#how could erik walk away from that?

[martianbugsbunny]

One of the greatest acting decisions of all time was James McAvoy's decision that Professor Charles Xavier, leader of the X-Men, world's foremost expert on mutants, respected and renowned man of science, should walk around for four movies with the biggest, saddest, wettest puppydog eyes you've ever seen

[deniable-masterpiece]

blowing Erik's pierced dick | Erik Campbell x Gender Neutral!Reader

a/n -- just a quick fic I half-assed because I really just like the idea of sucking Erik's pierced dick. I love Richard harmon in grave encounters 2 more than here but still

summary -- A squeamish Reader follows Erik to his tattoo shop after meeting in the bar and gets a surprise that Erik is more than happy to practice on himself... with multiple piercings on his dick.

words -- 2,060

warnings -- oral sex, 18+. oral (erik receiving), facials, dom!Erik, sadist!Erik, face-fucking, deepthroating, throat bulging, objectification, cringe writing

~~~

“This is your place?” You asked as Erik undid the lock to the door. The lights were off, but the streetlight outside illuminated the interior of the store enough that you could see the kind of store that it was—a tattoo parlor. Dull in color as a lot of the store contained shades of silver and black, but all of it looked sharp. Painful.

“Totally.” He wasn’t about to let you know that he both wasn’t the boss and was the boss’ bitch. Not that he was cool with either, but unless the guy died in some freak accident—or Erik felt like killing him, which he really did sometimes—would that change anytime soon. So, as far as you knew, it was his place. Erik went in first and held the door for you to follow behind him.

Walking in, your fear only doubled when he turned on the lights. Everything was bathed in red, neon red, but it felt more like blood. It didn’t help that the store was narrow and made everything give it this uncanny height to it, like it leaned in, scaling the walls to get the jump—or to better put it, the drop—on you. Anything could passively slip off the wall and come down on you, and the varying sizes of skulls only made you think the worst.

“We can’t just go back to your house?” You asked in an uneven tone. 

“Relax, all this stuff here is harmless and sanitized.” Erik sounded annoyed already. Were you really worth all this trouble—was a blowjob from a pretty mouth really worth all of this trouble? Erik made up his mind in the moment and decided that it was. He started giving a genuine explanation but deadpanned some jokes to make you feel a little better in a sadistic kind of way. “Also, I live with my family, and being scared of one of those little shits walking in on us is worse than a little acupuncture. Kidding, everything here is made to puncture. There’s nothing small about it.” 

You walked around the store, trying to calm yourself by touching it. Seeing is believing, and feeling is easing your way into making yourself more comfortable. Your hand kept touching things, and you half-expected Erik to continue his barrage of comments. Don’t touch that, don’t break anything, don’t be scared. You knew the last one was supposed to be comforting, but he had this aloof quality about him that blended with the macabre sense of humor he used on you at the bar down the street. Somehow, it worked, and now you were here. Touching things that you would normally avoid or use a ten-foot pole to nudge away gently, like a knife hanging on the wall. It rested back against a frame of wood and black felt, hanging by the bolsters as two hooks came out from the felt and supported it. The blade had some engravings on it that looked cool, so you reached out to trace them with your finger. The pressure of your finger made the blade wobble, and you flinched back with a noticeable haste. 

Erik picked up on it. “If this isn’t your thing, the door’s right there.”

For a beat, you stood still and processed his words. Then, you walked over to the door, and Erik already had an insult ready to throw at you on your way out. He expected you to leave after his offer, but then he heard the snikt of the deadbolt, and any of his reservations died on his lips. 

“Well?” He asked.

You turned around to face him and nodded, “Let’s do it.”

Erik could sense the nervous energy buzzing around your words, no matter how much you tried to put on a brave face for him. Still, he continued down the usual path and hoped that you would lose the nervousness. He didn’t want someone with a dry mouth to blow him. He skipped over the flowery foreplay and decided to get right into the action, since he didn’t know how you would feel being so close to his septum piercing when just looking at piercing needles made you so nervous. That, and he did actually care for you and figured that getting everything out of the way faster would be better for you. Maybe, if he showed you that there was nothing to be scared of in a place like this, with a guy like him, that it would have you coming back for more in the future. The first piece of metal was undone—the button to his jeans—and then the next part was unzipped.

“It’s just a little metal.” Erik said, pulling out his cock. “Nothing to be scared of.”

You watched in awe as it had enough heft to flop over his open jeans and make the opening of both flaps part wider. Thick and girthy and hanging low. But by the time your eyes got to the bottom—got to the tip of his cock—you noticed the big Prince Albert piercing sticking out from his piss slit. From the front, you could only see the beaded tip, and did a double-take when he turned and you could see the curve of it. 

His thumbs worked around the waistband of his jeans and underwear, pushing them all the way down to his ankles. He stepped out of them but kept his shoes on, knowing how dirty the floor could get and that he didn’t want to step on anything sharp that could fall. Erik wasn’t a wuss, but he didn’t want this to end with a trip to the hospital.

Now, he was just in his shirt and shoes, and you could see all of the tattoos along his legs. 

“Cool, huh?”

“Did you want to take the chair? It can lay flat so we can get into a few different positions. Whatever you want to do.” The images flashed in your mind, and all of the things Erik whispered in your ear that he would do to you at the bar started to feel real. One stuck out in your mind, though: “Your mouth would look so good around my dick, and even better bulging your throat when you lay back and let me fuck you.”

“I’ll take the chair.”

“Sick.” 

The chair was in the middle of the madness—Erik included in the ‘madness’—and now you were in the chair and, by extension, in the middle of it too. But Erik didn’t keep you sitting upright for long, and he pressed a pump somewhere further down on the chair to send it collapsing into a flattened state. Your body went with it, and now, your head nearly hung off the edge of it.

Now that his dick was above you, you could see what had been waiting on the underside, like a beast. Erik had more piercings under his cock, too. A Jacob’s ladder was formed by several bars sticking through the underside of his dick. All about an inch apart, adding up to eight in total. Add an extra inch for the space between the last piercing on his shaft and the tip of his dick, where the giant, beading Prince Albert curled out, and you successfully looked death in the eyes. It was so big, staring back at you. Erik stepped forward, and now, it was staring at the thing it wanted: your mouth. 

You swallowed, less nervous than before. And the smooth, easy swallow reminded you that a hard chunk of metal was about to invade your mouth, followed by the thing you actually wanted. Around all that metal was him, which soothed you about the tooth-chipping silver about to hit your face.

“Open,” he said. One word is all that’s needed to breach the seal. Erik could’ve used the tongs to pull your tongue out and hold it out of the way, but you already know to press it flat and stick it out as far as it can go so he can slide right in. He does, and the overhang of his prince scratches the roof of your mouth. Not exactly hard, but not quite that softly, either. It has a bit of a pinch, but after a few swings of his hips, it feels dull against the roof of your mouth. He didn’t push himself in far enough for his ladder of shaft piercings to enter your mouth yet, but you watched them get close to the first one entering.

They threatened to snag on your lips, but when one finally did push through, it was just a little bump. It didn’t slow his pace; it simply added more texture to it as you tried to keep your lips loose and wet. That part was the easiest because his spit-coated cock spread your own saliva on your face every time he pulled out; it wasn’t anything you had to actively do. The rest of them went in and felt bumpy, but smooth enough to take repeatedly. Even when he found a pace to move at.

When he did bury his cock in you, it went down into your throat and made it bulge out. Erik would occasionally bury his cock deep into your throat, and every time he did, he would moan or utter something under his breath like “Oh, fuck.” Adversely, he would pull himself out completely and smack his slobbered-up cock over your face. The piercings added an extra sting to where they hit, but it didn’t hurt; they just smacked harder than skin. Unseen by your eyes, but caught by Erik’s baby blues, they left a certain redness next to your puffy lips and wet cheeks. 

Erik hid himself again; this time, he didn’t pull out a few seconds later. He pressed his hips into you, grinding it against your face and putting a pressure on you as he went as deep as he could. His hand curled around your throat, previously being used to support him while he face-fucked you. 

“Piercings are cool and all—but fuck.” He moaned, giving your neck a rough squeeze. “This is my favorite accessory.”

Every thrust made your throat bulge, and he could feel it pressing into the middle of his palm. The first thing that pushed into it was smaller—the metal bead of his piercing—and it was immediately followed by his fatter cockhead. He took a little enjoyment in knowing that there was a palpable difference between the two, and it was something that you could surely feel.

It felt like something getting stuck in your throat, whether that be a rogue piece of food that refused to go down without some water or a pill attempting to do the same. That’s when Erik wasn’t using your throat like a fucktoy, but when he was moving, it felt more like the constant scratch of an itch you never knew you had. It felt good—amazing, even, to have the dull head of it rubbing along the inside of your throat. The underside of it did the same for the back of your throat, but to a lesser extent. Not to mention how he already stretched your lips, your mouth, and your throat to fit all of his fat cock. Adding those extra studs made it rocky, but it moved smoothly in your mouth.

So smooth that when Erik pushed his cock down into your throat, then he stuttered and nearly gave into his urges. But, with that slick glide of spit, brought it out past your lips in seconds. His hand flew to his shaft, and a few, meek tugs that barely pushed the skin over his tip caused him to drip out. He didn’t really shoot, per se. It foamed around his piercing, running over it and spilling out over your face in a slow stream. What didn’t glob up and drip down onto your face ran down his length. 

He shuddered the whole time, weak and letting out deep whimpers. 

After milking himself until all of the cum seeped out and wiped it over your face, he stepped back and reached for something. He returned into your view with a few paper towels in his hand, throwing them down on your face. He deadpanned again, “Clean yourself up, slut.”

[vin-taege]

slasher summer (m)

Summary: erik gets more than a little excited because of your couple costume for a summer-ween party.

Genre: pwp! smut

Pairing: Erik Campbell x f!reader

Words: 4.9k

CW: Knife play (not a real knife!), mirror sex, face sitting, roleplay (kinda?), very brief panty kink (erik is a freak), gagging, light slapping, degradation

Note: 0% proofread, 100% self-indulgent

It was game over for Erik the second you walked out of the bathroom.

A major thing that you both bonded over was your love for horror films, especially with slashers. There’s just something so fun about watching a group of teenagers getting picked off one by one. Not to mention, how hot some of the killers are. This fixation of yours was something Erik loved to tease you about—not that you were ashamed.

There’s something weirdly sexy about a big, strong man in a mask chasing you. And when he catches you, he pins you against the wall, and sticks something inside you? Verbatim, you’ve explained this to Erik time and time again, only to be met with a soft snort—and at times, followed by rough sex.

This time, Julia and a bunch of her high school friends held a mini-reunion, which was mixed with a Summerween celebration. For the first time in your relationship, you have never seen Erik get so excited over a reunion of any kind. He immediately agreed to putting on a couple costume with you—but of course, done in a way special to only the two of you.

So here he was now, sitting on the foot of your bed, starting to sweat a little under the shimmery, black fabric of the Ghostface robe. He passed the plastic knife from gloved hand to gloved hand while he waited for you to finish your makeup. The mask was lying next to him, ready to be used for the night.

Just as he was about to get up to check on you, the bathroom door opened. You walked out, adding an extra sway to your hips. Subconsciously, Erik licked his lips. The white sweater hugged your figure, tucked under light, baggy jeans. The bob wig was a bit silly, so you made the executive decision to ditch it. You held the cardboard phone up and pressed it against your ear.

“Oh, Mr. Ghostface, the star of your movie is here,” you sing-songed. You walked towards Erik, yelping as he pulled you into his lap. His eyes roamed your body, briefly stopping at the dip of your v-neck, just above the swell of your breasts. You whispered, “Someone likes the costume.”

“As if you don’t like mine.”

He pressed his lips against yours, slowly, deeply. He coaxed your mouth open with his tongue, letting it dance against yours. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him closer. His hand wandered to your chest, kneading your breast over the fabric of the top.

“Erik,” you murmured, trying to pull away. His lips chased yours, continuing to kiss you between words. “We’ll be late.”

“What if we just don’t come?” He pulled away to smirk at you, only to be met with the usual response of you rolling your eyes. He pouted, leaning back into your neck. Finding your sweet spot, he went back to kissing you. This time they came hot and heavy.

You moaned softly as he marked you, alternating between nibbling and licking your skin. When he was satisfied, he sat back, admiring his work. Right under your jaw was a pretty little bruise. You could only hope that the strobe lights and alcohol could mask it.

“Happy?” You furrowed your brows, pretending to be angry, though far from it.

He chuckled, his laugh low and beautiful. “You’d really rather be at that party instead of letting me fuck your brains out?”

“I promised Jules I’d go. She put a lot of effort into planning this, okay?” You ruffled his hair, already getting up. “And Bobby kept talking about how excited he was to show us his costume.”

“He goes as ‘human Lightning McQueen’ every year! You’ve seen this before.” Erik groaned, dramatically plopping back onto the bed.

You giggled at his antics. “We’ll stay for only 30 minutes, and I swear we can book it.”

Just like that, Erik reanimated back to life, a pleased smile on his face. He hurriedly fitted the mask back over his head. Standing next to you in the mirror, he patiently waited as you reapplied your lip gloss.

“Smile for me, gorgeous.” His phone clicked, followed by a flash.

────୨ৎ────

Erik has been eyeing you like prey for the past ten minutes. There you sat, amidst a sea of Bobby’s football friends and Julia’s sorority sisters. True enough, Bobby was chugging a pint of Hice Pale Ale, ignorant of the liquid spilling into his shiny, red, racer jacket. The yellow “95” gleamed across his back. Beneath it, someone had taped some notebook paper with the word “kachow!” on it.

The last time you saw Julia was when she greeted you at the doorway. You almost didn’t recognize her with the red wig. Fake vines wrapped around her limbs, little leaves jutting out of them. They all connected to the back of her green dress, the hem distressed to look like foliage.

“Poison Ivy?” you grinned at her. Her eyes lit up. She hummed in approval, twirling around for you. When she spun back, she took one look at your couple costume and snorted.

“Woah, you guys really are freaky.” She pretended not to notice the hickey on underneath your jaw.

Since then, she’s been whisked away into the backyard. You could barely hear the trampoline springs over the booming music, making you feel as if the whole house was jumping along. Beside you, Stefani was telling you about her latest college troubles. You would’ve taken her more seriously if she weren’t dressed as a Disney-bound version of Mirabel Madrigal. She lost you two topics ago, when you caught Erik basically undressing you with his eyes from his side of the room. Not that you could see his blue irises—of course he kept the mask on.

There he was, your Ghostface. A constant reminder of your 30-minute deadline. He was so focused that he didn’t even drink. You tilted your head, biting your lip as Erik followed suit. He lifted a gloved hand, making a call sign against his ear. You brought your attention to your phone.

Nothing.

You raised your head to look back at him, only to find that he was gone. Glancing around the room, you tried looking for the bright, plastic mask. Still no Erik.

“Hey, you okay?” Stefani asked, looking around with you.

“Yeah, sorry. I just thought I saw Erik just a second ago.”

Right then, your phone buzzed, the screen lighting up. You held the caller screen up apologetically to Stefani. She waved you off, promising to get coffee with you the next day.

You side-stepped between bodies in various outfits, sighing in relief once you stepped out the front door. The music was fainter out in their porch, the air fresher. You took a deep breath of it before answering.

“Enjoying the party?”

Almost immediately, you scanned your surroundings. Save for a few costumed smokers, no one else was outside. You looked up at the windows looming over you, all of them blocked by curtains or blinds.

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head over finding me.” You could almost see Erik’s smirk deepen.

“What, you aren’t even gonna say the line?” you bit back sweetly.

“I already know what your favorite scary movie is,” he paused. “Just like how I already know that you’re out on the porch with wet panties. You thought I couldn’t see you rubbing your thighs together the entire time on the couch?”

Your breath hitched. Swallowing thickly, you heard him laugh. “You sure it’s not just the mask making your eyesight shitty?”

“You better fix your tone before I fix it for you.”

“Yeah? And how are you gonna do that when you aren’t even here?” You bit your lip nervously. It wasn’t beyond Erik to find a good, quiet spot out in the open and take you right there. Honestly, his primal need for you never failed to turn you on.

“That’s up to you to figure out, princess. I want to play a little game with you.”

“Wrong movie, smartass.”

“You mouthing off at me?” He chuckled as you stayed quiet, already slipping into subspace. You wanted to whine at him, to beg him to just take you home and fuck your brains out like he promised. But you also still had your pride, and if he wanted to prolong the chase, then damnit, you’ll give it to him before your ego takes a blow. “That’s more like it. What a good girl.”

“What do you want?”

“Do you know the game, ‘hot and cold’?” You perked up. The fucker was going to make you find him.

You took a tentative step towards the road. Erik, his eyes never leaving you from wherever he was, automatically responded. “Cold. Freezing, actually. You learn fast, smart girl.”

Turning around, you slipped back into the house, straining to hear him over all the noise. “Warm.”

You made your way to the kitchen, carefully surveying the packed crowd for even a glimpse of him. You felt eyes boring into the back of your neck. Before Erik could speak, you already knew he wasn’t there. Instead, you followed your gut, pointing you to the staircase.

Maneuvering around college kids passed out on the steps, you finally reached the second floor. The music was still going strong, but you could hear Erik clearly this time. Your eyes roamed across all the doors, some of them left ajar, others shut.

“Warmer.”

One by one, you peeked into each room. Before you could even fully step into one, Erik would already steer you away with an “uh-uh” or an even more annoying “cold, lukewarm.” Finally, you’ve exhausted all other options aside from the last door to the left. Without even looking inside, you already knew that it was Erik’s room, your backup hangout spot ever since he moved in with you.

