worstghost

[worstghost]

a little piece from something coming (:< scott/reader/logan where everyone in this world is bisexual lol (definitely based on the movie versions)

The tension between Logan and Scott had grown, weighing heavily on you. You felt guilty for the constant split in the team, but truthfully, you thought the boys just needed to kiss and get over it. You just didn't expect to be in the middle of them.

Their rivalry had finally reached its boiling point and you were loving it- squeezed between Scott and Logan in one of the old unused classrooms, head lolling back against your boyfriends shoulder as Logan kissed his way down your neck.

Scott had been working on undoing the buttons on your shirt, sliding his long fingers across your nipples and grinding up into you every time you moaned.

"C'mon Summers, a few buttons get the best of you?" Logans voice is teasing as he skips a step and rips your shirt open, quickly pulling it down your shoulders.

Scott grits his teeth at that- how dare he be so rough with you, he thinks. But then you gasp and press your chest forward straight into Logans mouth and he swallows hard, the sight of him pulling your bra down with his teeth to get to you.

At this point he doesn't know who he's watching more, you or the other man.

You noticed he's lost in thought and reach up to grip his hair, pulling him against your mouth in a biting kiss.

[worstghost]

hey guys i am switching to only writing drabbles for now because for some reason everything I write turns into that and I can't do headcanons to save my life !!! so yes I will have some coming out and feel free to send drabble ideas about any of the characters in my masterlist (:

[worstghost]

Which of the xmen 97 powers are you most jealous of?

ill be so honest- there's not many that I would want 😭 they seem very hindering

if I could pick I'd be happy to have mystiques but it also seems like it'd be so mentally taxing

id take wolverines claws but would I want to go through the pain of having metal injected in my body or just having bone claws lol

could not be a telepath- I don't trust myself to not listen to people's thoughts lol

[worstghost]

can I request scott summers headcanons, i feel like he melts/ gets turned on by respect. Like dear god the amount of disrespect he gets on a daily basis is crazy, so to have someone who genuinely respects him

i love scott summers , this is a mix of the movie and x men 97 scott so bear with me, I got carried away lol. also I'm sorry this is a drabble and not headcanons 🙃 I got too into it.

scott summers/reader

You're new, having been pulled in last second for this specific mission. Everyone's a little apprehensive, keeping their distance while Scott briefs you.

"So you'll be waiting here, your ability to detect heat signatures at such a distance gives us an advantage. Just report to me if anything comes up?"

You're looking around the ship, interested, you'd never been invited to one of these but you were excited to help.

"Sounds good to me." You smile at him, taking your seat.

This gives Scott some pause, eyebrows drawing for the smallest moment. No argument, no telling him your two cents and making it a fight?

You can sense his hesitation and laugh, "You're the leader right? I'm fine here, I trust that you know what you're doing." By this point you've looked away, peeling at the leather cushion on the arm rest.

That's what does it for him, his heart leaps out of his chest trying to reach you and he has to turn away to hide the flush of his cheeks.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The next time is when you're teaching a class. You're unlucky enough to have a troublesome batch of preteens, on the edge of learning how to question everything and everyone. You let them of course, it's part of growing up to have attitude, but you don't let it get too far.

Scott comes in to watch you teach one day, it's an interesting subject on the history of art influenced by war against mutants. He's enamored while you show the pieces, cringing every time one of the kids interrupts you by talking to a friend or snapping their gum or sighing so loud everyone turns around to look.

Finally, you pause, setting the pen you were pointing with down on your desk.

"Alright, I think we're done for now and we're going to do silent reading." Groans echo around the room. "No, listen to me. Mr. Summers came in here to listen to the lesson and see how good of students you are, and you have been so rude. Please apologize and pull out your books."

He's shocked, shrugging off the chorus of 'Ugh sorrys' and 'whatevers'. You take command so well, demand respect not only for yourself but for others. If he wasn't in love before, this solidified it.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

He loves to hear it in the bedroom too. Loves the way you trust and listen to him when he asks you to do something new. Very encouraging.

Loves to hear you say "Yes, sir." It just gets him every time, he melts.

Scott also loves when you take control. The feeling of someone taking care of him. He stresses so much about the team, it's a relief when you just lay him down on the bed and climb on top.

Praise praise praise. Wants to hear how good he makes you feel, when he moves his hips just right and pushes in even deeper. The more you talk, the harder he thrusts.

You'll hold on to his shoulders, grinding down, whimpering and throwing your head back like a pornstar and he just can't get enough.

"You feel so good, Scott, I love it-" interrupted by a gasp at the way he licks down your neck.

He'll smile against your chest, "Talk to me, baby. Keep going." It drives him crazy, loves to hear you breathless, trying to tell him how amazing his dick is but you can't stop moaning.

He would never tell you to be quiet- this is the one place he feels truly appreciated and he wants everyone to hear it.

[worstghost]

Hello! I saw u asking us requesting to u about xmen 97 and I hit u with this!!!!

Any hcs u have for/about Kurt(can be sfw/nsfw Idm)

Also more on Kurt: do u think he has a favorite perfume? Or like some sort of specific scent (as in a hint of vanilla or smth)

Would love to read ur thoughts about this

i love you for this fr

I'm gonna start with the scent thing- generally I think he enjoys sweet, fresh smells. Loves when you're straight out of the shower, will literally inhale your clean hair and rub against you to share the scent of himself with you.

On the other hand, I think the smell of incense is so nostalgic for him and brings him some peace. The smell of an old church, the comforting spicy smell of frankincense, cinnamon, rosemary. Those sort of warm scents that help him clear his head to pray before bed. The smell of old books too, brings him comfort.

now some fun little thoughts (:<

♡I think Kurt appreciates art very much, specifically the baroque era, and some post impressionist/expressionist art. He likes to feel things while he examines them. I think in particular he'd enjoy Klimts 'The Kiss' for it's vibrancy and romance, and Van Goghs 'Starry Night'. Obviously he's into religious art, it makes him emotional, but I also think he likes hopeful art, things that show the best parts of life. Its all part of his journey to be more grateful.

♡I think he's such a hopeless romantic loverboy, not in the way Gambit is with the flirting and the flaunting, but in an acts of service way. He's humble in the way he loves you, totally devoted and would do anything for you. You make him feel like he's enough and he can only hope to reciprocate.

♡Like I said, he's an acts of service sort of man. He'll do anything to lessen your burdens, help you handle tasks, draw you a bath after a long day, massage your shoulders while you talk about all the trouble the students gave you that day.

♡It translates to your sex life, he's a complete giver. Anything you want you can have, whenever you want it.

♡He bites, he can't help it. Sometimes he gets so into it, leaving bruising kisses down your throat, and then you move just the right way and he can't help but sink his fangs in just a little- he'll quickly lick away the pain when you yelp, whispering soft apologies.

♡Leaves hickeys and bites down your chest, sometimes your hips and the insides of your thighs. I think Kurt is pretty animalistic when you're having sex, his brain just switches and he has to mark you, rub against you until you smell like him, your lips taste like him.

♡He's secretly possessive, wouldn't admit if anyone asked him, but you can definitely tell. The way he sleeps with his tail wrapped around your leg or arm, always touching you and stirring every time you do.

[worstghost]

yes I have an x men oc and yes she's hot and cool and yes she's rogues gf what about it

no but really im developing an oc and might write a little for her if anyone is interested

[worstghost]

Could you please write something about a reader giving Nightcrawler ear scratches, tummy rubs, ruffling his hair, feeing his tail, etc.. Just the reader feeling/petting Kurt. Thank you for anything you do 😊

I LOVE kurt. you don't understand my need for this man. turned this into a little drabble where I mixed both of your asks (:

reader comforts Kurt and talks about the things she loves about him. (I don't speak german- all german put in was done with help and guessing lol)

You could tell he was upset by the way he walked, tail wound tightly around his leg, ears back in frustration.

Kurt was such an open book, the non human parts of him a dead giveaway into his mind. He had just finished showering, flopping face first onto the bed.

You couldn't hide a small laugh at his dramatic 'oof!' as the bed shook, marking the page on your book and scooting over to him.

"Kurt?" You leaned over him, trailing your fingers down his spine, smiling as he shivered under your touch.

"Yes, liebling?" Kurt's voice was muffled, he refused to lift his face, instead scooting just a little closer to rest his cheek against your knee.

You hummed, twisting pieces of his wet hair around your fingers, scratching his scalp, and then repeating. "You seem upset."

His body tensed at that, making a point to unwrap his tail. "No, not upset."

