summary: Natasha has never learned how to rest, and at midnight is where she is most vulnerable

Warnings: throwing up, insomnia, ptsd

wc: 1.1k

note: this is so short but it’s also angsty with some fluff dw

-⧗-

Natasha wasn't very good at sleeping. None of the avengers were, really, but her mind was constantly plagued with the past and the future, which made it almost impossible for her to relax.

It was 1am. The compound was finally quiet as everyone had gone to sleep. Well, almost everyone. Y/n and Natasha were curled up in bed together and Y/n's soft snores were all that could be heard in their shared room. She were fast asleep, but Natasha just lay there. Her mind was racing, memories of the Red Room spinning in circles and driving her crazy. She had tried desperately to sleep, but no luck. Her heart was racing and her body ached to move, so she knew she needed to go.

She carefully removed herself from Y/n's side and stumbled out of bed, dragging herself over to the closet to grab the first set of work out clothes she could find. She threw them on blindly and went down to the training room.

The hallways were eerily quiet but Natasha didn't notice. She was too preoccupied with her thoughts to care. She barely even noticed when she pushed open the door to the gym and she suddenly found herself by the punching bag.

Her warm up routine normally was very strict. She would do fifteen minutes of stretching to make sure her body was warm so she wouldn't get injured. But this Natasha didn't care about that anymore. She put on boxing gloves and started a rhythm on the bag. She was punching away her nightmares, fighting the demons in her head.

She didn't know how long she was doing that for, but once her arms started to go numb she stopped. Her head was pounding from lack of sleep but she pushed on. Her thoughts hadn't subsided and she felt as tense as ever.

After taking the gloves off, she went over to the treadmill and started at a light pace. But very quickly she turned it up so she was almost sprinting. Every time her foot struck the machine she felt her mind spin.

After running for forty five minutes, her stomach started to churn. Her lungs were burning and her heart felt like it was on fire. But she kept going. After all, she was made of marble. No weaknesses.

Natasha felt the bile rise up in her throat but she pushed it down. Her stomach was uncomfortable but she still ignored it, and kept running. But then a strong wave hit and her mind went into panic mode.

She slammed her hand on the emergency stop button and jumped off, heaving into the bucket on the floor. Natasha collapsed to her knees as she threw up the remnants of her dinner, her hands desperately gripping the edges of the bucket. Her whole body was shaking, partly due to exhaustion and also the strain she'd just gone through in her workout. She continued to dry heave even after everything was gone. This was one of the only times Nat felt truly vulnerable.

She didn't hear Y/n burst through the door until she felt her hand on her back. Y/n had woken to discover an empty bed and panicked, immediately going on a search for Nat. Her heart broke when she found her girlfriend crouching on the floor of the gym in such a state. But what hurt even more was that this wasn't the first time.

"Nat, baby, you've got to stop doing this." Y/n whispered as Natasha dry heaved again. Nat was crying as her hands shook against the bucket. "Hey, hey, it's ok. It's ok." She unscrewed the lid of a water bottle she had grabbed. "Here, drink some of this."

Natasha finally lifted her head and turned away from the bucket to sit properly on the floor. Her weak hands tried to grip the bottle and with Y/n's help she slowly drank. Some ran down her chin so Y/n quickly wiped it up.

Only then did Y/n get a proper look at Nat. The bags under her eyes were dark and her usual bright green eyes had been replaced with dull grey ones, which were red from exhaustion. She was still sweating and some of her hair was stuck to her face.

"Oh baby. What have you done to yourself?" Y/n asked rhetorically and Natasha just sobbed. Pulling her into her shoulder, Y/n stroked Natasha's head and whispered comforting words to try and calm her down. "Shh shh it's ok. you're ok. Let's get you cleaned up." she suggested and Natasha gave the smallest nod. "Ok baby. Stand up on three."

Y/n counted to three and the couple slowly stood up from the floor, with Y/n taking most of Nat's weight. She debated going back to their room, but in the end decided to let Nat shower in the changing rooms as they were closer. She gave her the privacy she needed, and proceeded to sort out the bucket in the gym whilst Natasha was cleaning up.

Once Y/n had cleaned that up, she went back to check on Natasha and found her shaking in the shower, letting out small sobs as she held her shampoo bottle.

"Do you want some help, honey?" Y/n asked and Natasha nodded.

She helped her wash her hair and body very gently. Once they were done Y/n grabbed a towel and wrapped it around Natasha's shaking body to dry her off. She got her changed into the spare clothes that were in Nat's locker and they carefully made their way back to the bedroom.

Y/n sprayed lavender on Natasha's pillow and helped her into bed, holding her body close to her own. She knew the redhead wouldn't want to talk, so she just sang a quiet lullaby to try and lull her to sleep, hoping it would work.

Natasha buried her face in Y/n's neck and quickly fell asleep to the sound of her girlfriends voice and the feeling of her hand gently rubbing her back.

Y/n watched as Nat slept, not wanting to sleep and miss something important. She didn't mind staying awake if it meant that Natasha was safe. Even the strongest people need someone to help fight their demons.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hi! Could you tell us more about the hoopoe sighting, specifically from the human / social side? Are these bird watchers or regular folk? How did the word spread around? Are people coming in from further (definition pending) away or are these walking distance neighbours? Etc etc etc

Basically, this situation sounds fascinating but I feel like I'm missing as to how this is happening and what social rules have emerged. It doesn't look like there's press coverage or wildlife protection or the threat of a wild animal killing you like with the [sea lion? Seal? That one pinniped] incident. So, how is this all playing out?