The door was slightly opened, moonlight seeping into the floorboards as it strained against the sheer curtains. So that was how he could see you before.

“You’re on fire.” His voice was lower, dangerously quiet.

You pushed the door open with a creak. The room looked ordinarily chaotic, yet empty. A mountain of CDs was piled over his desk, next to the spot where he used to keep his PC. His sheets were a mess, a deep, blood red and crumpled. A single sock and a hoodie spilled from his tipped-over laundry bin. Laying neatly in the middle of the bed was the Ghostface mask.

Fully inside now, you shut the door softly behind you. At this point, Erik has fully succeeded in messing with you. You were horny, and now, a bit freaked out and spooked. The light still hasn’t been turned on. Your eyes were just starting to adjust to the darkness, the furniture farther away from you looking like dark splotches bleeding into his bedroom walls.

“Erik!” you whisper-shouted. You rolled your eyes, walking to the foot of his bed. All the noise from the party downstairs was muffled. It almost felt like you were in a separate place, an isolated reality where you lived out the character you dressed up as. Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t catch how the closet door slowly opened. Instead, you were glancing at the ceiling, calling out to him mockingly. “Oh, Mr. Ghostface, please don’t kill me! I want to be in the sequel!”

A clothed hand wrapped around your mouth, stifling the scream from your throat. The tip of a plastic knife pressed against your stomach, forcing you back into the masked man’s body. Something hard pressed against your ass, rutting teasingly against you.

“Finally found me, princess,” Erik drawled out.

Your heart hammered against your chest. Blood rushed to your ears, adrenaline fuelling you. You thrashed around in his grasp, fully playing into your role. His grip on you tightened, pushing you until you were pressed against the wall mirror.

“You almost gave me a heart attack, you asshole,” you whined as soon as he took his hand off your mouth. You grinded your ass into you, making him let out a groan.

“Shut up and hold this for me.” He pressed the knife handle sideways against your mouth. Like a brat, you pressed your lips together tightly. Sighing at your antics, he drew a hand back and slapped your ass. When you yelped, he quickly slotted the knife handle in between your teeth. “There we fuckin’ go. Didn’t have to be so difficult.”

Sloppy kisses trailed down your neck. Erik took his time going over the marks he had already made, making a show of holding your gaze through the mirror as he sucked and bit on the little unmarked skin you had left. He pinned your hips against the glass, bucking into your jeans. You swore you were leaking into the denim.

“Did you have fun playing? I still need to give you a prize. Still need to stick something inside you. Isn’t that what you always wanted?” He softened his voice condescendingly.

He let go of your hips, hands travelling up your stomach. His fingers caught on the fabric of your shirt, lifting it teasingly, before settling on the neckline. You saw his knuckles tighten, your eyes widening as you shook your head in protest. Smirking at you, Erik ripped your shirt down the divot of the v-neck. He pulled the tattered fabric under your breasts, bunching it alongside your bra. You shivered as your nipples pressed against the cool glass.

Erik didn’t waste any time. His large hands enveloped your breasts, offering warmth as he kneaded the flesh. You moaned as he rolled your nipples between his fingers, lightly tugging at them. Gritting your teeth, you threw your head back, letting it fall against his shoulder. The additional friction from the leather gloves made your head swim. He cooed, gently prying the knife from your mouth. Strings of saliva fell from it, dribbling down your cheeks and throat.

“You look so good like this, princess,” he whispered into your ear.

He pressed the tip of the knife into your sternum, putting just enough pressure for it to leave a red mark, but not to actually hurt. You brought your head back down, looking at your position. Erik stood behind you, still fully clothed—save for the mask. And you, on the opposite end of the spectrum, looked spent even before you had properly begun.

Your hair was a mess, stray strands sticking to your cheeks with a mix of sweat and spit. Red lovebites littered the sides of your neck, some of them only deepening in color. What used to be your thin sweater was now a mess of fabric crumpled under your breasts, almost as if framing them. You were panting hard.

On the valley between your breasts, Erik ran the knife up and down. He pressed the flat side onto one tit, slowly scraping it until the tip was digging lightly into your nipple. You moaned, steadying yourself against the mirror. “What are you gonna do to me, you psycho?”

Erik chuckled darkly, withdrawing the knife from you. He turned his attention to your pants, quickly unbuttoning them and unzipping. He yanked them down your legs, letting you shift from one foot to another so you could kick them away. With his free hand, he held you by the throat, dragging you with him as he walked backwards. Hitting the foot of the bed, he pulled you into his lap.

Tucking the knife into the waistband of your panties, he pried your thighs open. You breathed heavily, staring at yourself in the mirror. Reaching around you, Erik rubbed your slit through the ruined fabric.

“I’m gonna have some more fun with you. I wouldn’t want to waste something as precious as this.” He brought his fingers up to your face, pressing them together and separating them, a string of your wetness connecting the digits together. “You’re a sick little whore for enjoying this, aren’t you? Getting wrecked up here while your friends don’t know any better.”

“I-I’m not,” you protested weakly, shuddering when he circled his fingers around your clit. Subconsciously, you arched your back, chasing after his touch. He added pressure, listening in bliss as whines and moans spilled out of your mouth.

“Yeah, you’re not what? Enjoying this, or a slut? Can’t make your mind up when you’re too busy gushing through your panties, huh?” With his other hand, he unsheathed the knife from your panties, pressing the dull blade against your neck. His ministrations grew faster, coiling the rope in your stomach tighter. He growled into your ear, “Look at yourself when I ruin you.”

As soon as you tilted your head towards the mirror, you came undone. Erik rubbed you off, slowly down as you rode out your orgasm. Mentally, you thanked the loud music, clouding the animalistic shriek you just let out.

Limbs turned to jelly, you collapsed back into Erik’s chest. He set the knife aside, slipping both fingers into the waistband of your panties. With your remaining strength, you lifted your hips, letting him peel the ruined fabric off you. You watched, entranced, as he uncovered your wet core. Slick coated the sides of your thighs, dripping down into the curve of your ass.

Erik held your panties in his fist, closing his eyes as he took a whiff. “Jesus, I’d get drunk on that.”

“Fucking freak,” you muttered teasingly, grinning at him.

“What the fuck was that?” He raised an eyebrow. He cut you off with a sharp smack to your cunt. Though not painful, the contact made you jolt in surprise. He then cupped a hand over your heat, soothing you. “Color?”

“Green.”

He lifted you off, stretching your legs as he placed you gently on the bed. You waited patiently as he kicked his boots off, lying down so that the top of his head was pointing towards the mirror. He brought his hands up, gesturing for you to come to him. “Take a seat on your throne, princess.”

You chuckled, scrambling to get on top of him. As you slung a leg over his chest, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You lifted your hips, admiring the sight of Erik’s face between your legs. He grabbed both of your thighs, guiding your pussy to his mouth.

“Can you breathe?” You checked on him.

“Don't need to,” he grinned lazily. You rolled your eyes, slowly dropping your weight until you felt his tongue part your folds. You slotted perfectly on him, his gorgeous nose brushing against your clit.

“Fuck yeah,” you hissed, feeling him lick up your slit. His lips suckled your clit, alternsting between kissing and licking.

You whimpered, rolling your hips in time with each flick of his tongue. Steadying youself, you leaned back, planting your arms on the top of his thighs. Through half-lidded eyes, you watched yourself ride his face.

The feeling was addicting, and the noises were pure filth. Erik didn't shy away from moaning in contentment—the act of eating you out was already so sacred to him. He was loud, messy. Nothing turned him on more than to slowly become lightheaded from being smothered by your pretty pussy.

His grip on you tightened, and you thought it was a sign for you to give him some air. So, like a good girlfriend, you moved to lift your hips up. Almot immediately, Erik clamped down your thighs, digging his fingers into your flesh. He lifted his head up, chasing after your dripping cunt.

“Get the fuck back on me,” he growled, eyes dripping with want, pupils blown out the point where there were only blue slivers around it.

You wanted to laugh at his eagerness, but it was cut off by a moan. You relaxed your thighs again, wholly presenting yourself to him. He focused on your clit, licks getting slobbier. He sucked loudly, smacking his lips as he devoured you.

It felt so good you had started to tear up. The feeling of his tongue on the bundle of nerves consumed all of your thoughts. As your moans got more high-pitched, you shifted, leaning forward so he had better access to your clit. You knotted your fingers into his hair, bringing him impossibly closer to your cunt.

“F-fuck, it's so fucking good baby. So close. ‘M close, ‘m gonna cum. Fuck, I'm gonna cum—!”

You threw your head back, tears leaking as you screwed your eyes shut. Beneath you, Erik kept a firm hold on your thighs, refusing to let you off. Your body shook as you came hard, mind going black for a few seconds until you've reached the end of the high.

Clumsily, you rolled off him when he finally loosened his grip. You collapsed next to him, chest moving rapidly as you tried to catch your breath. Beside you, Erik took a few gulps of air before sitting up as if he wasn't inches away from passing out just a few seconds ago.

“What's with the stupid look on your face?” You tried to sass him, though it came out pathetically in between breaths.

He scoffed, smile only growing wider. He made a show of licking his lips. Your cheeks heated up when the moonlight hit his face, revealing the aftermath. Slick coated his mouth, dribbling across his cheeks and down neck. The tip of his nose glistened, equally covered in your juices.

He draped himself over you, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss. His lips moved slowly against yours, tongue slipping sensually into your mouth. You moaned softly as you tasted yourself on him.

“You still alive or are you tapping out, final girl?” He asked when he pulled away. His words were playful, but you could hear the worry in his gentle voice.

“Drew Barrymore was the first ever kill in the franchise, you poser.”

He snorted at your monotoned delivery. You quirked your lip, offering a small smile. Your eyes landed on his crotch, a prominent tent poking into your thighs.

“I remember talk of sticking something inside me?” You wiggled your eyebrows.

“Oh princess, that was a promise.”

As if flipping a switch, Erik's eyes darkened. He hitched up the thin robe, unbuckling his belt and slipping it out of his belt loops. He wrapped it in between both hands, tugging harshly to make it snap. You rubbed your thighs expectantly, doe-eyed as he took both of your wrists and brought them above your head, tying them together.

He sighed in relief when he finally freed himself. Your mouth watered at the sight of his cock, pre-cum dripping from the red tip. It curved towards his stomach, a vein wrapping around his thick shaft. The metal ball of his prince albert glinted invitingly.

Erik fisted himself slowly, looking down at you like a present he can't wait to tear into. His gaze started at your mascara-streaked face. It crawled down to your tits, chest heaving in anticipation. Finally, it settled on your pussy, the oasis in between your legs. He's gotten you so wet that a damp patch had started to form in the covers.

“Why don't you take a picture, it will last longer,” you huffed impatiently. His eyes snapped back to yours, a dangerous glint in them. You swallowed thickly.

He looked pissed. Pissed in a way that got your thighs rubbing and your throat dry.

He clamped a hand over your mouth, then looked around, as if trying to find something. You caught the way his eyes lit up when he finally saw it. He repositioned his hand so he was holding your jaw. Squeezing down, he forced your mouth open, quickly stuffing your ruined panties in.

“Take a picture, it'll last longer,” he mimicked you. He grasped the base of his dick, slapping it twice on your clit. “I'm not taking your shit anymore, princess.”

“That fucking mouth,” he punctuated each word with a light slap to your cheek. “—is a punishment waiting to happen.”

Suddenly, in one move, he buried himself into you. A muffled scream tore its way out your throat, the sudden intrusion becoming a mix of pleasure and pain. You blinked back tears, wriggling your hips away.

“Yeah? That hurt, princess? Little slut gonna cry?” He goaded, bringing his hips back only to thrust into you again. You mewled, seeing stars as the tip of his piercing brushed your cervix. “Not so fucking smart now, huh?”

He continued to fuck you like that, slow and deep. Each time he snapped his hips, he hit the delicious spot that made your brain short-circuit. You gasped out, shuddering breaths barely making it through the balled up cloth.

Everything felt too much, yet too little. He had hooked his arms under your shoulders, hands pressed flat against the top of your head. Erik used you to push himself deeper, pulling you towards him whenever he sheathed himself in you. You were leaking from both ends, tears streaming from pleasure as your pussy gushed and clenched around his thick cock.

“Fuck, you take me so well. Look at this greedy hole, so fucking eager to get filled with cock,” he flicked your clit, which was still sensitive from the earlier round. You cried out, arching out of the mattress. “All bark, no bite. What's wrong, huh? Out of words?”

“Fuck you,” you wanted to scream out. It came out disjointed, more like an “uck ou” intermixing with a prolonged “aah!” when he hit your g-spot again. He widened his eyes in mock sympathy.

“Oh, you poor thing. Is it too much for your pretty head? Fucking you dumb aren't I?”

He pulled out and—in contrast to his harsh words—gently rolled you onto your stomach. Caging you with an arm on either side, he re-entered easily from all the slick you've made. His scent, alcohol and menthol, his moans, his leather, his hair trickling into your own as he bowed his head—everything about him took over you.

No other thoughts, your eyes glazed over, arms dangling off the footboard, wrists marked by the belt—Erik shifted gears and pistoned in and out of you like his life depended on it. You could already feel another orgasm building up in your lower belly. Your walls clenched around him, toes curling as he abused that fucking spot that made you see stars.

“Look,” he rasped, breath stuttering. Using a hand, he pulled your hair back, tilting your head up. You whined, locking eyes with your wrecked reflection. The girl in the mirror barely resembled you anymore, eyes unfocused, neck in shades of red, face coated in spit and sweat and tears—so much tears from how good it all felt. It spurred you more, moans growing high-pitched.

“I know, I know,” Erik cooed. “Gonna cum? Cream all over my cock, princess, go ahead.”

He sped up, the room filling with loud sounds of skin slapping against skin. Your orgasm washed over you like a rolling tide. Your legs shook, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you bit down hard on your panties. Meanwhile, Erik thrusted shallowly a few more times before burying himself to the hilt. His chin laid against your shoulder, hot breath heavy on you when he let out a long groan.

Ropes of his cum spurted against your walls, filling you with warmth. Sweat dripped from his fringe, dropping to intermix with the light sheen on your shoulder blade. His weight pinned you to the bed, an almost comforting feeling as you both stilled—spent.

Sluggish, he reached into your lips, pulling your panties out and chucking them into the oblivion that was his room. You sighed in relief, opening your jaw a few times to get the ache out. Next, he fumbled with his belt, eventually getting it loose. It fell to the floor with a small, metallic thud.

You panted into the sheets, dizzy as you came down from the high. You were too out of it to recognize him sitting back up, nor the quiet ruffling of sheets. Erik grabbed the hair at the base of your scalp, pulling your head back. You barely registered seeing yourself in his phone camera—eyes glossy, lips and chin slicked with spit. Erik loomed behind you, equally a mess but doubly cocky. He fixed the mask back over his head before feeling around for his phone. When he found it, he bit the tip of the glove on his free hand, dragging it off. He stretched his arm past you, angling the device so you were both on screen.

“Smile for me, gorgeous,” he echoed, snapping a picture.

────୨ৎ────

It was reaching 3 a.m. when you finished. You vaguely remembered the feeling of a damp cloth wiping in between your legs, followed by a fluffy towel. You were still incoherent when Erik had carried you over to Bobby's room, now fitted with his oversized shirt and boxers.

“Not your room,” you had mumbled into his shoulder. Your voice was rough, the result of screaming your lungs out and a dry mouth.

“I know, baby, but I'm not letting you sleep on sticky sheets.” He disappeared downstairs to a mellowing party, and came back with a glass of water. He was still wearing his sweat-soaked costume.

After making you drink water, he quickly changed into new clothes and laid down next to you. You shuffled around, letting him place an arm under your head as you faced him to cuddle.

“I think I passed out,” you whispered. You could feel his chest rumble with a chuckle.

“I might have, too.” He threaded his fingers through your hair, attempting to untangle the knots. “You okay?”

“Won't be walking well for a week, but so worth it,” you grinned lazily. “You ruined my costume though.”

“I'll buy you a new one. Or we can go as someone else next time?”

You hummed in consideration. “Pearl and the projectionist?”

“You know the way to my heart.”

[lucydixon]

Don't Stop

GIF by @jst2guyz

Summary: Poor Bobby walks in on you and Erik and is scared for life when his brother pays him no mind and keeps fucking you into the matress. Warning: NSFW, Unprotected P in V, Exhibitionism?, a little bit of degradation.

“Fuck-” You gasped, digging your nails into Erik’s biceps as he slammed into you relentlessly “Oh, god.” 

“God’s got nothin’ to do with it, baby” He smirked down at you, panting slightly as he slammed his lips down onto yours, burying himself to the hilt so he could rock his rips. His tip ground itself agains your cervix, sending sparks of both pain and leisure through you. “Is that good? You like it when I hurt you a little, dont you?” 

All you could do was nod, writhing beneath him as you chased your way to your third climax, rolling your hips against him and letting out little gasps and groans. Your eyes were screwed shut, obstructing his view of your beautiful, blown out pupils. 

“Look at me.” He all but growled, stopping suddenly. 

Your eyes flew open, and you immediately started to make this low, wounded, whining sound in a desperate attempt to get him to go back to his bruising pace. 

They locked on his, a little wide and very needy, while he just stared back at you hungrily.

“Think you’re gonna cum again?” He muttered, nuzzling your cheek with his nose “How many times is that now? Twice?  Three times?”  

When you didn’t answer, he started to pull out, them rammed himself home the second you started clawing at him.

“think you deserve to cum?” He taunted while hot tears welled up in your eyes. 

You wanted it so bad. 

In your fucked out, overstimulated state, you were still insatiable and the thought of him stopping made you feel lke you were going to start crying. 