"Oh really." You laughed, petting down all the hair you had messed up. "You know I love you?"

He nodded against your leg.

"You know I think you're beautiful?"

His tail swayed a little and he couldn't help but feel flustered.

"Come here, please, Kurt." You leaned back against the headboard and held your arms open for him.

He was on you in an instant, pressing his head against your chest and wrapping his arms so tightly around your waist.

"I love you too. So much it hurts." He exhaled shakily, playing with the string of your pyjama pants.

You hushed him softly, running your hands up and down his arm, petting the soft fur, smiling when his tail made it's way around your thigh.

"You're so perfect for me, everything I could ever want. Devoted, loyal, beautiful." You could feel his heart beating faster, the heat coming off of his face. "Did I ever tell you blue is my favorite color?"

That gets him to laugh, pinching your leg gently and then holding you tighter when you jump away. "That is not true, liebling, I know your favorite color is purple."

"That was before I met you, love."

His tail is thumping against the bed now, flustered as he covers his face and laughs.

"Du bringst mich um, liebling..."

[worstghost]

will yall ask me questions about the x-men 97 characters so I can write stuff please u_u

i want to talk about my various wives and husbands thank you

[worstghost]

I see I'll have to be the single rogue/f!reader writer out there huh 🤔

that's a bummer lol

I will post other things im just in love with my wife rn

I've been really into xmen 97/the old movies too so if you'd like to request some stuff for that I'm down!

[worstghost]

hey guys I love Rogue and she's my wife and I'm in love and yeah

this was written in 20 minutes half asleep but I will be writing more (probably also half asleep) bc I love her

Rogue(xmen97)/f!reader

You'd been out all night with Rogue, celebrating your birthday by drinking and dancing until you couldn't remember your own name.

She could handle her alcohol much better than you, proved by the way she led you back into the school and to the couch in the common room, giggling and shushing you as you tried to whisper your thoughts to her.

"Rogue-" Your thoughts broke with a bubbly laugh, face red as you bit your lip to stifle it, "I need to tell you something..."

Your little birthday dress had ridden up your thighs and she couldn't get you to sit still long enough to fix it. You were so fidgety, it didn't help that she was still tipsy and her gloves kept slipping on the silky fabric as she tried to tug it down. Eventually she gave up and just tossed a blanket over your legs, which you gratefully pulled up to your chest

"What's that, sugar?" Her voice was low and soft as she adjusted the blanket, taking the spot next to you.

"Rogue-" You leaned in close, blinking hard so you could see her clearly. "I'm so, so in love with you."

She could smell the sweet cocktails on your breath, the way your eyes were so wide and sure as you stared at her. It sobered her pretty quickly and she smiled and pressed you back against the couch.

"Love you too, hon."

Your face was red, a heavy embarrassed blush forming. "No, I'm..." She could see your frustration growing. "I think about you so much, I miss you when you're gone, you're so beautiful. I'm in love with you."

Rogue could sense your sudden seriousness. This wasn't a joke or because you were drunk. It had just given you the courage to say something. It's not like she hadn't thought of it before, you were one of her greatest friends and comforts.

She watched the way you leaned against the cushion, big eyes watching her every move, as if she really meant something to you. It squeezed her heart in a way she hadn't felt in a long time.

Hesitantly she reached a gloved hand out for you, and you took it immediately, threading your fingers between hers. She could feel the heat of your skin, how tightly you held it against your thigh. It made her heart race.

You looked so soft, glossy lips, little smudges of eyeliner under your lashes.

She licked her lips, catching the way your eyes shot down to her mouth. It made her blush, made her shy like she had never been before.

"Get some sleep, I'll be here and we can talk about it in the mornin'." Her fingers smoothed the hair from your eyes, and she moved back, sitting against the edge of the couch and watching until you got comfortable and eventually dozed off.

Who knows if you'd remember this, or if it was true. God she hopes it was true.

[worstghost]

A Message

Michael Myers imagine

Word count: 475

The girl wakes up from a nap alone.

From the corner of the room, Michael watched her body with some sort of amusement. She was sprawled like a star fish on the bed, just the way he had left her, even now without his hands holding her down. His core flexed at the thought.

Her bare chest drew heavy breaths as if the poor girl couldn't get anything to her lungs. She was truly worn out. Naked and bruised, and satisfied.

Not an hour ago, he had left her, awake and panting, to find something to busy himself with. A silent stalk around town was tempting, and so he went without so much as a glance in her direction. She didn't mind, too exhausted to even open her eyes.

Michael approached the bed, fully dressed now, mask returned to his face, and knife gripped in his calloused fingers. He sat on the edge, pausing to when she started to stir. When she relaxed again, he began to gently, very gently, trace the tip of the blade down the center of her chest. Following the line of her spine, without drawing blood just yet.

She was still sleeping, or pretending to, out of fear. Either way he was too interested in playing with her skin to care. He brought the blade back up, pressing it flat against her nipple and her body jerked at the cold steel. But still slept.

He loved the sight of that, and he'd be sure to go back to the other one in a minute. For now he continued drawing shapes, barely pressing the tip to her navel, then smearing the drops of blood with the blunt back in a slick line up her abdomen.

Never had he been so patient, but something was driving him. Arousal or hidden bloodlust, he didn't know. His breath got heavy the more he cut, leaving tiny nicks and cuts in beautiful symmetry on her skin.

When he was finished, she was covered in droplets, barely even enough to scar. It had somehow made it's way to his hands and mask, as if he was finger painting. Michael only stopped when the hunger was unbearable, he didn't want to risk giving in and plunging the blade through her ribs just to see the blood.

She woke up a few hours later, body aching and skin burning. She twisted to sit up, hissing at the sting on her stomach. The room was dark as she led a hand down her sternum to find the cause of pain. Her hand touched sticky, almost scabbed, dried.. something.

The girl jumped up to find the light and turned herself towards the mirror hanging from her closet. The panic was only for a moment, the blood had dried and the cuts weren't deep. She almost smiled, tracing a shaking finger over the crudely drawn heart on her breast.

[worstghost]

lead me home

pairing: void!gambit/remy lebeau x fem!reader

warnings: 🔞!!!!!, established relationship, post-daw resistance fight, the 3 b’s: blood, bruises, and baths (non-sexual bathing lmao), eventual smut, somnophilia for like .5 seconds, thigh riding, fingering (f!rec), finger sucking, riding, unprotected sex, service oriented boyfie gambit <3

w/c: 5.3k!

a/n: this is literally my first ever non-kpop fic, which is crazy. idk much about gambit or his lore, but i fell in love w him in deadpool & wolverine so here i am :) if this is so totally ooc i’m very sorry, i’m only going off of what i saw in the movie! anyway, as per the end credit scene and mr. tatum, gambit is still in the void after the fight, sooo….. here’s this!

“i can walk,” you grumble, cheek bunched up against the cool leather of his coat. you’re positive you can, but still you make no effort to remove yourself from the safety of his strong arms. 

you had been walking fine, up until the residual energy zinging through your body gave way to pure exhaustion. you’d made it halfway back to the resistance hideout in the banged up odyssey before it gave out on the two of you. what’s left of the trek is thankfully walkable, but it’s not easy with your body as sore and aching from the fight as it is. 

remy chuckles against the crown of your head, ducking his own lightly to press his chin to your sweaty hair. 

“gambit knows t’at.” his grin is easy. 

he’s hurting too; he’s equally as exhausted, but he grins and bears it and puts you first anyway. you love him. 

“i’ll get blood on your coat.” 

not yours, you don’t think. well, maybe a little bit of yours, but the majority of the blood staining your clothes belongs to cassandra’s gang of mutants. you fought hard. all seven of you did. 

“gambit knows t’at too, chère,” he says, still grinning. you want to reach up and poke your finger into the dimple in his cheek, but your arms won’t listen. you’ll settle for studying his handsome face instead, eyeing the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the tall slope of his nose. “a lil’ blood ain’t never hurt nobody.” 

“is that how the saying goes? i don’t think that’s how the saying goes.” maybe he’s right though… you’re too tired to think too much about it, and remy’s right about a lot of things. 

he shrugs and it jostles you, so you adjust your arms around the wide breadth of his shoulders and hold on tight. 

as soon as the resistance hideout graces your sight, you’re nearly ready to fling yourself out of remy’s arms and run to the door using what little bit of energy you have left. it might not be much, but it’s your home here in the void, and you’re ready for the small comforts of it that you didn’t know you’d be able to come back to. the warm glow of the lamp lights, the chill of the pool water on your skin, the heady taste of remy’s ever growing collection of liquor. 

your head lolls against his arm as his steps carry you to the door. “god, i can’t wait to take my bra off,” you groan, and remy laughs again as he shoulders the door open. 