ALSO, I'm writing a story in which a non-native bird arrives one day and that manages to bring together some of the neighbours, so this event is personally fascinating to me. Thank you so so much for your reporting.

Sure! So, first off for context, a hoopoe sighting in the UK is not unheard of, but super super rare. It's something that happens like... once every few years, maybe? But normally on the south east coast of England, it is super super super rare to get one in Wales.

Now, whenever you get rare sightings like this, it's mostly bird watchers who care, and who spread the news. Last year a golden oriole turned up in a scrap of woodland on the Gower - much like the hoopoe, just passing through - and within hours of someone spotting it and putting it on a bird forum, the twitchers descended, lol. As luck would have it I was leading a field trip in that woodland on that day, so I got to see about two dozen people turn up, singly or in small groups, over the course of about four or five hours, all armed with proper cameras and also good binoculars. I never saw it in the end, which was a shame, but I know where it was, because I saw the birders gather in a small, hushed crowd at one end as we were getting back on the bus.

In the case of this hoopoe, things are a bit more relaxed. Unlike that golden oriole, it was first spotted earlier this week, and has hung out every day along the beach at roughly the same spot. You can see how unbothered it is by humans, too, look:

So close! Look how close it came in the photos! And the path it's on is a cycle path; bikes going past merely made it raise its crest momentarily and then carry on feeding. This means it's been a more relaxed affair, because if you want to see it, it's bizarrely easy to find. The first two days had slightly bigger crowds, but by now the QUICKLY GO AND SEE BEFORE IT LEAVES fervour has gone.

With that said, it's still mostly birders and other environmentalists going to see it. I don't think local news has even covered it, funnily enough. A quick search for 'Swansea hoopoe' gets me bird watching websites, birding soc med groups, a YouTube video, and a news article from last year when a hoopoe turned up in an Aberystwyth garden, of all places. The Evening Post really should have mentioned it for local interest, actually, but nothing. Although, of course, that's probably helped keep crowds down.

But environmentalists are definitely sharing the news with each other lol, so there's that (especially on the local scene). WE are all very excited. Of the little crowd of about 10 people there today, most had proper cameras. Several were discussing RSPB sites. Many had English accents, which suggests they travelled in to see it (although of course that's not definite). So, it's mostly a specialist crowd, interspersed with locals who stop to see what everyone is staring at.

The difference with the walrus, though, is I think partly the level of exoticism (most people don't know what a hoopoe is, but have seen birds; by contrast, they do know what a walrus is, and most haven't even seen a seal), and partly impact. Wally was exciting regardless, but he also kept squatting on slipways and capsizing boats, leading to funny photos of lifeboat volunteers trying to shoo him away with a broom.

And even funnier photos of him sinking the boats of rich toffs as they watched helplessly on and underwent the five stages of grief.

And, actually, he came visiting in lockdown, when people couldn't travel far and couldn't gather indoors, but you could go to Tenby and stand on a cliff, and I do think that played a part. But, as I say, most non environmentalists just don't know the hoopoe is even there to get excited.

Anyway, I hope that is at all useful! Good luck with your story.

[windcarvedlyre]

Wait Venti “mixes things up in canon”? Like, confuses which time he’s in??

I don’t think I’ve noticed. If you want, could you give some examples?

Yeah! There are 1-3 examples of this: 1 that only has time-related explanations, 2 which can be interpreted that way.

The first one is these two lines from different parts of the prologue, in both scenes where we meet Venti at Windrise.

He says exactly the same thing twice and notices that the second time. The delivery is almost identical too (at least in Chinese).

It's too long and flowery to be a coincidence imo, even from him; I believe it's much likelier that he messed up a script due to stress. As he points out himself, he only says 'these things' whenever he's 'down on his luck'.

There are two explanations for this that make sense to me:

He interacts with time nonlinearly. The specific nature of that could vary from simple time travel to jumping around branching timelines to experiencing more than one point in time in parallel; at this point I have no way to narrow that down.

He's in a time loop. He's been through the prologue before and he's partly on autopilot. Maybe Teyvat gets reset and he remembers previous loops, maybe it's something shorter.

Tangentially, if loop theory is true and Teyvat's on its fourth loop then the way he introduces himself will retroactively be even funnier:

Though his infamous song line would be slightly more consistent with intepretation one, as would a text about wind and time I can't locate that describes wind as 'moving between the pages of a book' (considering Teyvat operates on story logic) vs time being more destructive. Interpretation two is still possible if he knows 'future' songs from later in previous loops.

Anyway, the other two mixups concern the traveller.

The first is his infamous introductory voiceline:

Which isn't subtle. The second is from his story quest as he flees Angel's Share:

In which he refers to the statue's hands as 'the usual place' despite us never having been there with him. The dialogue immediately afterwards confirms this is intentional, not something implied to have happened offscreen. Like the Windrise lines, he says this while not at his best emotionally.

Venti also really, really likes the traveller in general- a bit much for someone who hasn't known us that long. His voiceline about his greatest wish puts us on par with Nameless Bard.

Both of the above have a non-time explanation: Venti may have befriended the traveller 500 years ago, the traveller has forgotten everything, and for unknown reasons Venti is trying to hide this from us. However, time travel, experiencing the future and present simultaneously, or knowing them from prior timeloop resets are also viable explanations for why he knows them and has spent time with them already.

Sooo yeah! Venti's hiding something big either way, but he's not as slick as he wants to be.