“Huh?” Erik grabbed a fistful of hair from the base of your skull, tugging on it roughly to force you to look at him. “Do you? Or should I stop?” 

“Please don’t stop!” Your eyes were pleading. “I do deserve it, I’ve been so good for you all day.” 

“That’s not even a little bit true.” He scoffed, eyes darkening “You were fucking with me all morning!” 

“I was not!” You defended, giving him a light shove, but your body betrayed you. The second he started to pull away, you gasped, wraping your arms and legs around him and clung to his body, trying desperately to keep his cock from slipping out of your damp heat. 

“Yeah?” He nipped at the skin on the side of your throat, dragging his teeth over the skin lightly. “What do you call that stunt you pulled with the pencil earlier?” 

“You mean when I dropped it?” You feigned innocence, but he caught you looking panicked for a secon.d “I can’t drop stuff? It was an accident.” 

“Was not wearing panties under that little skirt of yours an accident too?” He snarled, sucking on your skin until it bruised “And the way you made a show out of bending over to pick it up? Angling those sexy fucking hips of yours so your entire pussy was on display? You’re trying to tell me you didn’t do that on purpose? Do you think I’m fuckin' stupid, or are you just a little slut?"

You couldn’t help the little smirk tugging at your lips. 

You could faintly hear Bobby out in the hall, looking for Paco, but didn’t pay him any mind. Erik did though and an idea came to mind once an idea popped into his mind. 

He knew exactly what was about to happen. 

But you hadn’t seemed to have clued in, still too busy begging him to fuck you with his eyes. 

“You want to cum?” He muttered lowly, into your ear, as he started building up a rough pace, keeping your hair balled up in his fist. 

“Yes,” You hummed, meeting every thrust with the roll of you hips. 

“Just don’t stop,” You panted. “Plese, baby, just let me cum.” 

“Oh, don’t you worry, sweetheart.” He pecked the tip of your nose, ramming himself into your cervix. “I'll make sure you do.” 

Finally, the doorknob turned, and you both turned to look at Bobby in the doorway. 

You were there with a slack jawed look of embarrassment, although it was broken up by little gasps as Erik continued to fuck you like his brother wasn’t standing right there. 

The younger boy was stammering, pink-cheeked, and looking horrified. 

“Erik!” He gasped, “What the-why are you-” 

“My girls about to cum.” Erik shushed him dismissively, still gripping your hips firmly, using them as leverage to get as deep as possible while you hid your face in your hands. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I left her hanging?” 

Bobby was still too stunned to move. 

You could feel yourself reaching your peak and tried to fight it off, but you were too overwhelmed by the feeling of Erik’s piercing dragging over your overstimulated walls and the shameful excitement that came with getting caught despite how mortifying it was. 

Erik could feel you fluttering around him and smirked, picking up the pace. 

“Look at you.” He panted, “Dirty girl. Cumming around my cock with an audience?” 

Finally, when your gasps and moans started to increase in frequency and pitch, coupled by Erik’s name falling from your lips like a prayer, Bobby snapped out of his shock and fled, slamming the door shut behind him just in time to miss you clamping down around Erik’s length, convulsing as he fucked you through your high. 

“That’s it.” He grunted, unable to help himself from tumbling over the edge with you. His hips snapped into you even harder than before “Take it.” 

“Take it all.” He muttered, getting sloppy with his thrusts as he pumped you full of cum. “Shit-” 

He slowed to a stop, rolling onto his side while clutching you to his chest so he could stay buried inside you for as long as possible, breathing raggedly into the top of your head while you both came down. 

“I can’t believe that just happened,” You groaned into his chest once you felt like you could speak, cheeks burning with embarassment. “You fucking asshole! Why’d you keep going?” 

“You told me not to stop.” You could hear the smug grin on his face and couldn't help but let a laugh slip past your lips as you swatted his chest tiredly. 

Dividers made by @saradika-graphics MDNI Banner Made by @cafekitsune Masterlist

[jennxxe]

You didn’t see shit.

pairing — erik campbell x fem! reader

summary — you’re julia’s best friend

warnings — cursing, making out, getting caught by ✨bobby✨, erik bribes him to stfu tho

a/n — i have one more idea for an erik ff after this one and then i will do billy and carter from fd1 <33 yall are free to message me requests for characters tho, js put a summary of what you want the fanfic to look like. all final destination characters are welcome!!

You were halfway through laughing at something Julia said when Erik sauntered into the room like he wasn’t the human equivalent of a traffic violation. That cocky smirk already plastered across his stupidly punchable (and unfortunately hot) face.

“Damn,” he muttered, eyes dragging from your thighs to your lips like he was trying to memorize your measurements by sheer force of will. “Didn’t know Julia had hot friends. You always look like that?”

Julia groaned instantly. “Erik, no.”

He leaned on the kitchen counter like he owned the place, tossing an apple from hand to hand like he was being casual, but everyone knew better. His voice dropped into that low but casual tone he used when he was being deliberately inappropriate. “I’m just saying. If I knew this one was around, I would’ve stayed home more often.”

Julia’s face scrunched like she’d eaten a lemon. “She’s not interested.”

“You sure?” He glanced at you, grin slow and lazy. “Doesn’t look like she’s complaining.”

You fought the smile tugging at your lips. Erik caught it, winking at you. Julia stood between you two now, arms crossed. “Literally go die.”

Erik snorted. “Can’t. I’m the cool sibling. I’ve got plot armor.”

Julia threw a spoon at him. He caught it midair, didn’t blink. Still smirking. That smirk that said: I definitely mean it.

Later that day, Julia had gone upstairs to grab something later that day, promising she’d “be back in two seconds,” which was apparently all the time Erik needed to find his way back in your personal space.

He leaned forward, palms flat on the counter on either side of you, his breath hitting the curve of your neck like something deliberate.

“I’m gonna say something,” he said lowly, his voice rough like it’d just rolled out of bed, “and you’re gonna tell me to fuck off.”

You turned slowly, finding him closer than you expected, close enough to see all the tiny healed scars from the piercings he changed his mind about and took out.

“Didn’t Julia already tell you to leave me alone?” you asked, but your voice betrayed you, just a little more curious than cold.

“She did,” he said. “But I’ve got this thing where I don’t listen to her.”

“Oh, shocking.”

“Look, you’re her best friend. You’re sweet. Smart. Probably way too good for the kind of thoughts I’ve been having since you walked in.”

Your breath caught, barely but enough for him to notice. His grin curved, slow and shameless.

“See?” he said softly. “You felt that too.”

You shook your head, stepping back until your hip hit the counter. He followed, didn’t touch just looked. Held your eyes like he was trying to find the flicker of permission. Like he was testing the line to see if you’d let him cross it.

“And what if I told her?” you asked.

He laughed, one of those careless ones that made your stomach flip in a good way. “You won’t,” he said, certain. “Not unless you want her to know how long you let me stand here.”

You exhaled, smiling a bit. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re still not walking away.”

He leaned in, slow enough to give you time to stop him—which you didn’t—and brushed his lips against your jaw, just a ghost of contact. Barely anything. But it burned.

“You tell me when to stop,” he murmured. “Or you don’t.” Before you could answer, footsteps pounded on the stairs.

Julia.

He pulled back in an instant, grabbing a slice of pizza off the counter like nothing had happened. Smirking to himself like he’d won something. And when Julia walked back in and rolled her eyes at him, he just said, through a mouthful of crust. “We were just talking about you.”

You decided to sleep over for whatever reason that night, too lazy to walk back home and Julia gave you her bed.

…

Jk, she would never, she made you sleep on the couch like she was punishing you for indulging her brother.

The living room was half-dark, lit only by the blue glow of the muted TV and the tiny strip of moonlight bleeding in through the blinds. You were on the couch, curled under a blanket, phone long forgotten at your side. Tank top loose, one strap slipping just slightly. Legs stretched out, bare and warm against the worn leather cushions.

You hear someone coming downstairs and, of course, it has to be Erik. No shirt, all tattoos on display. Hair tousled like he hadn’t even tried to sleep. Those damn silver piercings glinting faintly in the dark.

He stood at the edge of the couch, eyes skating down the length of your legs without shame, his jaw slack with something both lazy and playful.

"You're in my spot," he said finally, voice lower than usual, like the hour required secrecy but his intent didn’t.

You didn’t move. "You weren’t down here."

“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t planning to be.”

He dropped onto the other end of the couch like he owned it and stretched his legs out until his foot casually nudged yours. The contact was small, insignificant. But he didn’t take it back. He just let it linger.

You shifted under the blanket. He watched that too.

“You always stare like that?” she muttered, trying to keep her voice level.

His head tilted, one arm thrown over the back of the couch, muscles lazy, confident. “Only when I wanna see what you’ll do about it.”

There was a beat of silence. Heavy. Tense. Loaded.

Then he moved slowly, like the moment had been waiting on him, until he was closer. Close enough for his knee to bump your thigh. Close enough that she could smell him, faint cologne and the stubborn smoke that always clung to his skin. His fingers ghosted along the blanket near your hip, barely brushing fabric, but intentional.

You should’ve shifted away. Should’ve told him to back off. Should’ve said Julia’s upstairs. But your body betrayed you… okay, it didn’t, he was hot as fuck.

He leaned in, slow enough to be deliberate, lips brushing just shy of your jaw. His breath hit warm and even across your skin, his voice a whisper now.

“You gonna tell me to leave?”

Your fingers curled into the blanket, tighter.

He chuckled under his breath, low and full of mischief. His hand came up, brushing your thigh through the blanket, fingers spread like he needed to feel just how warm you were under there.

“You’re real quiet now,” he said, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “That mean I can stay?”

Your breath caught. And then you nodded. He dipped closer. His mouth brushed the line of your collarbone, lips soft, breath hot, his hand sliding just beneath the blanket now.

The couch groaned softly beneath you as you shifted, and your knee bumped his thigh, bare skin on bare skin. That was all it took for Erik to settle his hand at your waist, pulling gently, testing you.

And he kissed you. Not all at once. He started near your throat, barely-there kisses that felt like secrets, like confessions. Then up along your jaw, near the corner of your mouth, just hovering, giving you time to pull away.

You didn’t.

So he claimed your lips like he meant it.

It wasn’t gentle. It was heat and hesitation, all twisted up. Teeth. Tongue. The press of his body against yours, as if he’d been holding himself back all night and finally got permission to start losing control.

And even in the middle of that kiss, Erik smirked against your mouth. Because he knew he was winning.

He eventually pushed you back, climbing on top of you. You were soft under him, lips flushed, eyes dazed, that little noise you made when his teeth caught your lower lip nearly making him lose the last ounce of restraint he had. Erik wasn’t good at waiting. Not when he wanted something. And right now?

He wanted you under him, under that stupid blanket, moaning his name like it meant something.

Your legs shifted to either side of his hips, his hand sliding under the hem of your tank top, palm hot on your stomach as your breath hitched. You tugged him closer by the waistband of his pants, and he groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he laughed through it.

“Fuck, if you keep doin’ that—”

Footsteps.

The stairs creaked.

Erik froze. You froze.

And then—

“…Hey?”

Erik looked up like he’d been shot. "No."

Bobby stood in the hallway in basketball shorts and a hoodie, hair a mess, holding a half-eaten Pop-Tart and blinking like he just walked into a war zone.

Erik was still on top of you. Your tank top was wrinkled halfway up your chest.

Bobby just blinked again.

“...Are you guys wrestling or something?”

You scrambled back, yanking the blanket up to your chin like you were about to enter witness protection. Erik nearly tripped over his own legs as he got up, adjusting his waistband like it owed him money.

Bobby squinted. “Wait. Is that Julia’s—”

“NOPE!” Erik bellowed, launching himself across the room so fast he almost tripped. “Bobby. Bobby, look at me. Right here. Look in my eyes. You didn’t see shit.”

Bobby backed up, Pop-Tart still in hand, eyes wide. “Dude, I literally just came in for water, what the hell—”

“Shut up,” Erik hissed, grabbing his brother by the shoulders. “Listen to me. I will buy you so many protein shakes, you don’t even know.”

“What were you—were you guys hooking up?!” Bobby’s voice cracked halfway into the question.

Erik slapped a hand over his mouth. “She fell. I was catching her. With my mouth. Shut up.”

Bobby made a strangled wheeze. “Jules is gonna kill you—”

“No she’s not,” Erik said quickly. “Because you’re not gonna tell her. Because you love me. Because I gave you your first beer. Because I didn’t tell Mom when you got that illegal tattoo that looks like a bruised banana.”

Bobby was still blinking, still confused, but Erik could see the cogs turning, gears clicking into place.

“Are you gonna bribe me?” Bobby asked, hopeful.

“Yes. I will bribe you so hard, you’re gonna forget you even have a sister.”

There was a long beat of silence.

Then Bobby shrugged.

“Okay. I want the good chicken nuggets. And your Netflix password.”

“Done.”

Bobby beamed. “Love you, bro.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Erik shoved him back toward the stairs. “Don’t come back for water. Dehydrate.”

As soon as Bobby disappeared upstairs, Erik turned back to the couch, hair disheveled, still a little breathless, and fully flushed from the chaos.

You were still under the blanket, staring at him like he was insane.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, flopping down beside you again.

“You bribed your brother with chicken nuggets.”

“I bribed him with silence and loyalty, thank you very much.”

You snorted, and he smirked, his fingers already sliding under the blanket again.

“Now,” he said, voice low and smug, “where were we?”

[sunriseabram]

I think Andrew's desperation to live is a little overlooked in the fandom. It's not explicitly stated in the books, other than his SH scars, but I honestly think it is so important to understanding him and his motivations.

Did Andrew ever plan to live past graduation? Before Kevin came along and promised his life would have worth? Did he plan on disappearing when Aaron eventually walked away from him? Believing nobody would notice if he was gone?

He clung on purely for Aaron, to make sure Aaron had a bright future ahead and could go live without him. To make sure that Nicky could go back to Erik without worry.

Before Neil, Andrew didn't believe he had anything to live for. He made a very one sided deal with Kevin to find something, anything, to build his life around after graduation, believing his brother would leave him alone once again.

Because at the heart of it all, Andrew doesn't want to die. Not really.

Andrew has chronic depression and he is suicidal. He sits on the edges of roof tops to feel. He puts his life on the line again and again with little regard for his own safety. He makes promises that put him at a severe disadvantage.

His promises are what keeps him alive, what forces him to live. Dying would break his promise, and Andrew has suffered enough from broken promises.

He doesn't want to die. He wants to survive those who beat him down. He wants to move on. He wants to get better. He wants to live.

He just doesn't know how.

[librababe99]

Healing Touch

cw: MDNI, 18+, Smut, Fluff, Young!Charles Xavier, Fem!Reader word count: 2.7K Summary: In the mid-1970s, Charles Xavier is a man haunted by loss and burdened by the weight of his own mind. When you, a fellow mutant, offer him not only companionship but a love he never expected, the walls he has built around his heart begin to crumble.

A/N: Since I wrote for Erik I felt that writing for Charles balances everything out <3 Forgive me if mentioning the cuban missile crisis at the beginning throws off the timeline in anyway, we don't have to jump into technicalities...lol! Anyways, please feel free to comment, reblog or like this <3 happy reading!

(Marvel Masterlist)

The 1970s had a way of weaving magic into the air—rife with a rebellious freedom, spinning off the back of a decade of upheaval. Amidst the intoxicating haze of civil rights movements, psychedelic music, and ever-changing fashion, there was something magnetic about this era, as if the world were in the throes of rediscovering itself. And in that same time, tucked away in the heart of Westchester County, Charles Xavier was a man rediscovering himself too—one who had seen the world both at its brightest and at its darkest.

The Xavier Institute for Higher Learning had become more than just a school. With the Cuban Missile Crisis a decade behind them and the threat of mutants still very much real, Charles had been pulled into a storm that had rocked him to his core. The man who had once been so full of optimism and hope had become someone else—someone hardened by loss, crippled both physically and emotionally. He had found himself retreating from the world, isolating behind the walls of his mansion, letting the noise of the outside world fade into a dull, muted hum.

But then there was you.

You had come into Charles’s life by chance, a fellow mutant with abilities that he couldn’t help but be drawn to. He had noticed you first because of your power—something akin to empathy, the ability to feel and manipulate the emotions of others. It was subtle, nothing explosive like fire or ice, but it was potent in its own right. In some ways, Charles found it even more fascinating, for it spoke to the heart of what he had always believed—that mutants were more than just their powers; they were people with gifts, capable of great good or terrible destruction depending on how they wielded them.

But it wasn’t just your abilities that caught his attention. There was something about you that stirred something long-buried inside him. You were strong, yes, but kind too—empathetic not just because of your powers but because of who you were at your core. And in a world where Charles had grown tired of fighting, tired of losing, you had become a beacon of warmth in the cold. Your presence began to thaw the ice he had encased himself in, and though he resisted it at first, that pull between you was undeniable.

It was a Friday night, and the mansion was quiet, the students having all gone off for the weekend. The air outside was thick with the scent of rain, the clouds heavy and swollen, but inside, there was a warmth that clung to the air. You had found Charles in his study, a glass of scotch in hand, seated behind the large oak desk that had become almost a throne for him. He was disheveled, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, hair slightly out of place in a way that made him seem more human, less like the esteemed Professor Xavier he had always tried to be.

You knocked softly on the doorframe, leaning against it with a playful smile. "You look like you could use a break."

Charles glanced up from his drink, his eyes settling on you in that way that always sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes—those sharp, piercing blue eyes—were tired, but they softened when they met yours. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "A break from what, exactly?"