“you need any help widdat?” 

his mischievous gaze never wanes even when you level him with a halfhearted glare. 

you shouldn’t need any help, but maybe you’ll let him anyway. 

there’s a twitch at the corner of his lips as he carries you down the steps. he’s favoring his right leg, you can tell by his gait, but he hasn’t said a word about it. you know your gambit well enough to know that he’d rather take care of you first and downplay his injuries when you inevitably ask about them. 

it doesn’t hit you until remy gently sets you down in the entryway just how quiet the hideout is with only the two of you in it. there was always some sort of noise to be heard: laura’s heavy boots thunking on the floor, blade sharpening his weapons, the sluicing sound of elektra twirling her twin sai. now all you hear is the rhythmic dripping of the bathtub faucet and the airy shuffling of remy’s deck of cards as he takes them from his coat pocket. it’s a lot to take in at once, the silence is. the silence, and the inherent knowledge that you have no universe to return to like the others did, that remy has no universe to begin with. remy is the only thing worth living for here in the void. him and the surprisingly earnest promise wade left you with.  

we’re gonna get you out of there, sweeties, you and step up just sit tight! whoever the hell is writing this hasn’t figured that part out yet, ‘kay? and you know what? you’re welcome. i actually know a couple of things you can do to pass the time while you wait. have either of you ever heard of smashturba—

remy’s gentle, gloved hands on your shoulders bring you out of your thoughts, and your head rolls back until it thunks against the bulk of his chest. 

“lemme take dis off, chère, how ‘bout t’at? gon’ draw you up a bath. get you cleaned right up.” 

you know you need it. it’s then that you can feel every bit of the grime from the fight: the dirt under your nails, the blood caked in your suit and on your skin, the nasty bruises that must litter your body. the exhaustion seeps forward tenfold, and you teeter on your feet. remy steadies you as always, flexing his hands on your shoulders before he unzips the back of your suit and presses a slow kiss to the nape of your neck. he gets you bare just like this - tenderly pulling your arms from the sleeves of your suit and kneeling to help untie your boots and take off your pants. your hands grip remy’s shoulders to balance yourself while you step out of them. he’s as solid and sturdy as a mountain, your gambit. 

and he does, in fact, expertly undo the clasps on the back of your bra when he’s done, sliding the straps down your arms and giving you a playful wink as he tosses it to the side. he studies you - eyes the bruises and nicks and blood that paint your skin. he clicks his tongue and shakes his head at himself, thumb tracing the shape of a particularly nasty purple-blue bruise on the curve of your hip.  

“should’a kept a better eye on you,” he fusses, and remy steps away for a moment to turn on the warm water in the tub. it runs brown before turning clear. he plugs the drain when the water heats to the temperature you like the best. “i kno’ you can hold your own, but t’at don’t mean i like seein’ you hurt.” 

you can relate. watching remy get tackled, shot at, and thrown around wasn’t easy for you either. 

it was a harrowing experience all together. a rag-tag team with a rag-tag plan, even though the end result turned out much better than expected. you even managed to escape alioth, which is a feat in itself. but the what ifs, the could have beens, they hit you like a ton of bricks. 

you watch him pull off his gloves and take off his coat, but other than that, he remains completely clothed. remy’s hands are steady as they guide you into the tub. your teeth gnash when the warm water laps against the gashes that litter your torso and legs as you ease your way down. you wish he could join you, sit behind you and pull your back against his warm chest so that he could hold you like you need, but he can barely fit in the small tub by himself, much less with another person. at least he’s close, kneeling by the bathtub on his knees and watching you keenly. 

your own knees curl to your chest as he dips a cloth in the water and rings it out before bringing it to your cheek. the first touch of the cloth on your face makes your eyes droop; he’s gentle, only applying the softest amount of pressure to scrub the drying blood off of your skin. 

the water tinges pink when he dips the cloth back under. 

he continues like that, pressing the wet cloth against your neck, your chest, your arms and cleaning the blood from your body. the ends of his black sleeves are soaked from the water, so you use your last remaining strength trying to push his sleeves up his muscular arms so they won’t get wet again. he lets you fuss over him for a moment with a glint in his eyes.

“let remy see dose hands,” he mumbles, and he hums his thanks when you present them to him. he scrubs the cloth across your palms and between your fingers, paying close attention to the tips of your fingernails to make sure he’s cleaned the dirt and blood from under them as best he can. remy is thorough; his deft fingers work wonders. his hands increase their pressure when he starts to really bathe you, lathering the cloth with a bar of soap and scrubbing you clean. he chuckles when you start to sway with his movements. “done fell asleep on me, eh? we almost through, chère.” 

“you have magic hands,” you breathe, words slurring, and remy chuckles again. he really does, in more ways than one, whether that be the energy that thrums under his skin or the way he takes care of you. 

“that so?” 

“mm.” 

he thinks you’re sweet. it’s not often that he gets to see you like this; remy loves your spitfire attitude and the way you carry yourself from day to day, but here, both physically and mentally exhausted after the day you had, you’re pliant and malleable under his hands, more honest. you slump to the side of the tub so that you can rest your head against his chest plate, the beat of his heart thumping underneath it. 

“remy,” you say. “remy.” you just want to say his name, taste it on your tongue. 

“mon chère.” a kiss to your shoulder, your neck, the top of your head. he’s content to let you rest there for several moments before he sits you up again and watches as your eyes struggle to stay open. “c’est tout, up we go.” 

when he pulls you to your feet, you cling to him like you’ll disappear if you don’t. it truly feels like you might - like the world would swallow you whole if you let go, if you don’t hug him tight. if he doesn’t wrap his arms around you and hold you steady, tether you to the ground. 

the water sloshes when he helps you step out of the tub, and it almost physically hurts when he turns away from you to grab a towel. 

that’s when you look down; the water is darker than you expected it would be, a debilitating pink-red color that might stain the already dingy tub if you don’t drain it soon. you shiver, slightly overwhelmed that all of that blood came off of your body. how much of it belonged to cassandra’s mutants? how much of it belonged to you? you could have— 

“look at me,” he tells you, and your gaze refocuses on him in an instance. there’s nowhere else you’d rather look. remy unplugs the drain before you have the chance to get distracted again. “look here. reckon it’s better to look at gambit’s handsome mug den t’at mess, huh?” 

that does bring a shaky smile to your lips, a small one that’s just for him, and remy dries you off as best he can while you steadily try to wrap yourself around him again. 

you let him play doctor when he’s done drying you off. he sits at the table while you stand between his legs to dab alcohol on your wounds and bandage them up before he helps you put on some clothes, a clean pair of underwear and one of his cropped tops that he likes so much. 

you’re halfway asleep when he takes you in his arms once more to carry you to the skull bed. he lifts you onto the mattress with little trouble, over the massive teeth around the edges of the jaw and straight onto the pile of throw pillows. remy putters around the bed for a bit, pulling the covers over you and arranging the pillows to make you more comfortable. it’s not until your eyes droop closed that he moves to head back to the bath himself, but your arm shoots out to grab his hand before he can. 

“mon petit chère,” he croons, something dulcet and warm and soothing. “i need t’get down to the bath right quick.” 

you frown, you can’t even help it. you want him in bed, spooned right behind you with his arms wrapped around your waist, you want to rest your head on his chest so that you can hear the rhythmic beat of his heart. you want him here with you, but you know he’ll feel better too when he gets the dirt and grime off of his body, just like you did. you should get up and help him like he helped you, erase the bloody signs of the fight from his beautiful body as best you can, show him how much you love him, how much you cherish his presence. 

“what’s t’at bobin for, huh?” remy chuckles. 

you pout harder. “i want to help.” 

he leans against the massive teeth and reaches over to smooth your hair from your forehead. “why don’tcha stay right here and keep an eye on me? gambit need all the lookin’ after he can get.” he lifts your hand up and kisses your knuckles before you finally ease your loose grip from his fingers. 

your eyes aren’t nearly as keen as they usually are when you watch remy take his clothes off. your blinks get slower and your eyes stay shut for longer, but you do keep your eyes on him like he asked you too. it’s the least you can do. his balaclava comes off first, then his chest plate and fitted shirt. his traps flex when he pulls the shirt over his head. if you were any less tired, you’d probably be biting your lip by now. 

just like you figured, he’s as banged up as you are. dark bruises litter the wide expanse of his muscular back, and his front looks the same when he turns around. the next time you open your eyes after another long blink, he’s already easing himself into the bath. remy lets himself relax for a moment, and you watch as his bulky arms come up to rest against the sides of the tub, head tilting back against the lip. you stare, you can’t help it. it’s the longest you go without blinking in a while, all so you can trace the never ending curves and lines and shapes of his body. 