You shrugged, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward him. "From thinking. From brooding. From being Charles Xavier, mutant extraordinaire." You reached his desk and perched yourself on the edge of it, your knee brushing his thigh as you did so. His eyes flickered down to the point of contact, and you saw the briefest hitch in his breath.

“I don’t brood,” he replied, though the smile that followed betrayed his words.

“Oh, you most certainly do.” You leaned forward, teasingly close, just enough that he could feel your presence in the air between you. “You sit in this big, empty mansion, all alone, with your thoughts and your scotch, and you brood.”

Charles chuckled softly, though there was something in the sound that was darker, more resigned. “Maybe I do.” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his eyes distant for a moment. “There’s a lot to think about these days.”

You watched him for a moment, your gaze softening. Charles had always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, even before the accident that had left him in a wheelchair. But now, that weight seemed heavier, as though the world had taken too much from him.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his wrist, and the moment you touched him, you could feel it—a deep, aching sadness, buried beneath layers of composure and strength. It was like touching a wound that had never quite healed.

“I can feel it, you know,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles looked up at you, and for a moment, the walls he had built around himself seemed to crumble, leaving behind the man he had tried so hard to hide. “Feel what?” His voice was just as soft, but there was an edge to it, a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see.

You smiled gently, your fingers trailing up his arm, barely grazing his skin. “Everything. The pain, the loss, the weight of all of it. You’re carrying so much, Charles. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he did. “And what if I don’t want you to feel it?”

“Then I won’t,” you whispered, your hand now resting against his chest, right over his heart. “But I want to help you carry it. I want to be there for you.”

Charles’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he seemed to struggle with something deep inside him, as though he were warring with himself. Then, slowly, he reached up, his hand covering yours as it rested on his chest. His touch was warm, gentle, and yet there was a tension in the way he held you, as though he were afraid to let go.

“I don’t deserve that,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Your heart clenched at his words, and without thinking, you leaned forward, closing the distance between you until your lips were inches from his. “You deserve so much more than you think, Charles.”

And then you kissed him.

It was soft at first, tentative, as though you were testing the waters, waiting to see if he would pull away. But he didn’t. Instead, his hand tightened around yours, and you felt him respond, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that surprised you both.

The kiss deepened, the years of longing, pain, and desire pouring into it with a ferocity that neither of you had expected. You could feel the way his body tensed beneath you, the way his breathing quickened as he lost himself in the moment.

Before you knew it, you were climbing into his lap, straddling him as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. Charles groaned against your lips, his hands sliding up your thighs, gripping your hips as though he were afraid you might disappear if he let go.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmured against your mouth, his voice thick with desire and hesitation.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your forehead resting against his as you smiled softly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

His response was a low, guttural sound that sent a thrill racing through you, and before you knew it, he was kissing you again, more desperate this time, as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and Charles let out a breathless laugh, the sound vibrating against your lips as you finally managed to push the fabric aside, revealing the hard planes of his chest. You ran your hands over his skin, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Charles let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes that broke your heart. “You’re the first person who’s ever said that to me.”

You smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his neck. “Then they’re all fools.”

His hands were everywhere, exploring your body as though he couldn’t quite believe you were real. His touch was gentle at first, almost reverent, but there was a fire behind it, a need that he had kept buried for far too long.

When you finally peeled off your shirt, you heard him suck in a breath, his eyes darkening with desire as he took you in. “God, you’re—” His voice broke off, as though he couldn’t quite find the words, but you didn’t need him to.

You kissed him again, your hands sliding down his chest, feeling the way his body responded to you, the way he trembled beneath your touch. You could feel the tension between you building, the air thick with anticipation.

And then, slowly, you began to move against him, your hips grinding against his in a rhythm that had both of you gasping for breath. Charles’s hands gripped your hips, guiding you, matching your movements with a desperate need.

“Please,” he breathed, his voice ragged.

You didn’t need to ask what he wanted. You could feel it, the desire, the longing, the need for release that had been building between you for so long. You reached between your bodies, your fingers making quick work of the zipper of his pants.

When he finally slid into you, the sensation was overwhelming—an electric jolt that sent shockwaves through your entire body. Charles let out a broken gasp, his hands gripping

as he pulled you closer, his body trembling beneath yours. You could feel the tension in him, every muscle wound tight, as if he were barely holding himself together.

You both paused for a moment, the sheer intensity of the connection stealing the breath from your lungs. You hadn’t expected it to feel like this, like every nerve in your body had come alive, attuned to him and only him. Charles's forehead pressed against your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin as you both adjusted, savoring the feeling of being so intimately joined.

“God,” he whispered, almost reverently. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so long.”

Your fingers slid up into his hair, cradling his head, and you pressed a soft kiss to the top of it, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in his voice. “Then take me, Charles. I’m yours.”

That was all the permission he needed.

With a low, guttural sound, Charles’s grip on your hips tightened, and he began to move beneath you, slow at first, a steady rhythm that made you gasp with every roll of his hips. He filled you so perfectly, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. You matched his pace, rocking against him, savoring the slow burn that built between you, the friction pulling you both closer to the edge with every passing second.

Charles’s hands roamed your body, sliding up your back, tracing the curve of your spine, then slipping lower, his fingers digging into your skin with barely restrained intensity. His lips found your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

“Charles…” you gasped, your head tilting back as you gave him more access.

His lips parted against your skin, and you could feel the groan that rumbled in his chest. “I can feel you,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Every thought, every emotion—it’s overwhelming.”

You leaned back, meeting his gaze. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark with need, but there was something else there too—something raw, something so deep and primal that it made your heart race.

“Don’t hide from me,” you whispered, your hands cradling his face. “Feel me. All of me.”

Charles’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as if letting go of the barriers he had so carefully constructed. And then, all at once, it hit you—the full weight of his mind brushing against yours, the flood of emotions crashing over you like a tidal wave.

It wasn’t just desire you felt—though that was certainly there, sharp and electric, searing through your veins. It was everything. His longing, his fear, the deep well of sadness that had haunted him for so long, and underneath it all, a love so profound it left you breathless.

You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as the sensation of his mind intertwining with yours sent a jolt of pleasure through you, heightening everything. The room around you seemed to fade, the only thing that existed in that moment was him—his body, his mind, and the way he was utterly consuming you.

Charles groaned, his hips bucking up into you with a sudden intensity that made you cry out. “I’ve never felt anything like this,” he panted, his voice strained, as though he were on the edge of losing control.

You could barely form words, the pleasure building inside you almost unbearable. “Charles, please…”

He understood without needing to ask. His hands slid down to your hips again, guiding you faster now, his movements more urgent, more desperate. You could feel the tension in your body coiling tighter and tighter, like a spring wound too far, ready to snap.

And then, with one hard thrust, you shattered.

A wave of ecstasy washed over you, white-hot and all-consuming, leaving you trembling in its wake. You cried out his name, your body arching against his, and you could feel him lose himself in the moment too, his hands gripping you so tightly it almost hurt as he followed you over the edge.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop, the only sound in the room your ragged breaths and the thrum of your racing heartbeat. You slumped against Charles, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you both came down from the high.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, as though afraid to let go. You could still feel the echo of his mind against yours, the connection between you not quite severed, and it brought a sense of intimacy that was unlike anything you had ever known.

After a long moment, Charles broke the silence, his voice soft and hoarse. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Neither did I.”

He pulled back slightly to look at you, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes were still dark, but there was a softness to them now, a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

You frowned slightly. “For what?”

“For reminding me what it’s like to feel something other than pain.” His voice was filled with a quiet reverence, as though he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore, Charles. I’m here.”

He smiled, a real, genuine smile that made your heart flutter. “I know.”

You shifted slightly, still straddling his lap, and Charles let out a soft groan. The movement stirred something in you both, a flicker of desire reigniting as your bodies remained entwined.

“You know,” you said playfully, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest, “we’ve got the whole mansion to ourselves tonight.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, his smile turning into something more mischievous. “Is that so?”

You leaned in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “Maybe we should take advantage of that.”

His breath hitched, and you felt his hands tighten on your hips. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You smiled against his skin, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. “Then I’ll make it a night you won’t forget.”

With that, you began to move again, slow and teasing, savoring every moment of the night ahead.

[yamst3rdamctrl]

Split Personalities

Lions Stalking their Prey

I hope yal babies readyyy

YN decided to go to the club with her best friends. She needed some fun after the long week at work. It’s been months since YN has had had a decent fuck, and she knows she probably won’t get any tonight so she will dance the night away. Being a plus size woman, who is independent, a choreographer, and always busy is difficult. YN never really puts herself out there because she feels as if most men will reject her. Tonight, she just wants to have fun and go home to enjoy her long 3-day weekend. YN put on a black mini dress that hugged each curve especially her ass, along with her black wedges. YN waited for Shai and Destiny to pull up and soon as they did, YN came outside listening to their music and started throwing her ass in a circle. “LETS GOOOOOO BITCHHHH” said Shai and they headed to club Passion. YN, Shai, and Destiny headed into the club and went straight to the bar. Little did YN know, she was being stalked by two twin brothers who had a taste for pussy. Not just some simple pussy, some thick thighed, chocolate, tight wet BBW pussy. Erik “Killmonger” Stevens, and Michael “Bae” Jodan, who are the known drug lords of Crime City stalked YN from their section soon as she walked in. It was like they had twin telepathy when they looked at each other. They read each other’s minds when Erik opened his mouth and said, “We are getting her tonight.” Erik and Michael friends saw Shai and Destiny, and everybody knew they were getting into something tonight.

YN, Shai, and Destiny grabbed a drink, and the bouncer came up to them and explained that “The Terror Twins” would love for all three ladies to join them in their section which was quieter and calmer then the dance floor. The three ladies walked up the steps to the section and sat down. Shai and Destiny sat next to the guys that were eyeing them while YN sat by herself. The twins watched and stalked YN, and their mouths watered watching her. YN saw them both looking at her with fresh gold grills in their mouth. It made her wet, but she was not about to get herself mixed in with the wrong crowd. YN, Destiny, and Shai started dancing to All Dere by Glorilla and YN started throwing ass. Next thing you know Erik came up behind YN and whispered in her ear, “Why don’t you come home with me and my brother?” Next thing YN knew Michael came in front of her and whispered in her other ear, “I know we make you wet so why don’t you just saw yes and come with us so you can cum.” YN knew she wanted to go but she had to show she had respect for herself when she responded. “Look guys, I’m not some piece of meat that you all can just grab and run away with. I am not that kind of female so if you excuse me, I’m leaving.” She said as she pushed back the twins, but little did she know that they love to chase their prey like a lion in the jungle. YN walked up to Destiny and Shai and told the girls she was tired and wanted to go home. They understood and called her an uber and she went home.

YN got home and undressed herself and jumped in the shower. She decided she was just going to put on her barbie pink boy shorts and a pink tank top. YN went in the front room and sat on the couch watching Insecure and eating popcorn. YN was watching the episode when Lawerence threw Issa on the sofa and broke her back in. YN said out loud, “I wish that was me getting fucked.” Next thing she heard was, “It could be, but you wanted to play.” Erik rose from the kitchen with a big smirk on his face. “HOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET IN MY HOUSE??” YN yelled, and then Michael came from the den holding a key saying, “You should really find a better hiding place for a key. Under the mat is so old and needs to safer.” “Why are you guys here and what do you want?” YN said nervously and Erik spoke walking to the side of her, “Don’t be scared we don’t want to hurt you, but we do want to make you feel good.” Michael then walked to the opposite side of YN and said, “I know your body needs to be touched I seen the way you were looking at Lawerence and Issa on that TV, and we are going to give it to you.”

Michael pushed YN down on the sofa and Erik started to take off his button up black shirt to reveal his keloid chest. Michael then took off his shirt and grabbed YN by her neck and made her look up at him and said, “When we fucking my name is Daddy Michael and that’s Daddy Erik. You better say that every time we ask you a question.” Michael moved his hand and then Erik grabbed her by her neck and said, “You do not cum unless we tell you. If you cum without permission, then it is punishment for you. Do you understand?” YN didn’t know what she was getting herself in, but she did not care at that moment. YN shook her head yes and the twins decided to let the fun begin.

VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED: RATED R AND RATED S FOR RAW, SMUT

Both twins went in for YN neck with their mouth. Michael was on her left and Erik was on her right side. They both kissed and sucked on sensitive parts of her neck. YN started to squirm, and the twins noticed that she was getting wet. Michael then took her lips and kissed her deeply and added tongue. Erik then kissed YN hard and bit her lip. Both twins then moved down from her neck to ripping her shirt and boy shorts off. They both looked at her and licked their lips. They moved down to her nipples with their tongues. Michael and Erik both grabbed a tit and sucked each nipple while YN turned into a moaning mess. Both twins then took their hands and went to her treasure. Michael rubbed and teased her clit while Erik stuck two fingers in her pussy. YN got over stimulated and was near her nutt. YN yelled, “Daddy Erik, and Daddy Michael can I cum?” Michael looked up at her and grabbed her neck and said, “Look me in my eyes while you cum bitch.” YN started to cum all on Erik and Michael fingers. Erik and Michael took their fingers out and put them in their mouth. Both the twins stripped out of their bottoms and YN mouth dropped when she saw how big they were. YN didn’t know what to expect this time around and she knew she was going to be done for.

YN lay back on the sofa when Michael instructed her to. Erik stood up by YN head and grab her head and started to fuck her mouth. Michael then went between YN legs and shoved his dick into her pussy without any warning. Michael was 10 inches and the biggest that YN ever had. All YN could do was choke on Eriks dick and feel Michael in her cervix. Michael started to give YN slow powerful strokes that made her body jump up and down each time. Michael had to go even slower due to how tight her pussy was. Michael didn’t know he was getting good asf pussy. Michael was used to trash pussy, but YN was heaven. Meanwhile, Erik was trying not to buss from YN warm mouth. Michael and Erik then switched positions and started to fuck her more. YN tried her best not to cum, but she was a moaning mess. Erik fucked YN harder and harder to get a reaction and without warning she screamed and came hard. The twins stopped and picked her up and she was surprised at why. Michael pushed in her pussy and Erik pushed in her ass. YN was screaming for them to stop, and they refused. Erik told YN, “Didn’t we tell you not to cum. Now you are going to suffer.” They continued to assault YN holes, and she came at least 4 more times before the twins pushed into her deep and Michael nutted deep in her pussy and Erik nutted deep in her ass. They both pulled out and took YN to her bed. They cleaned her off and told her, “We are going to keep the key because we aren’t done with you.” The twins locked her door and left. YN thought it was over, but she was wrong. She has no clue what she got herself into.

[x-prettyboy-x]

Fanfic request

I’m obsessed with the idea of Erik having a “mini me”. Like you and Erik have a son (like 5 ish) and he wants to be just like his dad. He is begging Erik to have his ears pierced, and asking for “tattoos” (Erik uses the tattoo stencil and replaces the needle tip with a pen in his gun). And during family cookouts your son is standing next to Erik holding a root beer to match Erik’s real beer. Erik would be such and softly, but also cocky because of course his son would want to be like him he is so cool!

Little Man

Im so sorry its taking me so long to get to requests loves, I've been editing and binge watching shows😭im still here i swear. Anyway, I adore this request. This is so damn cute, I kinda based this on my 3 year old brother who's obsessed with getting "tattoos"

Pairing: Erik Campbell x Fem! Reader

Contents: Eriks son wanting nothing more than to be just like him✨️

Warnings: none

Wc; 1k

Masterlist

You were terrified when the pregnancy test came up positive. Not that you weren't excited, or that you didnt want a baby. You and Erik have been together for nearly 3 years now, you just didnt know how Erik would react.

But now, as you stood in your kitchen watching Erik with your now 5 year old son in the living room, you knew you had no reason to be. He was born looking just like you, but he wanted nothing more than to be just like Erik. And who could blame him? He has the coolest dad in the world.

You smiled to yourself and walked over to the two of them, sitting by Erik and watching your son play with his many toys he had thrown across the floor.

"Our son wants his ears pierced" Erik smiled, looking over at you with that cocky look he always had. He knew he was the cool dad, and it had his ego through the roof.

"Mm. So it begins" you rolled your eyes playfully, holding your arms out as the little boy looked away from his toys and walked over to you. You scooped him up into your arms carefully.

"Mama, please? Daddy could do it." He gave you those puppy dog eyes you could almost never say no to. Almost.

"Absolutely not, when you're a little older, we'll talk about it again, yeah? Don't let daddy get you in trouble"

-

After you had the baby, the Campbell family cookouts became alot more regular, everyone wanting to see the new family member as often as they could.

"Cmon handsome boy, you need to get your shoes on so we can go see grandma and grandpa!" You called up the stairs, holding the small pair of black converse sneakers in your hand.

You waited for a few seconds, sighing to yourself when a response never came, nor the tell-tale sound of those little footsteps on the wood floor. You walked upstairs and checked his room, empty.

"Erik?" You called out, panic starting to make its way through your body, but it quickly subsided as you heard Eriks voice call back, "In here baby!"

You walked off towards you and Eriks room, your son running out before you reached the door, the little boy smiling from ear to ear, "Daddy gave me a tattoo!"

"Daddy what?" You laughed, looking up as Erik leaned in the doorway.

Your son rolled up his sleeves, several small "tattoos" all over his arms, some of them copies of Eriks own. You could tell from the look of them that Erik had just drawn them up and put the stencil onto the boys skin, nothing permanent.

"Thats so cool bub! You look just like daddy, huh?" You smiled, watching Erik come up behind him and scoop him up into his arms.

"Its only fair. He's practically your twin, he should at least have my style." He wrapped his arm that wasn't holding your son around your waist, pulling you close to place a quick kiss to your lips. "Also I may or may not have broke and promised to pierce his ears"

"Erik Campbell!" You groaned, slapping his shoulder. He laughed and moved away, "Oh cmon! It's the easiest piercing ever, and I'll be the one doing it! Im the best person for the job."