“you go any longer without blinkin’, chère, ya eyes gonna dry out,” he jokes, a satisfied grin growing on his handsome face. 

“says the preening peacock,” you mumble, and you make a spectacle of blinking your eyes rapidly. a sleepy whine works its way into your voice. “you told me to watch! you like it. don’t even lie.” 

“mais oui, caught me red handed.” 

he doesn’t stay in for long, only long enough to relax for a few moments and clean himself off. you hope the water isn’t as dark with blood as yours was; the thought nearly makes you sick to your stomach, unable to bear the thought that remy could have been hurt worse than he was. 

your eyes stay on him still while he towels off, while he dabs alcohol on the worst of his injuries and bandages them up. remy’s naked as a jaybird when he finally makes his way back to the bed, and you throw the blankets back so they’ll be ready for him when he climbs in. he’s still favoring that right leg; he grunts as the muscle twinges when he climbs over the set of teeth in the jaw of the bed frame. you’re immediately pulled into his strong arms, one snaking around your shoulder and the other resting over your arm where it lays against his toned stomach. 

home at last. 

it’s like your brain shuts off the second you come into contact with his skin again. he’s dewy and warm from the bath. you can hear the thump of his heart, his steady breathing, and your eyes nearly roll as they finally slip shut. 

“sleep,” remy whispers. “gambit ain’t goin’ nowhere.” 

his dulcet voice is the last thing you hear before you finally succumb to your slumber, safe and sound in remy’s arms. 

it’s sweltering. 

the heat blankets you like a fog, wraps around you like a vine.

a blazing, orange fire, flames that lick themselves up your legs and torso. they should burn. the flames should scorch your clammy skin, and they do, until the orange of the fire makes way for dazzling purple. breathtaking, gleaming bursts of purple that embrace you like a warm hug instead. 

you’re hardly awake, haven’t even opened your eyes yet. without the use of your eyes, your fuzzy brain works in overdrive to understand what it is that you’re feeling. 

the feeling of heat, of unbridled pleasure. 

your hips twitch on their own, chasing the feeling your sleep-addled body and mind suddenly crave so desperately. the noises that bubble from your throat can’t be stopped: choked whimpers, pitiful keens, airy whines. you rub against something hard, something warm, and it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt. your fingers frantically search for the source of the heat, clenching and unclenching in their haste to pull it closer toward you. 

the soft give of skin, a deep breath, a tender kiss to your sweaty hair. 

a particularly hard snap of your hips has your eyes finally fluttering open, and the source of the heat makes itself known.

how could it be anything other than remy? 

even with your mind hazy from sleep, you immediately feel bad for tugging on him like you were, for disturbing his much needed rest, so your fingers unclench themselves from his bicep. his heartbeat is steady; you can hear the rhythmic beating of it from where you’re resting on his chest. 

“you up?” he rasps. he hasn’t been up long. “y’killin’ me dead.” 

how mortifying. you were rutting against him like a dog all because of something you don’t even know if you could consider a wet dream? you’re sweating, and your underwear is soaked. the shirt of his you wore to bed is so twisted and wonky from sleep that your bare breasts press against his side, but he holds you close regardless. 

“this is so embarrassing!” you wail, and remy chuckles. 

“mais non.” your leg is still thrown over his thigh, so he cups you behind the knee and drags your leg up until it’s resting over his crotch. he’s hard, mouthwateringly so, leaking against the muscular ridges of his stomach all from feeling you rut against him in your sleep. his hand rubs up and down your thigh when you begin to lightly press it against the bulge of his cock. “you can do whatever you want to remy, chère, don’t gotta ask. done drove him out his mind…”  

his lips are warm when you kiss them. your hand comes up to cup his face, his stubble scratches against your fingers. remy groans deep in his throat when your tongue licks lazily against his, and your cunt throbs in response. can he feel it with you pressed against him like this? he gives you his own answer with a flex of his thick thigh, pressing it against you harder. it’s easy to grind down on him like this, when you’re half on top of him and relaxed with sleep. 

“y’know, ah, if my mind serves me right, somebody told me once t’at i have magic hands.” 

he says it with a grin, right against the pout of your kiss swollen lips. 

“somebody, huh? who, some couyon?” 

“the love of my life,” he says instead, green eyes earnest and soft. “l’amour de ma vie.” 

you can’t help but kiss him again; you put your all into it, hoping that he can feel every ounce of the adoration you have for him. he’s the love of your life too. it’s deep from the start, slow and all encompassing, and you can’t get enough of the way remy holds you close to him by your thigh and your back. 

the heady press of his thigh against your soaked core is sorely missed when he rolls you over on the bed and throws the covers back. remy props himself on his elbow beside you, his eyes roam like you’re a feast he’s ready to devour. he doesn’t have to spread your legs, you do that yourself, unveiling the ever growing wet spot that covers the gusset of your panties. 

“gardez donc,” remy breathes, shaking his head like he can’t believe his eyes. 

you jolt when he thumbs the wet fabric before pulling it to the side to see you bare. you watch as he works his jaw, sitting up on your elbows to have a better look when he finally ducks down to spit onto your already soaked pussy. your head flops back onto the pillow nearly as soon as it happens. it’s too much… the feeling, the sight of it. remy’s thick fingers spread you open, and he watches raptly as his spit seeps down the glistening skin of your cunt. he rubs you like that; two fingers dip shallowly into your hole to gather your wetness and his spit before bringing them back up to your swollen clit. 

“oh my god, remy, fuck,” you keen, and those beautiful, green eyes bore into yours. 

“dass’it, you jus’ lay back and let remy deal de cards, eh?” 

all you can do is nod. 

his hands are magic, no one’s ever touched you the way remy has; you’ve never felt such unbridled pleasure until remy took charge of it. the two of you didn’t have the chance to do this too often, not with the others present. of course, you did find your ways. he’s taken you plenty by the fire outside, in the stone staircase at the doorway, and even on a few particularly memorable occasions, on a table in joe’s diner while you don his leather coat. a bed this big is a luxury, and you know exactly how you’re going to spend your time together until wade fulfills his promise. 

your legs shake as remy’s fingers slip inside. his middle finger first, with the heel of his palm pressed right against the bud of your clit for that delicious stimulation he knows you need. you stretch easily for him, and your thighs spread wider to accommodate his movements. his ring finger makes its way inside shortly after, and soon, your hips are rocking sharply against the rough heel of his hand while his thick fingers bully that spongy spot inside that makes your toes curl. 

“pleasedon’tstop,” you whimper, voice frantic and airy. remy nudges your cheek with his nose, breathing heavily against the line of your jaw. 

“wouldn’t dream of it, chère.”

he hums when your hand flies down to grip his wrist. it’s so overwhelming, it’s everything, that dazzling purple heat flashes again until it’s all you feel. 

“curl them, curl them like tha- oh.” remy listens well; he curls his fingers like you tell him to and keeps his motion steady until he has to sit up further and use his other hand to hold you down. he presses down on your stomach to hold you still but soon moves it to your restless legs where they writhe against the mattress. they nearly snap shut around his insistent fingers before remy pries them back open. you like when he uses his strength on you, when he holds you down. 

the devil’s always been good to you, your own fallen angel. 

“lemme see it,” he goads. “don’t hold nothin’ back from me.” 

it’s loud; you don’t have to tell him how much you like it because the sloppy noise of your cunt does that for you. his cock leaks steadily against your hip, you can feel the sticky drip of precum on your sweaty skin, but all you can do is grip remy’s wrist and hold on tight while his fingers rub against your spongy walls relentlessly. 

your eyes roll when he gets you there, and you cum with a full-body shudder. remy holds you to his chest as you curl in on yourself, shaking and shivering in his warm embrace. his fingers fuck you through it, only slowing his rhythm and easing their curl when your own fingers tighten around his wrist. remy ushers you back against the pillows now that you’re done, slipping his soaked fingers from your core only after you finish pulsing around him. his gaze is soft, but it darkens as you use your hold on his wrist to bring his digits to your mouth. 