"Erik hes too young for.." you trailed off as you saw the look on your son's face, like his little heart would break if you said no again. You sighed and nodded your head quickly "Fine, fine."

"One point for the boys, up top little man!" Erik smiled, holding up his hand and you watched your son high five him with a laugh.

Eriks smile faltered slightly when he looked at you and saw the look on your face, the way your arms were crossed "Hey, baby.. cmon"

You hummed "You can enjoy the couch tonight." You weren't serious, and he knew that. "Now let's go before your parents start calling me asking where their grandson is."

-

You watched your two boys from across the yard, Julia to your left looking at them with just as much amusement as you.

"Its like you made an exact copy of my brother.." she spoke up first, scoffing quietly under her breath.

"But they're so cute though. And Erik loves it. He was nervous about being a dad at first but he's a natural."

Across the yard, Erik was standing talking to his dad, a beer in his hand, his other handing waving around way too much as he spoke with his hands, completely oblivious to the cuteness happening by his side.

Your son was studying his dad, watching his every move. He stood just like him, taking a sip from his "beer"- A root beer in a glass bottle -every time Erik did, mocking the movement of his hands.

"Yeah, its cute now. Until he hits 16 and he shows up with 3 new piercings and a tattoo because Erik cant tell him no." Julia laughed, shaking her head

"Well. As long as he got them from Erik, I'd be fine with it. Erik wouldnt let him do anything too stupid. I hope so anyway."

-

It was late, your son long tucked away in bed. He'd been exhausted when you got back from the Campbell family house, he'd practically fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

You were laying on Eriks chest, showing him videos you'd gotten of them at the cookout without either of them noticing

"He's practically studying you, Erik. That boy adores you." You spoke softly, smiling lightly as you watched the videos back

"Hes perfect, isn't he? Hes the best thing I've ever done.. and here I was scared to screw him up."

You hummed and put your phone down, turning over to rest your chin on his chest, looking up at him "You're the perfect dad, baby. Just like I knew you'd be."

"Yeah? That means we can have another one now? I still owe you a little girl, dont I? You said we'd talk about it again when he was at least 4. We're beyond that point sooo.." He tilted his head at you with that telling look. That look you could never say no to.

"I guess it wouldnt hurt to try, hm?"

[lowpolyhagrid]

Hiiiii do you think we could get an Erik fic where him and reader are in an established relationship, and they work together at the tattoo shop. Maybe they are getting ready together for family bbq and then the crazy stuff starts to happen. Sorry if that’s like a lot :))))

tattooed golden retriever

e. campbell. 1k words. gn!reader

warnings: cursing, not proofread

i skipped over most of the bbq scene cause i just wrote about it and i was scared of repeating myself.. but it mostly takes place a little bit after. i had a lot of fun writing this!!

you hold the door open as erik carries the propane tank out of the shed. “thanks for the help.” he remarks, but you aren’t sure what he was expecting you to do. “you got it.” you reply, shutting the door behind him. you watch him as he tries hooking it up to the grill. erik doesn’t want kids, but the sight of him makes you imagine what it would be like. he stands up, looking at you. “are you gonna keep staring at me or hand me that lighter?” he asks, and you reach towards the table next to you.

you hand him the lighter and he struggles to get the grill to light. “keep trying. you’re doing great.” you call sarcastically. this is always how your relationship has been. you love each other, very much. but you both have a unique way of showing it. you met when you started working at the same tattoo parlor. he would come over once and a while and talk to you. the first time you worked together, he walked up, looked at your flash sheet, and told you all of it looked like shit. you told him his corny tattoos made him look like bam margera. you both thought of that interaction all week.

that was around a year ago, and in the time since then, you’ve given each other tattoos to commemorate your first interaction. you gave him the one he said he hated the most on your flash sheet, and he gave you a nasty ass heart-a-gram on your wrist. he finally gets the grill lit, after a minor explosion-scare, and waves his mom over. then, he takes a few steps over to you. “is this what your family always does after a funeral?” you ask, taking a sip from your cup of whatever-the-hell bobby gave you. he crosses his arms. “i don’t know. we haven’t been to very many funerals.” he says, turning around to watch his mom. you nod. “shout out to gigi. hell of way of bringing your family together.” you joke, looking over at erik. “no shit.” he agrees with a small chuckle.

—

your brain really only starts processing what happened while you’re staring at erik, who’s pacing back and forth in your living room. you walk out of your kitchen and over to him, trying your best to calm him down. he brushes you off at first, saying he’s fine and he is just thinking. “okay, well. you need to think about something else.” you lead him over to your sofa and sit him down, taking a seat next to him. “i don’t know what the fuck you expect from me. i’m not going to act like everything’s fucking nice and dandy when i just witnessed a fu-” you cut him off by shushing him. “i don’t expect anything from you. i just don’t want you freaking out.” you argue.

you’re not good with emotions at all, and erik knows that. the best you know how to do is talk to him. even though it’s hard to get to the bottom of how he’s feeling. “i am not fucking freaking out.” he shuts his eyes. “i could be a lot worse right now. but i’m not so you should be thankful.” he continues, turning his body away from you. “god forbid i try to help you.” you don’t mean to sound so harsh, but it’s the only way you can say what you mean. you watch him as he takes the longest deep breath imaginable. “it would be fine if you weren’t doing such a shitty job.” he reaches forwards towards his phone, and you take it off the table before he can reach it.

“erik, just listen to me.” you plead, you finally earn his attention. “kiki, just tell me what i can do to make you feel better.” your voice comes out choked and a little bit more desperate than you were intending. he looks at you, mouth hanging open for a second while he searches for what to say. “i don’t know.” is all that comes out of him. you catch a glimpse of tears just barely starting to brim in his eyes. you pull him close to you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. he mostly settles against your chest, his hands finding their way around your waist. you’re taken aback when he just about starts sobbing into your shoulder.

one of your hands moves to the back of his head, brushing through his hair. he collects himself after only a few short moments, and he sit up, keeping his hands on your waist. “fuck, i’m sorry.” he chokes out, reaching up to wipe the tears off of his face. you look at him, brushing the hair out of his face. “you don’t have to be sorry, dumbass.” you say, trying to break the tension. he gives you a half-hearted smile. “i seriously am. i don’t think i’ve cried like that ever.” he chuckles, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt, exposing his stomach tattoo to you. “especially not in front of you.”

you practically cradled him to sleep that night, talking to him about random shit to keep his mind off things. he feel asleep with his head in your lap, unintentionally interrupting you mid sentence with a loud snore. you gingerly readjusted him so you could lay down properly. erik never fell asleep before you. he was always staying up either playing video games, watching something, or looking at random shit on his phone. it’s an interesting change of pace for you. you’re glad that you were able to get through to him enough to ease him to sleep.

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 2023 - nothing matters but you

chapter summary: The remaining X-Men come up with a plan to change their present; send Logan back in time to change the past.

word count: 17.1k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: oooohhhh boy!! i've been waiting for this chapter for so long and it's finally here! i'll have more to say at the end, but for now, and i truly mean it, enjoy!!! <3

warnings/tags: takes place during 'days of future past', dofp!logan, light miscommunication, angst, light violence, blood, character death, fluff, memory loss, happy ending!

series masterlist - chapter 10

The Blackbird landed on the top of the large mountain in front of a monastery. Ororo walked out first, followed by Logan, who paused at the bottom of the stairs to light his cigar, Charles, whose chair hovered down the stairs, and Erik.

They walked to the front of the monastery as Bobby spoke, “Professor.”

Ororo smiled, “Bobby.”

“Hey, Storm,” he replied, giving the woman a hug.

“Hey, kid.” Logan said.

“Professor,” Kitty called out. “You made it.”

The group made their way inside as Kitty explained how the group had been surviving, “Warpath spots them, and I send Bishop back to warn us of the attack before it happens. Blink scouts the next site, and… well, we leave before they ever know we were there.”

“Because we never were.” Bishop said.

“But what do you mean, you were never there?” Logan asked.

Charles looked over at Logan, “she projects Bishop back in time a few days to warn the others of the coming attack.”

“So she sends Bishop back in time?”

“No, just his consciousness into his younger self, his younger body.” Charles clarified.

“Wow.” Logan muttered.

“This might just work, Charles.” Erik commented.

“What might work?” Kitty questioned.

“The Sentinel program was originally conceived by Dr. Bolivar Trask. In the early ‘70s, he was one of the world’s leading weapons designers, but covertly, he had begun experimenting on mutants, using their gifts to fuel his own research. There was one mutant who had discovered what he was doing.” Charles explained.

“A mutant with the ability to transform herself into anyone.” Erik added.

“Mystique,” Peter said.

“I knew her as Raven. We met when we were children. Grew up together. She was like a sister to me. I tried to help her, but only succeeded in driving her away. She hunted Trask across the world, and at the Paris Peace Accords in 1973, after the Vietnam War, she found Trask. And killed him. It was the first time she killed.”

“It wasn’t her last.” Logan added on.

“But killing Trask did not have the outcome she expected. It only persuaded the government of the need for his program. They captured her that day. Tortured her. Experimented on her. In her DNA, they discovered the secrets to her powers of transformation. It gave them the key they needed to create weapons that could adapt to any mutant power, and in less than 50 years, the machines that have destroyed so many of our kind were created. But it all started that day in 1973, the day she first killed, the day she truly became… Mystique.” Charles finished.

“You want to go back there,” Kitty said.

“If I can get to her, stop the assassination, keep her out of their hands, then we can stop the Sentinels from ever being born.”

“And end this war before it ever begins.” Erik spoke.

“I-I can send someone back a couple weeks. I mean, maybe a month, but you’re talking about going back decades. You have the most powerful brain in the world, Professor, but the mind can only stretch so far before it snaps. It would rip you apart. I’m sorry. No one could survive that trip.” Kitty remarked.

“What if someone’s mind has a way of snapping back?” Logan asked. “What if someone can heal as fast as they’re ripped apart?”

---

Logan stood by the table as Charles, Erik, Kitty, and Bobby stood nearby, the rest outside of the monastery keeping watch.

“So I wake up in my younger body, God knows where. Then what?”

“You’ll need to go to my house and find me. Convince me of all of this.” Charles moved closer to Logan.

“Won’t you be able to just read my mind?”

“I didn’t have my powers in 1973. Logan, you’re going to have to do for me what I once did for you. Lead me, guide me. I was a very different man then. You’ll have to be patient with me.”

Logan scoffed, “patience isn’t my strongest suit.”

“You’ll need me as well,” Erik spoke up.

“What?” Logan turned to face Erik behind him.

“After Mystique left Charles, she came with me, and I set her on a dangerous path. Darker path. It’s going to take the two of us, side by side at a time when we couldn’t be further apart.”

Logan looked at Charles who nodded in affirmation, “great,” he muttered to himself. “So, where do I find you?”

“Well, it’s complicated.” Erik said, as Logan shook his head and stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

Logan got onto the table and lied down, Kitty sitting at the head of the table, “basically, your body will go to sleep while your mind travels back in time. Now, as long as you’re back there, past and present will continue to coexist, but once you wake up… whatever you’ve done will take hold and become history. And for the rest of us it’ll be the only history that we know. It’ll be like the last 50 years never happened. And this world, and this war… the only person who will remember it is you.” Kitty took a breath, “all right, Logan, I need you to clear your head and to stay as calm possible.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“If your mind gets rocky, it’ll be harder for me to hold you, and you could start to slip between past and future.”

“What if I need to get a little rocky?”

Kitty lightly shook her head, “think peaceful thoughts?”

“Peaceful thoughts.” Logan repeated. “You have any good news?”

“Well, I mean, you don’t really age, so you’ll pretty much look the same.”

Bobby spoke up, “you won’t have much time in the past. The Sentinels will find us. They always do.”

“And this time, we won’t be able to run. We’ll have no escape. This is our last chance.” Kitty’s hands hovered near the sides of Logan’s head.

“See you all soon.” Logan said.

“This might sting a little.”

---

Logan blinked, his vision adjusting to the dim, warm glow of the lava lamp. Its lazy, hypnotic bubbles drifted in the liquid, but his mind was racing to catch up. The sharp, immediate transition from the future to… this—the past, his past—had his senses momentarily disoriented.

The pressure against his neck snapped him into focus. An arm was draped over his shoulder from behind, soft, warm, and familiar. He shifted his head just enough to glance at the hand resting on his chest. It was delicate, but the grip was firm, like whoever it belonged to had no intention of letting him go.

“Mornin’,” your voice came from behind him, groggy and soft. Your tone was laced with the remnants of sleep but carried the easy, teasing warmth that always seemed to put him off guard.

His heart clenched. You.

You leaned into him slightly, pressing your cheek against his shoulder as you stretched, entirely unaware of the whirlwind in his head. The past, your face, the other you. The fact that he hadn’t seen this version of you in nearly 50 years.

“Didn’t think I’d need to pry you out of bed first,” you teased lightly, your hand giving his chest a playful pat before you settled again. “Usually, you’re already up before the sun, big guy.”

Logan’s jaw clenched at the nickname. His eyes narrowed at the room—a modest hotel room with vintage floral wallpaper and creaky wooden furniture—and the small pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. His leather jacket. Your dress. The pieces clicked into place far too quickly, but they didn’t make it easier to stomach.

He turned his head enough to catch sight of you, hair slightly messy, lips curled in a lazy grin. You were radiant in a way that didn’t match the world he’d just left behind. The world he’d come back to fix. And you had no idea how much he’d missed that expression.

“What’s with the look?” you asked, tilting your head. “Do I have something on my face, or are you just debating whether or not you’re gonna finish that cigar from yesterday?”

Logan shook his head slightly, clearing the fog. “Nah. Just… thinkin’.”

“You?” you quipped. “That’s dangerous.”

“Cute,” he replied dryly, though a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

You laughed and pulled back, sitting up against the headboard. Your expression softened when you caught a hint of the tension still lingering in his body. “You okay? You seem… off.”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting on the edge to gather himself. “Just didn’t sleep great.”

“You tossed and turned a lot,” you agreed, though your concern didn’t waver. “Another bad dream?”

Logan didn’t answer immediately. The memories of the future, the Sentinels, the war, and your other death pressed heavily on him. Instead, he grunted noncommittally and stood, grabbing his jeans from a chair nearby.

“Y’know,” you said behind him, watching as he pulled on his shirt, “most bodyguards don’t get that much real estate in their boss’s daughter’s bed.”

Logan froze for a beat before throwing you a glance over his shoulder. “Most bodyguards don’t sneak them outta her own wedding either, darlin’.”

You grinned mischievously, leaning your head back against the headboard. “Guess that makes us even.”

He shook his head but couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped. You haven’t changed a bit.

Before either of you could say anything more, there was a sharp knock on the door. Logan’s entire body tensed, his senses sharpening instantly. He sniffed the air, picking up the distinct scents of sweat, leather, and gunpowder.

“Stay here,” he said lowly, grabbing his jacket and stepping toward the door.

“Logan, what—”

“I mean it,” he said, cutting you off with a firm glance. The tone in his voice told you not to argue.

He moved toward the door, his hand hovering over the knob as his other reached behind him for the small knife he kept tucked into his waistband. He opened the door slightly, just enough to peer through the crack.

Two men stood in the hall, dressed in dark suits. Their faces were sharp, unfamiliar, but their eyes carried an unmistakable menace.

“Can I help you?” Logan asked gruffly.

“Yeah,” one of them said. “We’re here for the lady. Her father’s lookin’ for her.”

Logan didn’t hesitate. He slammed the door shut and locked it, spinning back toward you. “Get down,” he barked.

“What’s going on?” you asked, but the urgency in his voice made you scramble off the bed.

The door shuddered as one of the men kicked it. Logan growled low in his throat, adrenaline surging as his hands instinctively balled into fists. Bone claws erupted from his knuckles with a sickening snikt, and he turned toward the door just as it splintered inward.

Your sharp gasp filled the room, but there was no time for questions. Logan launched himself at the first man, driving his claws deep into the guy’s shoulder. Blood sprayed across the room as the second man raised a gun, but Logan was faster. He yanked his claws free and swung, knocking the weapon from the man’s hand before driving his claws into his stomach.

It was over in seconds, but the aftermath left the room in chaos. Logan stood over the bodies, his breathing heavy, his shirt streaked with blood. His claws glistened in the dim light, and as he turned toward you, his expression softened.

“Logan…” you whispered, your voice shaking. Your eyes were wide, fixed on the bone claws still protruding from his hands.

He hesitated, then retracted them with a shudder, the wounds on his knuckles sealing themselves almost instantly. “I can explain,” he said gruffly.

“You—you just…” You couldn’t find the words.

“Y/N,” he said, stepping toward you carefully. “I need you to trust me.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. The man you thought you knew had just turned into something else entirely—but it wasn’t fear that kept you rooted in place. It was the way he was looking at you, desperate, protective, like he’d go through hell just to keep you safe.

“I…” You took a shaky breath. “I trust you.”

Logan’s shoulders sagged in relief, though the tension in the room didn’t dissipate. He grabbed a bag from the corner of the room and tossed it toward you. “We need to move. Now.”

Before you could question him further, he bent down, rummaging through the man’s jacket pocket to snag the keys before heading for the door. You hesitated, your mind still racing to process what you had just seen. The claws, the blood, the sheer force he used to take out armed men—it was like something out of a nightmare. But Logan wasn’t the nightmare. He was the only constant in this whirlwind you called your life.

“Y/N,” Logan’s voice broke through your haze. He was standing by the door, his tone sharp but not unkind. “Let’s go. Now.”

You shoved a few belongings into the bag, still half-dressed from sleep, and moved quickly to his side. “Logan, what the hell is goin’ on?”

“I’ll explain later,” he said, keeping his voice low and his gaze locked on the hallway as he peeked out. “For now, we’ve gotta put some distance between us and whoever else your father’s sent after you.”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of your father, but you followed him out of the room, clutching the strap of the bag tightly. “How did they even find us?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care,” Logan muttered, leading you down the narrow hallway. His shoulders were rigid, his entire body coiled like a spring. “What matters is keeping you outta their hands.”

The two of you reached the stairwell, and Logan paused at the top, scanning the area below. He tilted his head, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air. Whatever he smelled didn’t seem to calm him, but he motioned for you to follow anyway.

You descended the stairs as quietly as you could, your bare feet barely making a sound against the worn carpet. “Logan, seriously, you need to tell me what’s going on. Those… claws, or whatever—”

“Not now, sweetheart,” he interrupted, his voice tense but firm. “We’ve gotta focus on getting outta here.”

You bit your lip, frustration bubbling under your skin. This wasn’t the first time Logan had dodged your questions, but after what you’d just seen, you weren’t about to let it slide for long.

The two of you slipped out a side door into the cool morning air. The parking lot was mostly empty, save for a few scattered vehicles. Logan made a beeline for a black sedan parked near the edge of the lot. He unlocked the door and ushered you inside without a word.

“Logan—” you started as he slid into the driver’s seat, but he cut you off again.

“Buckle up,” he said, starting the engine.

You shot him a glare but did as he said, snapping the seatbelt into place. Logan peeled out of the lot, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as his eyes flicked between the road and the rearview mirror.

For a few minutes, the only sound was the hum of the engine and the faint thud of your heartbeat in your ears. You watched him closely, noting the way his jaw clenched and his knuckles turned white around the wheel.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on now?” you finally demanded, crossing your arms. “Because I think I deserve an explanation after that little… display back there.”

Logan let out a slow breath through his nose, his eyes still on the road. “It’s complicated.”

“No kidding,” you shot back. “Start with the claws. What the hell are they, Logan? And don’t tell me they’re some kind of freak weapon because I saw them come out of your hands.”

He glanced at you briefly, his expression unreadable. “They’re a part of me,” he said simply.

You blinked, taken aback by the matter-of-fact tone in his voice. “What do you mean, ‘a part of you’? Like, you were born with them?”

“Somethin’ like that,” he muttered.

You stared at him, waiting for more, but he didn’t elaborate. Frustration bubbled over, and you leaned forward, grabbing his arm. “Logan, I’m serious. I need answers.”

He sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as he finally looked over at you. “I’ll tell you everything, sweetheart. Just not right now. Right now, we’ve gotta focus on getting somewhere safe.”

“And where’s that?” you asked, your voice softening slightly.

“A place I know,” he said, turning his attention back to the road. “We’ll head north, get outta the city, and figure it out from there.”

You frowned, unsure whether to trust his vague assurances. But the look in his eyes, the raw determination mixed with something you couldn’t quite place—it was enough to quiet your doubts for now.

“Fine,” you said, leaning back in your seat. “But you owe me the truth. All of it.”

Logan smirked faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve always been a tough one, huh?”

“Damn right,” you muttered, crossing your arms again. But despite your defiant tone, a small part of you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something else—something warm and familiar—when he called you tough.

You didn’t notice the way his grip on the wheel tightened at your response or the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly. To you, this was just another chaotic morning in the whirlwind of your life. But to Logan, it was a painful reminder of how many mornings like this he’d lost with you.

---

You tapped your fingers on your thigh, still waiting for Logan to come out of this mansion, which looked like it had seen better days.

You groaned as you tilted your head back, adjusting yourself in the car seat. It had been a while since Logan left the car and went inside, almost 2 hours. You would know, you’ve been watching the clock.

Finally, Logan stepped outside and briskly walked to the car door, opening it for you. “Jesus, what took so long?” You asked, as he grabbed your bag from the backside and guided you into the house where two other men were, one with glasses, the other with long curly hair. “Logan-?”

“You’re staying here.” He stated.

You stopped dead in your tracks, your eyes narrowing at Logan. “What?” you demanded. “You said we’d figure this out together. You didn’t say anything about leaving me here.”

Logan ran a hand through his hair, already looking stressed. “Plans changed, darlin’,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “Charles and Hank are comin’ with me. We’ve got somethin’ to take care of, and it’s safer if you stay here.”

“Safer? Logan, this place is the size of a damn castle!” You gestured around the massive entry hall, frustration spilling over. “You’re just gonna leave me here by myself? What if they come for me again? What am I supposed to do then?”

“You won’t be alone,” Charles interjected, his tone measured but polite. He glanced briefly at Logan, as if trying to gauge how much to say. “This house has a number of protections. You’ll be secure here.”

“Secure from who?” you fired back, your eyes darting between the two men. “You all keep throwing words around like ‘safe’ and ‘protected,’ but you won’t tell me from what!”

Logan stepped closer, his voice softening. “Y/N, I know you’ve got questions, and I know this ain’t easy, but trust me. If I thought for a second there was a better way to keep you outta harm’s way, I’d do it.”

You stared at him, trying to ignore the way his voice—the way he called you by name—seemed to ease some of the tension in your chest. But it wasn’t enough. “You always do this,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “You make decisions for me like I’m some fragile little doll. I’m not helpless, Logan.”

“I know that,” he said quickly, his gaze locking onto yours. “But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna take chances with you.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head. “And where exactly are you going that’s so important you can’t tell me?”

Logan hesitated, his jaw tightening. He glanced at Charles, who gave him a slight nod. “We’ve gotta stop someone,” Logan finally said, his voice low. “Someone who’s about to make a big mistake.”

“That’s it?” you asked, your frustration rising again. “That’s all you’re gonna give me?”

“That’s all you need to know right now,” Logan replied. He reached out, his hand brushing against your arm. “Look, I promise I’ll explain everything when I get back. But for now, I need you to trust me.”

You stared at him, your chest tight with a mix of anger and something softer, something you didn’t want to name. “Fine,” you said at last, pulling away from his touch. “But don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

Logan smirked faintly, though his eyes were serious. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Charles cleared his throat, stepping forward. “Y/N, I understand this is a lot to take in, but I assure you, this is the safest course of action for now. Hank and I will only be gone for a short while.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, glancing at him briefly. “You better be.”

Logan nodded at Charles, then turned back to you. “There’s food in the kitchen, and plenty of space to stretch out. Don’t open the doors for anyone but me or them. Got it?”

You rolled your eyes but nodded. “Got it.”

Logan hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to say more, but then he turned and followed Charles and Hank toward the door. You watched them leave, the sound of the heavy door closing echoing in the empty mansion.

For a long moment, you stood in the middle of the entry hall, clutching your bag and trying to process everything that had just happened. Finally, you let out a heavy sigh and slung the bag over your shoulder.

“Guess I’m on my own,” you muttered, heading deeper into the mansion to figure out how the hell you were supposed to pass the time in this massive, empty house.

---

It didn’t take long for you to get bored, even in a place as massive as this. From what you gathered during your first walkthrough, this mansion had likely been a boarding school at some point. The classrooms, rows of bedrooms, and an enormous kitchen all hinted at its past. But now, it was eerily quiet—like a castle frozen in time.

You wandered aimlessly, peeking into rooms and finding nothing but empty desks, dust-covered books, and a growing sense of restlessness. The longer you roamed, the more your mind churned over Logan’s sudden departure. You didn’t want to admit it, but his absence had left a void—a nagging worry that you couldn’t shake.

You sighed, stopping in front of a wide window overlooking the overgrown courtyard. What am I even doing here? you thought. Your fingers tapped against the windowpane as you chewed the inside of your cheek. Maybe you should’ve pushed harder for answers instead of letting Logan sidestep your questions—again.

The faint hum of a clock ticking in the hallway was the only sound accompanying your thoughts. It wasn’t enough to drown out the memories of Logan’s claws unsheathing back at the hotel or the unspoken tension in his voice when he said, “you won’t be alone.”

“Great,” you muttered under your breath, turning away from the window. “Stuck in the middle of nowhere with nothing but cryptic warnings and empty rooms.”

You wandered back to the kitchen, hoping to find something to pass the time. The fridge was surprisingly well-stocked, and you made yourself a quick sandwich. As you ate, your gaze drifted toward the doorway, half expecting Logan to stride through it with that familiar scowl on his face.

But the doorway remained empty.

With a groan, you pushed the plate away and leaned back in the chair. “This sucks,” you muttered.

The silence pressed against your ears as you sat there, tapping your fingers on the table. You couldn’t help but think back to Logan’s expression when he’d left. There was something in his eyes—something heavy, like he was carrying more than just the weight of keeping you safe. He always did that, didn’t he? Took on the burden for everyone else, even if it meant shutting you out.

You stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. No more sitting around like a damsel in distress, you decided. If Logan was off dealing with whatever ‘big mistake’ he’d mentioned, you’d figure out how to occupy yourself in the meantime.

---

A while later, you found yourself back in one of the old classrooms. The chalkboards were dusty, and the desks were in varying states of disrepair, but it was oddly comforting in a way. You sat down at one of the desks and fiddled with a piece of chalk, drawing random lines on the board in front of you.

The quiet of the mansion felt oppressive. Every creak of the old wood or groan of the structure made your heart skip a beat. You weren’t sure if it was just your imagination playing tricks on you or if there was something more sinister lurking in the silence.

You sighed, leaning back in the chair. “Why’d you leave me here, Logan?” you muttered to yourself. The question hung in the air, unanswered, like so many others he’d dodged over the months.

As you stared at the lines you’d absentmindedly drawn, you thought back to your father. His control over your life had been suffocating, but this—running, hiding, fearing what might come next—was a different kind of prison. Logan had promised to protect you, but how could he if he wasn’t here?

A sudden noise in the hallway snapped you out of your thoughts. You froze, the piece of chalk slipping from your fingers and clattering onto the desk.

“Logan?” you called out, your voice trembling slightly. There was no response.

You rose slowly from the desk, your heart pounding in your chest. The sound came again—closer this time. It wasn’t the creak of the old mansion settling. It was deliberate, like footsteps.

You moved toward the door, peeking into the hallway. It was empty, but the faint sound of movement reached your ears from somewhere deeper in the house.

“Logan?” you tried again, your voice firmer.

Still nothing.

Clutching your jacket sleeve tightly, you stepped into the hallway, your bare feet silent against the worn wooden floors. The air felt colder somehow, and the shadows seemed to stretch longer.

You made your way toward the source of the noise, your pulse quickening with every step. Part of you wanted to turn back, to lock yourself in one of the rooms and wait for Logan to return, but you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right.

As you rounded the corner, you saw them. Men in dark suits, their faces obscured by the dim lighting. There were at least four of them, moving methodically through the mansion as if they knew exactly where to look.

Your breath caught in your throat. They weren’t here by accident.

You turned quickly, intending to retreat and find a place to hide, but it was too late. One of the men spotted you, his sharp eyes locking onto yours.

“She’s here!” he barked, and the others turned toward you immediately.

Panic surged through your veins as you broke into a sprint, your bare feet barely making a sound against the floor. You didn’t know where you were running, only that you had to get away.

“Stop her!” one of them shouted, and the sound of heavy footsteps followed you.

You darted into another hallway, your mind racing. You needed a plan, a way out, but the labyrinthine mansion offered no clear escape routes.

A hand suddenly grabbed your arm, yanking you backward. You let out a startled cry, struggling against the grip.

“Let go of me!” you screamed, kicking and clawing at the man holding you.

He grimaced but held firm, dragging you toward the others. “Stop fighting, or this gets messy,” he growled.

“Like hell it does,” you spat, managing to stomp on his foot hard enough to make him loosen his grip.

You broke free, stumbling forward, but another man was already there. He grabbed you by the waist, lifting you off the ground despite your thrashing.

“Let me go!” you shouted, your voice echoing through the empty halls.

“Enough!” a voice barked, and the men froze.

A figure stepped out of the shadows—an older man with a cold, calculating expression. You recognized him immediately. One of your father’s men.

“Miss Y/N,” he said smoothly, his tone dripping with false politeness. “Your father’s been worried sick about you.”

“Bullshit,” you snapped, glaring at him. “He doesn’t care about me.”

The man chuckled, a low, menacing sound. “Whether he cares or not isn’t really the issue, is it? You belong to him. And he’s decided it’s time you came home.”

“Over my dead body,” you shot back, your voice defiant even as fear coiled in your chest.

The man’s smile widened, and there was something cruel in his eyes. “If that’s what it takes.”

You struggled harder, but the men holding you were too strong. They began dragging you toward the exit, your cries for help swallowed by the vast emptiness of the mansion.

In that moment, a horrible realization settled over you. Logan wasn’t here to save you.

And this time, there was no escape.

---

The room was dim, lit by a single, flickering bulb swaying overhead. The scent of mildew clung to the air, mixing with the metallic tang of rust from the pipes along the walls. You blinked groggily, your head pounding as the events leading up to this moment replayed in your mind.

Interrogation, then murder. That’s how these things went. You knew it, had known it since you were a child sitting quietly at the top of the stairs, listening in on conversations you weren’t supposed to hear. The Romano family didn’t forgive betrayal, and neither did your father.

Your wrists ached where the rough ropes dug into them, tying you to the chair. The metal groaned beneath your weight as you tried to shift, testing the bindings. No give. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe.

From the shadows, the men emerged one by one, their faces a mix of familiarity and dread. You recognized some from your father’s estate—men who had once tipped their hats to you out of respect, now staring at you like a wolf pack eyeing its prey. Among them was Clyde Romano, his sharp suit immaculate despite the grim surroundings.

“Well, well,” Clyde drawled, adjusting his cuffs as he stepped closer. His cold eyes gleamed with a mixture of triumph and disdain. “You’ve been a busy little runaway, haven’t you?”

“Fuck you, Clyde,” you spat, your voice steadier than you expected.

He smirked, leaning in until you could feel his breath against your cheek. “Bold words for someone in your position. But that’s always been your problem, hasn’t it? Too much mouth, not enough sense.”

One of the men chuckled darkly, and you shot him a glare sharp enough to cut.

Clyde straightened, motioning for the others to spread out. “See, Y/N, this could’ve all been so simple. You play the good little bride, marry into the family, and keep your mouth shut. But no. You had to run. Had to embarrass your father. And me.”

“Embarrass you?” You barked out a bitter laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were your fragile little feelings hurt because I didn’t want to be your trophy wife?”

Clyde’s smile faltered, his jaw tightening. He nodded toward one of his men, who stepped forward and struck you across the face. Pain exploded along your cheek, sharp and hot.

“Watch your mouth,” Clyde hissed.

You turned your head back slowly, your vision swimming. Blood trickled from the corner of your lip, but you smiled through it, defiant. “That all you’ve got?”

Clyde’s expression darkened, and he stepped closer, gripping your chin roughly. “You’re real brave for someone who doesn’t have a way out.”

Your stomach twisted at the truth of his words, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear in your eyes. “Better to die standing than live on my knees,” you shot back.

“Your boyfriend isn’t here to save you, sweetheart,” he said casually, his tone laced with mockery. “What was his name? Logan?”

Your heart clenched at the sound of his name, but you kept your face blank.

“He left you,” Clyde continued. “Just like everyone else will. Because you’re not worth the trouble.”

“That so?” you bit out. “Then why are you here?”

He stopped, looking over his shoulder with a smirk. “To clean up the mess you made.”

Clyde stepped back, giving a subtle nod to one of the men. The air seemed to thicken as the man pulled a knife from his belt, the blade glinting in the weak light.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t look away. If this was the end, you’d meet it head-on, with your head held high.

“Any last words?” Clyde asked, his tone almost bored.

You swallowed hard, the weight of everything pressing down on you. The memories of Logan’s rough hands holding yours, his gruff voice calling you darlin’ in that way that made your chest ache, his eyes softening in those rare moments when he let his guard down.

You thought of him now—miles away, caught up in something you couldn’t begin to understand. If he were here, he’d fight. He always did. But this time, you were on your own.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “Go to hell.”

Clyde tilted his head, unimpressed. The man with the knife stepped forward, and you clenched your fists, bracing yourself for the inevitable.

The blade gleamed, catching the light one last time before it plunged toward you.

And then, there was only darkness.

---

Logan paced the bedroom; he had known something was off the second they got back. For one, you were nowhere in the mansion and your bag was sitting on the couch in the rec room.

Hank hesitantly stood by the doorframe for a few moments before speaking, “there’s a theory in quantum physics that time is immutable.” Logan paused his pacing as Hank continued, “it’s like a river—you can throw a pebble into it, create a ripple, but the current always corrects itself. No matter what you do, the river just… keeps flowing in the same direction.”

Logan let out a small scoff, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a fleeting smile. “The B-theory of time.”

Hank blinked, his brows furrowing. “You’re familiar with it?”

Logan shrugged, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed. “Yeah, I’ve heard it before. Someone once tried explaining it to me—something about all moments in time existing simultaneously. Past, present, future, all laid out like pages in a book.” He tilted his head, his gaze hardening. “Didn’t make it sound any less screwed up.”

Hank tilted his head slightly, caught off guard. “That’s a fairly accurate summation, Logan. I’m… surprised you retained that much.”

Logan’s lips twitched again, but his eyes darkened with a tinge of something that looked like regret. “Good teacher,” he muttered, his voice low. His mind flicked back to the quiet hours spent with you in the rec room at the mansion, your voice steady as you explained the theories of time and space with the kind of patience that used to drive him insane. “Good teacher,” he repeated, softer this time.