“ooh, you nasty!” he grins, and his eyes slide down to your swollen, spit-slicked lips. remy curls his fingers again, petting them against your soft tongue and fucking them deeper into your mouth. “she’s sweet, eh?” 

you’d suck on his fingers all day if you could, but you slip them from your mouth with a pop! to answer him. “mm. i can see why you’re so obsessed with me.” he swats you lightly on the thigh for that, and you wiggle gleefully. 

remy slips your panties from your legs before he settles himself between them to kiss you again. he kisses your sweetness from between your lips, tongue curling around yours and sucking it into his mouth for a better taste. you’d let him fuck you like this if you didn’t remember his leg was hurt; you’d let him bend you in half and fuck you until your knees are clamping shut around his wide shoulders, but the thought that he could hurt himself more makes you hesitant. 

he kisses down your neck when you pull away from his lips, purses his lips around your sensitive nipple and flicks his tongue. it has you arching your back, and the cropped t-shirt you’re wearing rucks further up your chest. you curl your fingers into his hair to tug him closer. 

“let me- god, let me get on top?” you breathe. he makes to pull his head back, but you hold him in place. remy laughs through his nose and continues to kiss and lick and suck at your chest, and it isn’t until he nips at it that you let him go, but not without a swat to his shoulder. 

you almost squeal when remy takes you in his arms to roll you both over. his lap is your favorite seat; you wiggle your hips to get comfortable, and remy takes hold of them. his cock slips between the lips of your pussy where it’s warm and wet and soft, and you rock down onto him slowly. 

“you keep t’at up, chère, gambit won’t last a minute,” he grits. 

he’s cum like this before, with you just grinding yourself on his cock, shooting ropes of pearly cum up the ridges of his abdomen until you duck down to lick it all up. you’d do it again, but you’re aching to have him inside where he belongs. when you lift up on your knees and reach down to grip him, remy cups the backs of your thighs to help keep you steady. he’s a stretch, his length and girth is nothing to scoff at even after he fingered you pliant and needy. 

“dunno if it’ll fit,” you pick, circling your hips so that the give of your hole teases the head of his cock. 

“y’know gambit fits. just gotta let him in, chère.” 

you don’t have it in you to tease him any longer, so you press him inside with the tips of your fingers and sink down slowly. dazzling blasts of purple burst behind your closed eyelids; he feels so good, you fit together like a perfect puzzle. the first rock of your hips has your head lolling, and your hands scramble for leverage against the bulk of remy’s chest. 

“dass’it, dass’a good girl,” he grunts. “mon dieu.” 

you’ve always been his good girl, you always want to be. it spurs you on to do your best. your own body is sore from yesterday’s fight, but you feel reinvigorated on top of him like this. the bouncing of your breasts is covered by the shirt you’re wearing - it’s enough for remy, the sway of the cloth, the peak of your sensitive nipples through the fabric. one hand leaves his chest so that you can tug them jagged hem of your top up to your mouth. you bite down on it, baring your bouncing breasts to the man below you, and remy cups them in his hands. 

“hoo, merde. lemme take t’at off’a you?” 

he loves to see you in his clothes, you both know it, but he wants you naked. remy tugs the hem from between your teeth and shucks the shirt over your head, tossing it off the bed completely. you preen when he takes you in; there’s nothing to be shy about here, not with your gambit. 

“what are you looking at, remy lebeau?” you ask with a cock of your head. your hips resume their movement, grinding in slow circles until your eyes are fluttering. 

“you a sight for sore eyes, chère, i’ll tell you t’at.” 

like he’s one to talk. the window on the ceiling above the bed bathes him in warm light. remy’s beautiful, the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. his beautiful heart, beautiful soul, beautiful body… he’s the perfect package. 

you change tactics, switching your sensual grinding to rough bouncing that has your breath hitching in your throat. he’s deep like this, and every time you drop down in his lap, your swollen clit rubs against the coarse curls of remy’s pubic hair. 

you’re so close, so fucking close you can taste it. it has your knees trying to kiss where they’re straddling his hips. he notices the shaking in your thighs, he always notices everything about you, and his hips immediately buck to help you out. your eyes roll, mouth dropping open in a silent moan as remy begins to fuck you. he’s so strong, his hands grip your waist to pull you down on him harder, and it has you keening high in your throat. 

“eyes on me,” he grunts. “keep dese pretty eyes on gambit when he makes you fly.” 

it’s a struggle, but your eyes find his as quickly as they can. your hands are still planted on his chest, but you move them to either side of his head so that you can be closer to him. remy’s grip on your hips is intoxicating; you’ll feel it for days, god, you hope you’ll feel it for days. you’ve never felt safer in someone’s arms, never felt more loved or wanted. 

remy nods his head when your eyebrows start to furrow, hands moving from your hips to clutch the rippling fat of your ass. 

“you’re gonna make me cum,” you whimper. “baby, you’re- oh, remy, fuck!” 

you give him another full-body shudder when you cum, nearly lifting yourself clean off his cock in the process due to how hard you shiver. he holds you down, hips rutting as he chases his own release and follows right behind you. the rhythmic pulsing of your cunt gets him there quickly, it always does. 

“keep on clenchin’ like t’at, chère. bon dieu, ça c’est bon.” 

you plop down onto his chest when you’re both done, and remy’s hands come up to massage your back. 

it’s quiet again, all you can hear is your shared heavy breathing and the distant drip of the bathtub faucet. you’re content to lay here until remy’s hands get restless, until they reach out in search of his deck of cards. for now, you’ll rest against his chest and listen to the beat of his heart. 

you don’t know what will happen in the coming days or how long you’ll be stuck in the void until the tva finds somewhere for you and remy to go. you’re not sure of much, you won’t ask for much either, but you’re sure of at least one thing. 

as long as remy’s by your side, home isn’t far away.

dictionary!

(mon) chère: term of endearment - (my) "dear" or "sweetheart"

c'est tout: that's all

petit: little

bobin: frown

mais oui/non: well yes/no

couyon: (could also be spelled as couillon?) a rascal, a fool

gardez donc: look at that

mon/bon dieu: my/good god

merde: shit

ça c'est bon: that's good

[worstghost]

MR. DARCY + social media posts

[worstghost]

im still alive don't worry - work and classes are beating me up but I'm in the middle of a wolverine drabble and a little nightcrawler thing rn that should be posted soon ♡♡♡

[worstghost]

— tooth and nail

wolverine/logan x mutant!f!reader

rated e - 4k

tags: dub-con (logan goes into a rut), a/b/o-lite elements (logan-only - ruts/knots/mates), breeding kink, mutual pining, two jealous dummies, size kink, fighting as foreplay, return of The Claws (claw-play?), outercourse, biting, marking, come play, rough PiV sex 

a/n: pure pwp. reader has druidic-based mutant powers (wild shape, strong connection to nature/animals, influence over vines/foliage) and is from Earth-10005.

Logan knows this feeling. He thought he’d left this part of himself behind. Left on his Earth, carved out and buried with the rest. 

Should have told you no. Should have locked himself away like he always did. Instead, he’s stuck, unable to keep his mind from wandering while his sparring partner - sweat-dewed and squirming - is pinned beneath him. 

(Or - Logan’s rut begins at a most inopportune time)

Something wasn’t right.

It’s been settling under his skin for days now.  Tiny hooked claws, digging into flesh. A syrupy urge low in his guts, his mind not quite his own.

He thought he’d left this part of himself behind. Left on his Earth, carved out and buried with the rest. 

The world he lives in now is different. There’s humans, mutants, aliens. But none like him, answering to something innate that defined him in a way that didn’t matter anymore.

It’s been a while. Almost forgot how it felt, after years of tamping down this part of him. Should have recognized sooner what it was. This rippling, simmering irritation just beneath his skin, so much stronger than usual. 

Should have locked himself away, when he realized his rut was returning.

In his years in his own Earth, the urge had lessened. Dulled by alcohol and grief. Managed by himself, in the few months this part of his nature did visit him.

But he hadn’t been able to tell you no. Hadn’t been able to resist, not when you smiled so prettily at him, practically begging him. 

And the thought of you leaving him behind at the X-Mansion, while you went off without him - to spar with Hank, instead - made him want to rip McCoy’s arms off. 

Desire swirls around him now, as he trades blows with you. Your arms snaking around his shoulders as you shoulder a well-placed hit, bringing you both down the floor.

Logan feels like a pup again, watching your breathless laugh. The clench of your thighs around his waist. The heady throb low in his guts, the pressure of his cock as it strains against his suit. 

His hips lift, separating him from you. Trying to form an excuse, while his brain is rocketing into overdrive.

Fighting back the urge to close that gap again. To peel down those tight leggings that drive him mad, bury his mouth against your pussy and make you scream. Fuck you full of him, until he’s dripping out of you for days. 

The though makes him growl, as he tries to concentrate.

Tough to fake an illness, or injury. You’d see right through him.

Or even worse, worry.

So all he had to do was finish out this session. 

Shouldn’t be too hard. 

If you can just avoid touching him… he might just make it through. 

You know you shouldn’t let yourself get distracted like this while sparring with Logan, but you can’t seem to help it.

Not when you’ve been nursing this thing inside you for months now. Something planted from another earth, settling low in your chest. Infesting like the vines that sprout from you, taking over until you’re fully ensnared.

You’ve tried to ignore it. Didn’t want to ruin a good thing between you. 

Out of everyone in the X-Mansion, you got along with Logan the best. Used to a solitary lifestyle after being raised among the druids, before you knew the truth to what you were, the mutant lineage that flowed through you.

It had paired well with his temperament. His anger and grouchy quips slipped from you like raindrops on a leaf. Something about spending time with you softening him at the edges - just a little bit.

He was still the hard man he used to be. Grizzled, with that scowl of his and the flecks of grey at his temples.

And despite your efforts - forgetting and moving on hadn’t been successful. Not at all. 

Because it’s impossible to ignore when he’s close, like this. Pressing your back to the mat, your wrist slammed against the padded floor. A knife skittering away, because even after all this time - even with his insisting - you were still reluctant to use it.

It sends your pulse racing. He’s so fucking strong - and you think that maybe, even if you had been an equal pair, that you’d still throw these matches. 

Let him win, if it gets him like this. Sweaty and pressed up against you as you struggle beneath him. A thigh jammed between yours to prevent you from slamming your heel into his calf.

You’ll think about this later. 

You always do after your sparring sessions. You hand slipping between your thighs in the shower after. Bitten-back moans as you play out more in your mind - the plunge of your fingers inside your aching cunt until you’re shuddering with the pulsing pleasure, slumping back against the cold tile. 

The fantasies always comes back to him. 

You think that maybe Logan wants it too. Have felt his gaze on you when he thinks no one is looking, but your senses have always been keen. Animal attraction, perhaps. Pheromones. Something about his smell, his touch, beckons you - though you don’t understand what it means. 

And it’s only now that you realize he’s gone still above you. Eyes blown wide, a sharp breath of air inhaled through clenched teeth. A low growl, caught in his throat. 

Holding himself back. You can see it - the way his muscles string tight. How his eyes dip, flicking over your face. Down to the part of your lips. The sweat that dews your chest. 

Close enough that you can inhale him - the smell of leather and cigar smoke blending with more - something inside you giving them a name. 

Want. Need. 

It gives you courage. 

You bridge the gap, for a just a moment. A shallow lift of your hips. Encouraging, the movement pushing your tits against his heaving chest. 

“Bad fucking idea, sweetheart.” He growls.

It’s rough, low. Ground-out as if to himself, a wounded sound slipping from his throat. 

His response has a mark forming between your eyebrows. A soft murmuring of his name.

Logan’s face dips, eyes closing as he inhales. Then, without warning, his knuckles cradle against your throat. 

Wrist flexing as two of his claws spear forward on either side of your neck. Punching through the training mats and sinking deep into the concrete beneath.

Pinning you completely under him, your hips dropping as your free hand wraps around his forearm. A tug of fear ripples through you, but he doesn’t budge.

“Logan,” You repeat, gasping, “What are you doing? What’s wrong?

This isn’t like the times you’ve sparred before. He’s never drawn his claws. You don’t heal like he does - you both know it. Never using more than a loose fist, an open palm in your sessions. 

He’s breathing heavy. Holding himself over you, his other hand still wrapped firmly around your wrist. 

“I’m gonna let you go.” It comes out ragged, through clenched teeth.

“And then I need you to leave, and lock me in after.” Only now does he look at you - his dark eyes burning, “You understand?”

His voice is so rough that it makes your skin prickle. Heat licking down your spine, stoking the embers that have settled low in your belly. 

“I don’t.” It comes out hushed.

How can you? It’s like a flip has been switched, in those few moments. Did you truly misread everything? 

His eyes haven’t left your face. There a peek of his tongue against his lips, the words coming slowly, “Don’t wanna do something you’re gonna regret.”

And for a moment, time stands still. An ache in your chest that’s so different than the one between your thighs. Finger unfurling, reaching.

Slipping up his arm, touching his cheek. He flinches, eyes fluttering shut as he holds his breath. 

“What could I regret with you?”

If it were anyone else, the question would be stupid. You should be running from the man that has you pinned to the ground, claws drawn. Another twitch and you could be dead - the middle unsheathing to pierce clean through your soft throat.

“Whatever it is, let me help you.” Your voice is gentle - coaxing -  and for a second, he leans into the touch. Palm pressing against heated skin, and you gasp, “You’re burning up, Logan.”

“You can’t help me with this.” He rasps with his eyes closed, voice strained. 

Your head shakes, “Let me try.”

A long pause lingers. The room filled with the uneven intake of breath. Logan’s words coming slowly, as his eyes open - dropping down to your throat. And then away, like he can’t bear to even look at you, “Does the word rut mean anything to you?”

It feels like something stirs again inside you. The flutter of wings, not unlike the feeling when you tap into your power. Like threads slipping your fingertips, connecting you down to the earth below. 

“Animals have ruts. Deer, elk, creatures like that.” A beat, as you begin to understand. Heat flaring in your cheeks at the implication, “But, not… not humans.”

He grunts, shifting.

It takes everything not to let your chin tip down, to look. 

“They do where I come from.” 

Pieces start to fall in place. His increased irritability around you lately. Territorial. Aggressive. 

Blending in to what you know, in your connection to nature. Those animalistic instincts that linger in your blood long after you’ve shed your beast form. 

Desire. Mating. An urge to breed. 

Oh, fuck. 

You squirm and he makes a warning sound without thinking - a rough rumble from his chest. His weight shifting on top of you, still hovering.

“How do you handle it?” 

His eyes flicker up to yours, then away again. Jaw working, a breath before he answers, “Take care of it myself. Or, I’d find someone to work through it with me.”

Even as you’re scrambling to make sense of it, you understand his insinuation. It stuns you into silence. You cannot allow that. The thought sends your heart crashing into your guts. 

Your chin tips up, defiantly.

“Let me help you.” 

Those dark eyes narrow as they snap to your face. Your words softening, as your thumb sweeps across his skin, the scruff of his cheek.

“I want to help you.”

Logan laughs, the sound ragged. Showing the points of his canines with the shake of his head. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” His voice is smoky-low. Rough as it scrapes across your skin, leaving goosebumps, “You couldn’t take me.”

Your heart feels like it’s pounding in your throat. Heat licking down your spine, and surely he can feel it - the flutter beneath the press of his knuckles. 

“I can.” It comes out breathy. Insisting. 

His tongue brushes over his lips as they part. A tilt of his head as he lowers himself. His knee pressing against the meat of your thigh, nudging. Opening your legs up further. Spreading them wider. 

“I will ruin you.” 

It’s growled in your ear. Each word coming slowly, as he lets the hard curve of his cock grind against your core. His meaning unmistakable, his voice pitching down with a ragged groan. 

“I want you to ruin you. You understand?”

And, you do. It floods through you, sending your nerve endings alight. Imagining how he would handle you, take you. The space between your thighs throbs. 

His admission - the rasp of his words and the heavy nudge of him against you makes you do something very selfish. 

And very stupid. 

You’re just able to reach your thigh holster now, with this new angle. The quick fumble of your fingers to loosen the small dagger.

The metal side of his claw pressing into your skin as your head turns. Before he can move, a flick of your wrist sends it through the air.

Your aim is slightly off, but it does the job. Seating itself in the control box by the door, a sizzle as the wires are cut.

A metallic snick as the doors lock. The lights click off, plunging the room into darkness. The ground bathed only with the stripes of sun that stretch across the floor from the row of window along the wall.

Logan lets go of your wrist, but leaves you pinned. His fist curling in the strap of your tank, knuckles pressing against your throat as he yanks you forward.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Logan snarls, “You want me to use you?”

His words make you whimper. A soft little whine that has his hips dropping further. An unconscious rut against your core, leg muscles flexing as you clench around nothing. 

You meet his second thrust, your body curving against his. Head tipping back as the seam of your leggings nudge against your clit.

“Fuck.” It almost sounds awed now, his words soft and slow, “You do, don’t you?”