Hank didn’t press the matter, though curiosity lingered in his expression. Instead, he adjusted his glasses and continued. “Right. Well, the theory suggests that no matter how many changes we attempt to make, the timeline has a way of self-correcting. That ripple you caused? It’ll still flow back into the current, Logan. That’s why it’s imperative you stay focused on the larger mission—on stopping Mystique before—”

Logan cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. “I know, McCoy. Believe me, I get it.” His voice was rougher now, frustration creeping into his tone. “But I can’t just stand here and do nothing. She’s out there—alone—because of me.” His jaw clenched, the muscles tightening like a vice. “I should’ve stayed with her.”

“And then what?” Hank countered, his voice measured but firm. “Thrown yourself headfirst into whatever danger awaits her without a plan? Gotten yourself killed before you even had the chance to stop Mystique? Would that have helped her, Logan? Or anyone else?”

Logan exhaled harshly, raking a hand through his hair. He hated when Hank was right—hated it even more because staying put went against every instinct he had. He’d lost you too many times before, and the idea of it happening again, here in this warped timeline, made his chest feel like it was caught in a vice.

“Look,” Hank said after a pause, his tone softening. “You’re not doing her—or yourself—any favors by acting recklessly. We need you tomorrow at the hearing. Mystique’s actions will set off a chain reaction if we don’t intervene, and that means we need all hands on deck.” He gave Logan a pointed look, then hesitated before adding, “Besides, the Y/N I met didn’t strike me as someone who’d go down without a fight.”

Logan’s gaze snapped to Hank, sharp and unyielding. “What’d you say?”

Hank shifted uncomfortably. “I mean… she was a little out of her element, sure, but she seemed resourceful. Strong-willed. Determined. She’s not just going to sit around waiting to be rescued, Logan.”

Logan’s shoulders relaxed slightly at Hank’s words, though his face remained guarded. He knew you—knew that fire inside you, even in this lifetime. You’d been through hell and still managed to crack that crooked smile, to tease him when he was too gruff for his own good. If anyone could find a way out of a bad situation, it was you.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried sick.

“She’s got guts,” Logan muttered, almost to himself. “Too much, sometimes.”

Hank adjusted his glasses again, watching Logan closely. “Then trust her to hold her own until we can deal with this together. Running off now would be counterproductive and, frankly, reckless.”

Logan let out a low growl of frustration, but he didn’t argue further. Deep down, he knew Hank was right. If he ran out of here now, he’d jeopardize everything—not just the mission, but the fragile thread of hope that had brought him to this point.

Still, the ache in his chest wouldn’t subside. It never did, not when it came to you.

“She’d better be okay,” he muttered, more to himself than to Hank. “Or I’ll—” His voice caught, and he shook his head. “Never mind.”

Hank didn’t respond immediately. He just watched as Logan sank into the chair by the window, his gaze distant.

For now, all Logan could do was wait.

---

Logan woke up to the sun shining through green curtains as he lay on his side, clutching his pillow. He turned over to look at the holographic clock on the other side of the bed, a stack of books on the table along with a single pen.

“The first time, ever I saw your face.”

He sat up, groggy as he looked at the familiar gold doorknob.

“I thought the sun,” Logan stood up and opened the door as a school bell rang and a kid walked out of their room. “Rose in your eyes.” He saw Bobby standing against a door frame as Rogue walked out and grabbed his hand, the two of them glancing over at Logan before walking away.

Logan walked by a classroom where Kitty was at the head of the room, a hologram in her hands, “Buckminster Fuller is a great example of an architect whose ideas were very similar to those of a utopian future. He would build structures that would work with nature, versus against it.”

He looked down the hall as Beast walked past him, clad in a brown suit, “morning, Logan. Late start,” he chuckled, as Logan watched him walk by.

Logan then walked down the stairs, seeing students converse with Storm. He continued his way down the stairs and into the open area, seeing familiar red hair leaning against the Professor’s open door.

Jean turned to look at him, “hey, Logan,” she softly called out as he glanced her way and back down the other hallways.

He saw a group of students walking huddled together before splitting apart briefly as you walked past them.

Logan’s breath hitched as you walked past the group of students, your hair catching the light streaming through the mansion’s tall windows. You didn’t notice him immediately, too focused on the stack of papers in your arms and the pen tucked behind your ear. He froze in place, his heart pounding like it hadn’t in years—decades, even.

You glanced up just as you passed him, pausing mid-step when your eyes met his. There was warmth in your gaze, that familiar spark he’d seen so many lifetimes ago, but this time it wasn’t tinged with hesitation or confusion. It was easy. Natural.

“There you are,” you said, a small smile gracing your lips as you adjusted the papers in your arms. “I was about to come looking for you. Late morning?”

Logan stared at you for a beat too long, the sound of your voice wrapping around him like a long-lost melody. He blinked, clearing his throat and trying to push past the lump that had formed there. “Yeah... guess so.”

Your smile widened, though your brow furrowed just slightly. “You okay, Lo?” you asked softly, stepping closer.

He managed a nod, though his throat felt tight. “Yeah, just... uh, still waking up, I guess.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him in that way you always used to when something seemed off. “Well, if you’re awake enough, maybe you could help me wrangle some of the kids for class?” You gestured toward the papers in your arms. “I need to grab a few more things, and Laura’s been trying to skip out on physics again. You didn’t even budge when the alarm went off this morning, but you’re lucky Scott owed you a favor, so he covered your history class—”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence when Logan’s arms wrapped around you, his hold firm but not crushing. His head burrowed into the crook of your neck, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to pause. You blinked, startled, the stack of papers in your arms wobbling precariously before you instinctively steadied them against your chest.

“Logan?” you asked softly, your voice tinged with concern and confusion. “What’s going on?”

He didn’t answer right away. His breathing was heavy, his body tense against yours as though he was clinging to something—or someone—he thought he’d lost. The warmth of his presence, his scent of leather and pine, was familiar, but this intensity was new.

You let the silence hang for a moment, your free hand instinctively lifting to rest on his shoulder. “Lo,” you tried again, your tone softer now, laced with the kind of patience that only years together had nurtured. “Talk to me.”

Logan pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, but his hands remained firm on your waist. His eyes were wild, scanning your face like he was searching for proof that you were real. For a fleeting second, you caught something raw in his expression—something vulnerable.

“You’re here,” he muttered, almost to himself. His voice was hoarse, as though he hadn’t spoken in days. “You’re… really here.”

Your brows knitted together as you tilted your head, trying to piece together what could have possibly spurred this reaction. “Of course I’m here,” you said with a small, hesitant laugh, your hand sliding from his shoulder to his cheek. “Where else would I be?”

Before Logan could respond, the unmistakable sound of small, hurried footsteps echoed down the hall. A high-pitched voice followed, cutting through the moment like a pebble skipping across still water.

“Daddy!”

Logan froze. His hands fell away from your waist as a little girl with dark hair barreled toward the two of you, her pigtails bouncing with each step. She clung to Logan’s leg without hesitation, looking up at him with the wide, innocent eyes of someone who knew no fear or doubt.

Gabby.

The name surfaced in Logan’s mind like a fragment from a dream, though it came with no context—no memories to anchor it. He stared down at the child, his breath catching as she grinned up at him.

“Daddy, I found you!” she declared triumphantly, like it was a great accomplishment. “Laura said you were being slow again.”

You chuckled softly, crouching down to ruffle Gabby’s hair. “What did we say about calling your dad slow?” you teased gently, though there was no real reprimand in your tone.

Gabby giggled, leaning into your touch. “Only when it’s funny?”

“Exactly,” you replied with a smirk before standing again and glancing at Logan, who still hadn’t moved or spoken. “Lo, you okay?” you asked again, your concern deepening.

Logan’s gaze flicked between you and Gabby, his chest tightening. The ring on your finger caught the light as you moved, and for the first time, he noticed it—the familiar band of gold he’d carried for over a century.

His heart stuttered. You’re wearing it.

“Logan?” you pressed, stepping closer again. Gabby, still holding onto his leg, tilted her head in confusion.

Logan swallowed hard, forcing himself to push past the whirlwind in his mind. “Yeah,” he rasped, his voice strained but steady enough. “I’m fine.”

You didn’t look convinced, but you didn’t push him. Instead, you nodded toward the stack of papers in your arms. “You sure? Because if you’re about to have an existential crisis, I need you to hold off until after you help me track down Laura. Deal?”

Logan blinked, your teasing tone pulling him out of his daze. He managed a weak chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Deal.”

Gabby tugged at his pant leg, her face scrunched in determination. “Daddy, can we get pancakes after? Laura said she’d eat ten, but I bet I could eat twelve.”

You snorted softly, looking between Gabby and Logan with an amused smile. “You’re not actually gonna let her eat twelve pancakes, are you?”

Logan’s lips twitched, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’ll see,” he said gruffly, his mind still miles away as he tried to make sense of everything.

You gave him another look, your brows furrowing slightly, but you let it go for now. “Come on,” you said, shifting the papers in your arms. “Let’s get this day started.”

As you turned to lead Gabby toward the stairs, Logan lingered for a moment, his eyes fixed on the gold band on your finger. His thoughts churned, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like a heavy fog.

He needed answers. And he knew exactly who to talk to.

---

Logan pushed open the door to Charles’s office without knocking, his usual roughness softened just enough by the turmoil bubbling beneath his skin. Charles, sitting calmly at his desk with his hands folded, looked up with a raised brow.

“Logan,” Charles greeted, his tone patient but curious. “I wasn’t expecting you so early. Is everything alright?”

Logan stepped inside, closing the door behind him before glancing over his shoulder. He needed to make sure you hadn’t followed. When he was satisfied, he turned back to Charles, his jaw tightening.

“No,” Logan said simply. “We need to talk. Now.”

Charles’s brow furrowed, and he gestured to the chair in front of him. “Please, sit. Tell me what’s troubling you.”

Logan ignored the chair, pacing instead. “I woke up this morning, and I—” He dragged a hand down his face, struggling to find the words. “Chuck, I ain’t supposed to be here. This… this timeline, it ain’t mine.”

Charles’s expression shifted, his calm demeanor replaced with something more serious. “I see,” he said carefully. “Go on.”

“You remember what Kitty did,” Logan said, stopping to lean on the edge of the desk. “Sending my mind back to ’73, to fix everything. To stop the Sentinels.”

“Yes,” Charles replied, his voice steady. “And you succeeded, Logan. The world you’re in now is a result of that success.”

Logan’s laugh was bitter, shaking his head. “Then why the hell don’t I remember it, huh? Why do I remember… all of it? The Sentinels. The Phoenix. Y/N—” His voice cracked, and he looked away, his fists clenching. “She died, Chuck. In my timeline, she died. Jean, too. All of you.”

Charles regarded him quietly, his hands still folded. “Logan, the mind is a complicated thing. It’s possible that in the process of returning you to this point in time, fragments of your original timeline have remained intact.”

“Fragments?” Logan scoffed, pushing off the desk to pace again. “Chuck, this ain’t fragments. I remember it all. I remember her dying six times, dammit. I remember the look on her face when she—” He stopped himself, his breathing ragged.

Charles’s expression softened. “Logan, this is your life now. Whatever timeline you came from, whatever you remember, it’s in the past. This is your reality now. Y/N is alive. Jean is alive. You have a family, a home.”

Logan’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “Yeah, but it ain’t mine. This ring—” He held up his own hand with his own ring, the band of gold catching the light. “I didn’t put it on her finger, Chuck. Some other version of me did. And I don’t know how to be him.”

Charles leaned forward slightly, his voice gentle but firm. “Then perhaps it’s time you learned. For her. For your family.”

Logan stared at him, his chest tight. He wanted to argue, to push back, but the truth of Charles’s words settled heavy in his gut. He’d fought so hard to change the future, to make sure you and everyone else had a chance at a better life. Now that it was here, he didn’t know how to live in it.

He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling shakily. “What do I do, Chuck?”

Charles smiled faintly. “You take it one day at a time, Logan. And you start by going back to her.”

---

You stood in the Professor’s office, your arms crossed, the faint cherry gloss on your lips catching the sunlight through the large windows. You tilted your head slightly, studying Logan as he leaned against the desk, his expression unreadable but tense.

“So…” you began, your voice soft but steady, “you’re from a different timeline? One where none of this happened?”

Logan exhaled heavily, running a hand through his unruly hair. “Yeah, sweetheart. That’s about the size of it.”

Your gaze flicked between him and Charles, who sat calmly behind his desk, his hands folded in front of him. “And in that timeline…” you hesitated, your voice faltering slightly. “What happened to me?”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his eyes briefly darting away from yours before he forced himself to meet your gaze. The weight of his memories hung between you, unspoken but palpable.

“You didn’t make it,” he admitted, his voice low and gravelly.

The room felt colder, the air heavier as his words settled over you. You shifted slightly, gripping your own arms as if to steady yourself.

“But not this time,” Charles interjected gently, his calm voice breaking the silence. “This timeline is different, Y/N. You survived, as did many others who didn’t in Logan’s original timeline.”

You turned to Charles, your brow furrowing. “How? How is that even possible? Timelines aren’t just malleable—”

“They are when someone like Kitty Pryde is involved,” Charles replied, his tone steady but kind. “Logan changed the future, which altered the past. But it seems his mind retained the memories of his original timeline when he was brought back.”

You looked at Logan, your head spinning as you tried to wrap your mind around what they were telling you. “So… you’re saying that everything I remember—all the years we’ve been together, raising Gabby and Laura—they’re real, but to you, they’re…”

“New,” Logan finished for you. He pushed off the desk, his hands going to his hips as he paced the room. “To me, darlin’, this—” he gestured vaguely at the mansion around him, “—this is all brand new. The last thing I remember before waking up this morning was bein’ in 1973, tryin’ to stop Mystique from killin’ Trask.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. The Logan standing before you was so familiar, yet so… not. He was the same man you’d spent decades with, and yet he wasn’t.

“You’re still you,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan stopped pacing, turning to look at you. His gaze softened slightly, the hard edges of his frustration melting away. “Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Still me.”

“But you don’t remember Gabby or Laura,” you said, a pang of sadness creeping into your voice. “You don’t remember us.”

Logan’s expression twisted with guilt. “No, sweetheart,” he admitted. “Not the way I should. But I’m tryin’. I swear to you, I’m gonna figure this out.”

You stepped closer to him, your glasses sliding slightly down your nose as you looked up into his eyes. “You’re not alone in this, Logan,” you said softly. “We’ll figure it out together.”

He stared at you, his throat tightening at the unwavering trust in your eyes. Slowly, he reached out, his large hand brushing against yours before taking it fully. “Thanks, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough but sincere.

Charles cleared his throat gently, drawing your attention. “The bond you two share has persisted across lifetimes,” he said. “It is not surprising that it remains strong, even now.”

You glanced back at Logan, your fingers still entwined with his. “I guess it’s just one more thing we’ve survived together,” you said with a faint smile.

Logan’s lips quirked upward, just barely. “Yeah,” he said. “Guess so.”

But as the three of you stood there, Logan couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of a much bigger challenge. For now, though, he let himself hold onto your hand, grounding himself in the one constant he’d always known: you.

---

Laura stared across the table at Logan, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of his face as if she were trying to find something different, something off. Meanwhile, Gabby’s bright voice filled the dining room.

“And then, they just grow back their limbs! Like, if an axolotl loses a leg or even its tail, it’s all, poof! Fixed!” Gabby made an exaggerated explosion motion with her hands, her fork clattering against her plate. “Isn’t that cool, Daddy?”

Logan blinked, dragging himself out of his thoughts. “Uh, yeah, kid. Real cool.” His voice was gruff but softer than usual as he glanced at her. Gabby beamed, apparently satisfied with his half-hearted response, and took another bite of her pancake.

“Dad doesn’t even know what an axolotl is,” Laura said flatly, her gaze never leaving him.

Gabby gasped, scandalized. “Laura! Of course he does! He’s Daddy! He knows everything!”

Logan scratched the back of his neck, an awkward chuckle slipping out. “Well, I wouldn’t say everything…”

Laura narrowed her eyes slightly, leaning back in her chair. “You’re acting weird.”

“Laura,” you said gently, walking into the room with a cup of coffee in hand. You leaned against the doorway, your glasses slipping down your nose just a touch as you looked at your daughter. “Be nice.”

“She’s not wrong,” Logan muttered under his breath, but you caught it and shot him a warning look.

Laura crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. “He didn’t even laugh at Gabby’s joke about Mom’s coffee yesterday. That’s how you know something’s wrong.”

You hid your smile behind your mug. “To be fair, it wasn’t a great joke, Gabby.”

“It was hilarious!” Gabby protested, slapping her hands on the table for emphasis.

“Sure, sweetie,” you said with a chuckle, walking over to Logan. Your hand found his shoulder as you leaned down slightly. “Why don’t you two finish breakfast? We’ll be right back.”

Logan shot you a look but didn’t argue as you guided him out of the room, your hand lingering on his arm for a moment before you let go. You didn’t stop until you were in the hallway, far enough from the dining room that the girls couldn’t hear you.

“You’re gonna have to stop looking like a deer in headlights every time Gabby says something,” you said quietly, your tone soft but firm. “She’s going to figure it out if you keep that up.”

Logan let out a long sigh, leaning against the wall. “I’m tryin’, sweetheart. It’s just…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair.

“Overwhelming?” you finished for him.

“Yeah. That.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes meeting yours. “I don’t know how to do this. Any of this. I don’t remember gettin’ married or havin’ kids. And now, I’ve got a eleven-year-old givin’ me the third degree and a five-year-old who thinks I hung the moon.”