Letting his full weight drop, as your hands grip onto his shoulders for purchase. You had thought you were pinned before, but he had still been using his knees, his elbows. Hovering, in an attempt to keep control.

Now, you can feel all of him, as his body maps against yours. Pulling a rough groan as his hips flex, grinding himself slowly against your core. 

“Logan, please.”

He growls. Fingers unfurling from your shirt. Ghosting down your side to fit against the curve of your hip. Biting into flesh with a bruising force, as his face buried in the crook of your neck. A hot exhale against your skin, as he pants - finding a rocking rhythm, as his body curls around yours. 

You can feel the way his muscles tense with each needy snap of his hips. The way each breath pitches into a near-silent whine, as he seeks friction. 

It’s not enough, as much as he wishes it was.

“I need-” Logan rasps, “Tell me to stop and I will.”

The hand on your hip snakes between you. Roughly tugging on the belt of his suit, until the clasp opens. All while murmuring assurances, half to himself.

“I’ll let you go. Work through it myself-”

That need he speaks of rolls off him in waves. Facial hair scraping against your cheek. The brush of his lips against your throat, just above the cool press of his claws.

“Don’t stop.” It’s easy to answer. Easy to lean into what he offers you, all those sweet promises wrapped in steel. 

The groan he makes is filthy, “Give me your hand.”

Your fingers unlatch from the vice-like hold on his suit. A broad hand wrapping around your wrist, as he tugs you where he needs you. The tips brushing heated skin, making you gasp. 

“Make a fist,” He rasps, “Fuck, that’s it.”

Lining himself up, pushing his bared cock into the circled grip of your fingers. Using you like a cheap imitation of what he craves, as his desire leaks from him. Slicking up your fingers, with each roll of his hips. 

He’s heavy in your hand. You can feel how your fingers stretch - flexing, opening, with each forward thrust. Barely able to circle around, fingers splitting when you reach his base. 

You can’t help but move with him. Hips rocking up, to match his messy rhythm. The knuckle of your thumb pressing against your seam, nudging at where you ache for him.

“I can smell you, sweetheart,” Logan moans, his nose dragging along the curve of your jaw. Lips parting so he can test his teeth against a spot under your ear, the pressure making you shiver, “Your pussy’s leaking, thinking about me.”

Your eyes flutter shut, as you whine. Squeezing his cock a little more tightly, wishing it was filling you instead just your fingers. 

“I’m right, aren’t I?” He husks, “You think you can take it?”

You want anything he’ll give you. And anything is better than the way he’s teasing you. Palm slick with his desire, your own soaking through the soft fabric of your leggings.

“I want it. Want your cock,” You breathe, “Want to fuck me, please-”

There’s a final jerk of his hips against you, his voice gruff as his thighs shift.

“Stay still then, sweetheart.”

There’s the sharp rasp of adamantium against stone as they withdraw from the floor. His knuckles easing carefully from your throat as he leans back. Eyes dropping down, considering.

Barely a heartbeat before there’s the kiss of metal against skin, as the edge of a claw hooks under your shirt. Your breath held as it slips up, between your breasts. 

A tug, and the fabric is shredding. Fibers splitting until the drag of the sharp tips, from belly to throat. Baring you, the air in the open room chilling your heated skin as you gasp.

Nipples already pebbled as his mouth descends. A needy moan loosening when he kisses at the curve of your tits, his tongue flattening across a tight peak. 

Your arms wrap around him, their duty forgotten. Distracting you as his claws shift down. Your breath catches, but then there’s the sound of them sheathing - slipping back under his skin. 

His hands finding the slice he made in the waistband, making short work of the rest himself. Ripping your leggings open - dragging your thighs over his as he leans back on his knees. 

And looking down, it’s only now that you can fully see him. The familiar, worn yellow suit that shows off how broad he is. Zipper yanked down at the crotch, his cock pulled through with his impatience.

Eyes widening, when you realize there’s more to him than you though. Hanging heavy between his thighs, pretty and flushed. A thickened bulge sitting where your fingers had split - what you had mistaken for his base. 

“Need to be inside you, sweetheart,” Logan’s hand already wrapping around his shaft, dragging the tip across your cunt, “Don’t make me waste a drop, alright?”

Fingers tugging the gusset of your panties to the side. Letting the tip slap against your clit. It glides against you, slipping against your combined arousal. Seeing how you flutter as you clench, your own need spiking.

“Logan,” You beg, “Stop teasing, please-”

He makes a rough sound. Almost a laugh, if it didn’t sound so pained. 

“Just listen to you. Begging like you’re in heat,” He grunts, “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need.”

The tip dips down, nudging at your entrance. Lining himself up, before his hips drive him forward. The sudden pressure chokes you - a bitten-back cry as your muscles string tight, thighs clamping down around his waist.

“Fuck, I’ve dreamed about this.” He growls. Spearing into you an inch at time with a long, fluid motion. Fingers biting into your thigh, holding you open as your own scrabble against the mat - searching for something to hold onto.

“Tugging down those leggings. Fucking you into the floor.”

You can barely contain the whine. Brow furrowed, as he splits you open. Your pussy making room for him until the swollen ring at his base cradles your entrance. 

Only able to inhale a short breath before he’s moving. Hands catching your legs, slipping to the joints of your knees where they press into his ribs.

Pushing your thighs back towards your chest, opening you up further, as his cock drags along your walls. He feels deeper, bigger - groaning at the way you clench so tightly around him.

Better than any of those daydreams, as he leans into you. Chasing that animalistic urge inside to bury himself fully in you, ensuring that you’ll take every drop.

Your fingers bite into his wrists. The breath pushed from you with each thrust, feeling like he’s deep in your belly, as that swell stretches at your opening.

“Thought about it too,” You admit with a gasp, as that heat inside you burns, “Wanted you, like this.”

“Yeah? I bet you did.” He grunts, as his thighs snap against your ass. Leaning over you now, eyes fixed on yours. Close enough that you can see the glaze to them, lost in his need for release. 

Before his eyes drag down. Seeing where you’re stretched around him. Another shallow nudge, urging himself deeper. His thumb pressing at your entrance, before slipping back to hook around the swell.

“Good girl like you’d take my knot too, wouldn’t you?”

His knot. Your head shakes. He barely fits at is. You can feel every ridge as he ruts into you, every thick vein, “I don’t think- Logan, that won’t fit-”

The thumb shifts up. Pleasure burning through as he rolls the pad across you clit. His brow pulled in concentration, but there’s a flesh of white teeth.

“Sure it will, baby.” It’s slick, how he touches you. His cock grinding again and again against a spot that steals your breath, “You were made to take it. We’ll make it fit.”

It makes you moan. Your fingers sliding into his hair tugging at him. He comes willingly, a soft sound as his mouth dips to press against yours. Turning hungry as your lips part. Rubbing at you as his tongue strokes against yours, deepening the kiss. 

The pleasure licks in your veins, a molten feeling building in your core. 

A rough murmur against your lips, “Tell me you want it. I’ll make you feel good, sweetheart.”

You parrot it back to him without thinking, hips chasing the press of his thumb. 

“I want it,” You keen, “Your k-knot.”

Willing to do just about anything he asks if he keeps touching you like this. If he keeps rutting against the spot that makes your arousal leak around his cock, each drive of his hips loud and messy in the quiet room. 

He groans, the hand at your thigh pinching, sure to leave bruises tomorrow. The fingers at your clit slipping up to splay across your abdomen, his palm hot again your skin. 

“Yeah?” Logan husks - pressing down, almost as if he can feel himself buried inside you, “Fuck, you’d look so good filled with my pups.”

His rhythm going sloppy, as a hand slips up to palm at your breasts, “These pretty tits nice and round. Wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you, baby.”

Some of his words are new to you, but your body still reacts to his tone. The need, the longing. An intrinsic understanding of what he wants, even if it’s impossible with your implant. It still doesn’t stop your hand from slipping down to replace his.

Of pretending, with him. 

The circles practiced, leaving him to concentrate on his own end. Soft panting cries pulling from you as the pounding of his hips drags you closer. 

He’s close, as well. Those sharp thrusts growing shallow, messy. Letting go of your thighs, letting them wrap around his waist as he drives you into the padded mats. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, lips pressing against your jaw. Tongue dipping out to drag against a spot on your neck that makes you go slack in his arms. 

“Should mate you,” He rasps. Teeth pinching down, where his tongue just was, “Bite you right here. Make you mine.”

The words tip you over the edge. A ragged gasp as your pussy clamps down around him, blood thundering in your ears. Nails catching on the panels of his suit as you cling to him, moans ripped from your throat as you pulse around him in time with your thudding heartbeat.

There’s no sharp bite of teeth. Just a muffled groan against your skin as he grasps at your hips. The sharp feeling of pressure increasing, as something thick works its way inside you. You keen as it stretches you, swelling so he can’t withdraw. 

Twin ragged moans, as you’re joined together. 

He comes with you squirming on his knot, his lips pressed against your throat. Sweet nothings murmured - “squeezing me so fucking tight, baby”, “gonna need you to take every drop, atta girl” - his cock throbbing as he spills inside you, pumping you full.

Still grinding into you. It draws your own orgasm out, with the way he’s rubbing against your walls, nothing left untouched. Overstimulation flickering at the corner of your mind, but you’re locked in place as he breeds you. 

Understanding what he meant by using you - you feel it now. Fucked out and boneless and it sends another gush of sticky need between your thighs. 

The sharp, panting breath starts to ebb. The ghost of his teeth becomes the nuzzle of his face, that strung-tight pull of his muscles turning liquid as he relaxes into your embrace. 

“Why were you so worried?”

It comes out hushed, in the now-silent room. You’re sore - will be, tomorrow. Pleasure-drunk certainly, but not quite as ruined as he promised. 

Almost to your disappointment. 

“That wasn’t too much.”

Logan laughs, the sound dripping with condescension. A flex of his hips, still knotted inside you. Cum leaking from your swollen pussy, smearing against your inner thighs.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He coos, “Ruts can last for days.”

His fingers drop, dragging through his spend. Finding your clit again, rubbing slick circles against the tight little bud. 

Intent on doing this one himself. 

“We’re only just getting started.”

I had two ideas for his claws after the movie - this was the second one! This is my first time writing something like this, so keeping it a little light with the dynamics 💖 thanks for reading!

and speaking of - I have to link this amazing alpha!logan thot by the incredible @avocado-writing! please check it out! 💕

[worstghost]

Wade and Logan and upset reader ❤️

okay so they'd handle you being upset differently, let me elaborate

Wade is who you go to when you're angry, when today just went the worst way it could have. Work was stressful, you skipped lunch, you don't want to answer another text as long as you live. You think you want to be alone but as soon as you see Wade on the couch with a bottle of wine and homemade cookies and Pride & Prejudice ready to play it's like a weight off of your shoulders.

He could tell by the way your morning went that you would need some quality time that night so he prepared accordingly. He sent Logan our for more wine when he saw the state you were in.

You don't even bother changing, just shedding all of your clothes until you're just comfy in a t shirt, melting into Wade's side and listening to his commentary.

He tells you Mr. Darcy looks familiar and you just laugh it off, sharing a glass and splitting a cookie between kisses.

Logan is who you go to when you're tired, when you're sad and need a shoulder to cry on. His door is always open to you and you take the opportunity, slinking into bed with him and burying your face into his neck.

His arms will wrap around you without hesitation and he'll whisper 'baby?' against your hair, asking you to talk to him. The way he says it squeezes your heart, so soft and loving like you're the most precious thing in the world to him.

You can cry to him, he doesn't mind, he'll just hold you and rub your back until you either talk to him or fall asleep.

Sometimes you stay up to talk to him all night, sniffling, eyes puffy and nose red, until sunlight starts coming through the curtains.

He knows how much this means to you, having someone to lean on. Logan feels like it's the least he can do for you, after everything he's done, if he can keep one person safe and happy it's worth losing sleep.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The other way around tho, you go to Logan when you're angry and want to yell, he'll encourage you, he wants you to tell everyone exactly how you feel. Listen to you rant about your coworkers, smirk as you aggressively pour whatever drink you're making for the night, and then use your energy against you by blocking you in against the counter with his arms flexed, telling you to take it out on him. He can handle it, show him just how angry you are.

Wade sits and pouts until he's invited in to the bedroom join you.

When you're sad and Wade is there to take care of you, he tries so hard to joke his way out of it. Tries to get you to smile, to let things go. If you're so set on being sad, he'll offer to take care of you. Laying you down gently, making sure you're comfy and fed, kissing you everywhere until you're shoving his face away and then he kisses your palms. He needs you to smile, he needs you to let him in to help. You do let him in, not just to your thoughts, but also into your shared bed. Hes never been particularly slow or gentle, but he'll take care of you the best he can and by the time you fall asleep you won't even remember why you were sad.

Logan will slink in behind you later, squeezing your body closer to Wade, smelling like whiskey and smoke.

[worstghost]

nsfw LOGAN thoughts because I saw deadpool and wolverine and it's all I can think about 🫶🫶🫶

f!reader, a little pinch of dark!Logan, this is all over the place my bad

♡You're obviously significantly younger than Logan- and he kinda loves it. Loves the idea of a little corruption, starring in a few of your 'firsts'.

♡Teaching you how to ride him, letting you get your rhythm, it's cute, but the soft creak of the bed while you shyly rock your hips on top of him isn't enough. You're flustered, embarrassed that you haven't done this before, trying so hard to get a reaction out of him while he holds your hips and looks up at you. If you look sad enough and ask sweetly enough, he'll brace himself against the bed and tell you to hold tight, encouraging you to lean back against his bent knees while he takes over. This is what he wanted of course, he loves when you let him give you what you so desperately want but can't get.

♡He has you holding on for dear life by the end of your orgasm, digging your nails into his shoulders, gasping when he catches one of your bouncing tits between his lips and sucks. You gush against him, legs quivering from being stuck in one position, and you beg him to finish inside you. He can't deny you, flushing hot listening to you whine-

'Please, please, Logan, oh please...'

♡He should make you beg more, fuck you into the bed until you're sobbing, begging him to fill you up, crying for him to just give it to you- his mind blanks as he comes, lifting you with his own hips in a few brutal strokes as his hands shred the bedsheets around him in place of your soft skin.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

♡You're on your knees on a pillow, eye level with his half hard dick and it's too late to back out now- you've given a blow job before, you assure him, this isn't new. But the size... the need to impress him is. You swallow hard avoiding his eyes as you trail fingers up his hips, watching his stomach flex. He's smiling at you, nicer than usual, and reaches a hand out to cup your chin, squeezing your mouth open by your cheeks.

'You can do it, baby. I know you can.'

♡You nod along and allow him to hook a finger into your lips and open you wider, sliding the tip against your tongue. If you weren't already drooling, the feeling of him hardening in your mouth helps it along. Every little huff and grunt you get from him swells in your chest and you can't help but feel proud, taking him deeper until he touches the back of your throat. You swallow around him, squeezing a tear from your eye as you adjust. That gets him- he groans and you feel it reverberate through your body as he swipes the wetness from your cheeks. You learn a lot that night- about sucking dick and about what he likes.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

♡He couldn't help himself, the second you're back from dinner he has you against the apartment door, pushing your little sundress up and sinking to his knees in front of you.

♡You had teased him the whole night, subtly pressing your little wedged heels against his thigh, then his crotch under the table- making conversation with Vanessa and Wade like you weren't such a tease. That's what he called you, pressing his nose against the seam of your panties and inhaling- holding you against the door by your thigh swung over his shoulder.

'Fucking tease- bet you won't do it again after this...'

♡You definitely will.

♡Your legs are shaking, trying to cover your mouth and the sounds coming out of it in case your neighbors wanted to be nosy. Logan didn't even bother to undress you, shoving your panties to the side and pressing two thick fingers inside while he tongues your clit. You had him so riled up, smelling you the whole night, catching your glances- in public. The thought makes him groan and he needs to taste more.

♡He grips your thighs and lifts you with him as you yelp and wrap your arms around his head- accidentally giving him access to your throat which he greedily sucks and bites at before tossing you on the couch.

♡You didn't know you could fold this way, he has you nearly bent in half, tight grip on one ankle and the other knee, devouring you like he'll never get another chance- your underwear long shredded by now. You whimper against your hand, squeezing his fingers so tight if he wasn't made of metal you're sure they'd snap. You're so close, chanting his name, you can feel the build up in your belly-

♡And he stops- with incredible restraint only a man of his age could muster, he stops, gently dropping your legs and wiping his chin, watching you. You sob, legs falling open as he just smiles at you, all pretty and innocent.

♡He gets up and starts moving toward the bedroom, unbuttoning his worn flannel as he goes, waiting for you to uncover your face and beg just the way he likes. Logan can't say no to you, but he can definitely hold out a little.