“They’re your daughters, Logan,” you said softly. “And they adore you. Just… be yourself. You’ve always been a good dad to them. That hasn’t changed.”

Logan looked at you, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and determination. “And you?”

“What about me?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

“How do I do right by you?” His voice was low, the vulnerability in it catching you off guard.

You stepped closer, your hand brushing his. “You’re already doin’ it,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll figure this out together. Just like we always do.”

He let out a low huff, leaning his side against the wall, “well, if I have to hear one more word about an axolotl and their gills, I might lose it.”

You leaned into the wall, mimicking Logan’s stance, your lips twitching upward as you adjusted your glasses. “Actually, axolotls have both gills and lungs, so they can breathe underwater and directly from the air. But they rely on their gills more than their lungs because they’re primarily aquatic. Oh, and their gills are those frilly things you see sticking out of their necks—external gills, which are super rare in vertebrates…”

Logan’s eyebrows rose slowly, and a wry grin began to tug at the corner of his mouth as your words spilled out faster than you seemed to realize.

“And did you know,” you continued, your voice picking up slightly as you adjusted your glasses again, “they stay in a juvenile state their whole lives? It’s called neoteny, and—”

Logan finally let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, darlin’, I get it. You’re where Gabby gets it from.”

You paused mid-ramble, your brow furrowing as you looked up at him. “Gets what?”

“The whole talk a mile a minute about stuff that makes the rest of us feel like idiots thing,” he teased, his tone gruff but warm. “She starts goin’ on about somethin’, an’ it’s like watchin’ a little tornado of facts. Now I know where she gets it.”

Your cheeks flushed slightly, a mix of amusement and bashfulness flashing across your face. “I don’t talk that much.”

Logan arched a brow, his grin widening just a touch. “Sure, sweetheart. Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

You huffed, pushing lightly against his chest with the back of your hand, though your lips tugged into a reluctant smile. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you’re still stuck with me,” he teased, his tone laced with an unexpected softness.

For a moment, you both stood there in the hallway, the din of breakfast chatter echoing faintly behind the door. Logan’s eyes lingered on you, the faint cherry gloss on your lips catching his attention again as sunlight streamed in through the nearby window.

“I really mean it, darlin’,” Logan said after a beat, his voice dipping into something deeper. “You’ve got no idea how much I appreciate you holdin’ this together. All this…” He gestured vaguely, his expression faltering for a second. “It’s a lot to take in.”

Your smile softened, and you reached for his hand instinctively. “We’ve been through worse, Logan. Together. We always find a way.”

Logan’s gaze dropped to your intertwined hands, the touch grounding him. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Always.”

Before the moment could settle further, Scott and Jean walked past the two of you, entering the kitchen. You grabbed Logan’s hand, “c’mon, I want you to see somethin’.”

You pulled Logan to the doorway of the kitchen, motioning for him to stay quiet. His brow furrowed, but he didn’t resist as he leaned slightly into the frame beside you, peeking into the room. Scott was at the counter, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee, while Jean stood nearby, polishing an apple against her sleeve.

“Why are we standin’ here like—” Logan began, but you held up a finger to shush him.

“Wait for it,” you murmured, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

From behind the island, Gabby and Laura crouched in near-perfect silence. Gabby’s face was alight with glee as Laura whispered instructions, holding a small device that looked suspiciously like something Jones might have helped them cobble together.

Logan squinted. “What the hell are they—”

“Shh!” you hissed, suppressing a grin as Laura pressed a button on the device.

The coffee maker on the counter suddenly sputtered and hissed, steam pouring out in dramatic bursts as it began to shake. Scott froze mid-sip, frowning at the machine.

“What the—” Scott leaned in cautiously, placing his mug down.

With a loud pop, a stream of glitter shot out from the coffee maker, spraying directly onto Scott’s chest and face. His entire upper body sparkled in gold and silver flecks as he stumbled back, coughing in surprise.

Gabby popped up from behind the counter, arms thrown in the air triumphantly. “Success!”

Laura stood beside her, a small, satisfied smirk tugging at her lips. “Glitter bomb: 100% effective.”

Logan stared, wide-eyed, as Scott wiped at his face in a futile attempt to rid himself of the glitter. “Girls,” Scott said, his voice low and measured in a tone that suggested he was summoning all of his patience, “what did I say about tamperin’ with the coffee maker?”

Gabby, undeterred, pointed at him dramatically. “You said don’t do it. But you never said we couldn’t improve it.”

Jean bit into her apple, turning slightly away to hide her laughter behind a hand.

“You let them do this?” Scott asked, glaring at her.

“I let them? Scott, they’re your nieces,” Jean said smoothly, not bothering to hide the amusement in her tone.

“They’re your nieces too!” Scott protested, but Jean just shrugged, taking another bite of her apple.

Logan let out a low chuckle beside you, shaking his head. “They’re somethin’ else.”

You grinned, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “They’re just like you.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know exactly what it means,” you teased. “You’re as much of a troublemaker as they are. Don’t think I haven’t seen the pranks you’ve pulled.”

“Pranks? Me?” Logan’s expression feigned innocence, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “Sweetheart, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Right,” you drawled, clearly unconvinced. “You’ve just coincidentally passed on all your mischief genes to Laura and Gabby?”

Logan let out a soft laugh, his gaze flicking back to the kitchen where Gabby was now dancing around Scott, singing, “Uncle Scott is the glitter king!” at the top of her lungs.

Laura crossed her arms, clearly pleased with her handiwork. “Don’t worry. It’s biodegradable glitter,” she said in a tone that suggested she didn’t actually care about Scott’s glitter predicament but wanted to seem magnanimous.

Scott groaned, his voice rising in frustration. “You two better clean this up. And my shirt. And my—” He gestured vaguely at his glitter-covered face.

Gabby giggled. “Sure, Uncle Scott. Right after breakfast.”

Scott turned to Jean for backup, but she just shrugged again. “You’ll be fine, Scott. You’ve been through worse.”

“Not worse than this,” Scott muttered darkly, picking at a gold fleck on his visor.

You stifled another laugh as Logan crossed his arms, watching the scene unfold with an almost paternal fondness. “They really only prank Summers?”

You nodded, grinning. “Every time. Jean’s always off-limits, but Scott? Fair game. Laura says it builds his character.”

Logan shook his head, still smiling. “Kid’s got my sense of humor, all right.”

“See?” you said, leaning closer to him. “They’re just like you.”

Logan glanced down at you, his expression softening as his gaze lingered. “Guess I’ve got a lot to live up to, huh?”

“You already do,” you said quietly, your hand brushing against his. “More than you know.”

Before Logan could respond, Gabby’s excited voice interrupted. “Mommy! Daddy! Did you see? Uncle Scott’s a walking disco ball!”

You turned just as Gabby bolted toward you both, her small arms outstretched. Logan instinctively crouched to catch her as she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Did you like it, Daddy?” Gabby asked, her face bright with anticipation.

Logan hesitated, his arms tightening slightly around her as he glanced at you for guidance. You smiled, nodding almost imperceptibly.

“Yeah, kid,” Logan said finally, his voice gruff but warm. “You got him good.”

Gabby beamed, hugging him tighter before pulling back to look at him. “Laura says we should do water balloons next time. But I think paint bombs would be cooler.”

Logan chuckled, standing with her still in his arms. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Gabby.”

Gabby laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder. You watched the two of them, your chest tightening at the sight of Logan holding her so naturally, even if his memories of her weren’t there yet.

Logan caught your eye, his expression unreadable but intense, as if he were trying to piece together the life he couldn’t remember but was already a part of.

For now, you just smiled, stepping closer to place a hand on his arm. “Come on,” you said softly. “Let’s get back in there before Scott recruits you to clean up his glitter.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, his grip on Gabby firm as he followed you back into the kitchen, the warmth of the moment settling around the three of you like a quiet promise.

---

Jean sighed and stepped away, her hands falling from Logan’s temples as she crossed her arms. “I’m sorry, Logan. There’s not much else I can do.”

Logan remained seated, his elbows resting on his knees as his hands clenched together. “So, that’s it? Nothin’? Not even a flicker?”

Jean’s expression softened, but there was a hint of frustration in her voice, more directed at herself than him. “You’ve got a wall in your mind, Logan. One I can’t break through without risking your memories now. If I push too hard, I could do more harm than good.”

He let out a low growl, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Feels like I’m livin’ someone else’s life. Like it ain’t mine.”

“You are living your life,” Jean insisted gently. “This is you. You’re just missing… the journey that got you here.”

Logan ran a hand down his face, leaning back in the chair. His gaze drifted to the floor, but his thoughts were miles away. He could feel the weight of everything—the ring on your hand, the way Gabby called him ‘daddy,’ Laura’s quiet smirk when she saw him, the way you looked at him with such love and familiarity. It wasn’t foreign; it was right. But it was also wrong because he didn’t remember any of it.

Jean knelt beside him, her voice quieter now. “You’ve built something beautiful here, Logan. Something you fought for, even if you can’t remember how. Maybe instead of chasing what’s missing, you should try to live in what’s here.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his mind battling with itself. Before he could respond, a voice broke the heavy silence.

“Logan?” Your voice was soft but steady from the doorway.

His head snapped up, and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders eased. “Hey, darlin’.”

Jean rose, excusing herself with a subtle nod toward you. As she passed, she gave your arm a gentle squeeze, her own way of offering support, before disappearing down the hall.

You stepped inside, watching Logan closely as you approached. “How are you feeling?”

“Like my head’s been through the ringer,” he muttered, trying to muster a smirk but failing. “Jean couldn’t find much.”

You perched on the arm of the chair, your hand instinctively reaching for his shoulder. “It’s okay,” you said softly, your thumb tracing small circles over his flannel. “You don’t have to remember everything all at once.”

He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “That’s just it. I don’t remember any of it—marryin’ you, findin’ Laura, havin’ Gabby. None of it’s mine.”

Your heart ached at the rawness in his voice, but you squeezed his shoulder gently. “It is yours. Maybe not in the way you think, but it’s yours, Logan. We’re yours.”

He looked up at you then, his eyes darker, clouded with something you couldn’t quite name. “You’re takin’ this awful well.”

You smiled faintly, brushing a stray curl away from his forehead. “I told you when we got married, remember? That no matter what happens, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t remember that, either,” he admitted gruffly, though there was a flicker of warmth in his voice.

“Well,” you teased lightly, trying to ease the tension, “lucky for you, I do.”

Logan’s hand came up, his fingers brushing against yours where they rested on his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, but the weight of his grip spoke volumes.

You brought him into your side, his head resting below your collarbone on your chest, and a small, bittersweet smile crept onto your lips. “It’s kinda ironic if you think about it.”

Logan’s voice was muffled against you, but there was a familiar gruffness to it. “What is?”

“This,” you said softly, one hand brushing through his hair while the other traced idle circles on his shoulder. “You remember all those lives I don’t, and now we’re here, and I’m the one who remembers… but you don’t.”

Logan let out a humorless chuckle, his arms tightening around your waist. “Yeah, darlin’, real funny.”

“Ironic,” you corrected, the corner of your mouth twitching upward, though the ache in your chest lingered. “Not funny.”

Logan exhaled deeply, his breath warm against your collarbone. “Guess I deserve that, huh? All those times, I remembered you, and now you’re stuck rememberin’ for me.”

You stilled your hand for a moment, then leaned back just enough to make him look at you. His eyes were darker than usual, shadowed with frustration and something deeper you couldn’t name. “You don’t deserve this, Logan,” you said firmly. “Don’t ever think that.”

He searched your face, his jaw tightening as he swallowed hard. “Feels like I do,” he murmured. “Every time I’ve lost you… it’s been my fault somehow. Every damn time. And now—” He cut himself off, shaking his head as though trying to dislodge the thought.

“And now,” you said, finishing for him, “you haven’t lost me.”

Logan’s gaze softened, his thumb brushing unconsciously over the fabric of your shirt where his hand rested on your waist. “Not yet.”

“Not at all,” you said, your voice steady. “You’ve got me, Logan. I’m right here.”

His lips twitched, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “For now.”

You sighed, cupping his cheek and guiding his gaze back to yours when it started to drift. “Logan. Stop. We’ve been married for nearly twenty years. I know this is… a lot. It’s a lot for me, too. But you don’t have to figure it all out today, or tomorrow, or even next week.”

He huffed a small laugh, his hand moving to rest over yours. “You always this patient?”

“Only with you,” you teased gently, though the warmth in your voice was genuine. “So don’t make me regret it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, and for a moment, his smirk was almost real.

You smiled back, letting the silence settle for a few beats before Logan’s arms tightened around you again, pulling you closer. His head rested against your chest, his body warm and solid against yours, and for a moment, you just held him.

---

Footsteps thundered across the broken ground, and then he was there. Logan dropped to his knees beside you, his hands immediately reaching for you, shaking you gently but urgently. “Sweetheart, no, no—open your eyes,” he pleaded, his voice cracking as his hands moved from your face to your shoulders, searching for signs of life.

Your body was limp in his arms, your chest still, your face losing color.

Logan’s breaths came in short, harsh gasps as he pulled you against him, cradling you like you might slip away entirely if he let go. “Y/N,” he whispered, the single word a broken prayer, an unbearable weight of grief choking him. His hands shook as they smoothed over your hair, as though trying to coax you back to him with touch alone.

He didn’t notice Ororo land nearby, didn’t register her sharp intake of breath as she took in the scene. Her hand came up to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror, but she didn’t approach. Behind her, Bobby and Kitty stood frozen, their expressions stricken, but they too stayed back. Even Peter, with his usual strength and calm, had no words.

Logan didn’t care that they were there. Didn’t care about anything except the motionless weight in his arms. He rocked you slightly, his forehead pressing against yours as his ragged breaths turned into choked sobs. “You weren’t supposed to—damn it, you weren’t supposed to do this,” he growled, his voice breaking as he fought against the tears burning in his eyes. “Not this time. Not again.”

Logan pressed his lips to your forehead, his hands shaking as they cupped your face. “Come on, darlin’,” he whispered, his voice soft and cracked. “You’re stronger than this. You’re too stubborn to leave me. Just—just come back.”

The others stood frozen, unable to move, unable to interrupt the devastating scene unfolding before them. Ororo’s hand clutched her chest, tears streaking down her face as she turned away, giving Logan what little privacy she could in this moment of unbearable pain.

But Logan didn’t notice. He couldn’t notice. His world had narrowed to you—the unbearable stillness of your body, the haunting silence that surrounded you now.

He didn’t let go, even as the destruction around them finally began to settle, the last vestiges of Jean’s power fading into nothingness. His arms tightened around you, his forehead pressing to yours again as he whispered brokenly, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t save you. I’m so damn sorry.”

Time seemed to stand still in the worst possible way. For the first time in his long, painful life, Logan felt completely and utterly powerless. The ring he’d carried for over a century burned like a brand against his chest, a cruel reminder of all the promises he’d never been able to keep.

Logan buried his face against your neck, his voice raw as he whispered, “I was gonna tell you. About the ring. About everything. You—you deserved to know.” His thumb brushed over your cheek, as if he could will the life back into you.

He pulled back, his tear-streaked face contorted in anguish as he gazed down at you. “I love you,” he said, his voice breaking on every syllable. “I’ve loved you through every lifetime, and I’ll love you in the next one, too. But please, sweetheart, don’t make me wait again. Not this time. Please.”

His hands trembled as he touched your cheek again, his thumb brushing over your skin like it might bring you back. “I love you,” he repeated, his voice hoarse. “I’ll always love you.”

But you didn’t move. Your chest didn’t rise. You were gone.

Logan’s breath hitched as he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead—one last desperate, lingering moment of tenderness. When he pulled back, his gaze swept over your still features, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and devastation.

Behind him, Ororo, Bobby, Kitty, and Peter stood at a distance, their faces drawn with grief. None of them moved to intervene. They knew better than to intrude on this moment, on Logan’s anguish.

The air felt impossibly heavy as Logan shifted, gathering your lifeless form into his arms. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though handling something too precious to break further. He cradled you close, his head bowing as he let out a shuddering breath. The others watched as he rose to his feet, every muscle in his body screaming in protest, though he showed no sign of it.

“Logan…” Ororo began softly, stepping forward.

He didn’t acknowledge her. His eyes were locked on you, his focus unwavering. Without a word, he turned away, carrying you toward the bridge. There was no Blackbird to take them home—Jean’s power had obliterated it along with so much else—but Logan didn’t seem to care about the logistics. His only concern was you.

---

Logan jerked awake, gasping, his body tense and drenched in cold sweat. The dim light of the bedroom barely illuminated his surroundings, but he didn’t need it to know where he was. The warmth beside him, the faint scent of your cherry lip gloss lingering in the air—those were enough to remind him. This was 2023. You were alive.

He turned his head to look at you, his breathing still uneven. You were curled on your side, your glasses resting on the nightstand, your hand loosely clutching the blanket. Peaceful. Alive.

“Logan?” your voice, soft and drowsy, broke the silence. You stirred, sensing his distress even in your half-asleep state. “What’s wrong?”

He swallowed hard, running a hand down his face. “Nothin’, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice rough and unconvincing. “Go back to sleep.”

But you sat up anyway, your hair slightly mussed, your gaze focusing on him even without your glasses. “You had another nightmare, didn’t you?” You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Was it… bad?”

Logan closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. He wanted to lie, to brush it off and tell you he was fine, but the weight of the memory still clung to him like a shadow he couldn’t shake. “Yeah,” he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Without hesitation, you slid closer to him, wrapping your arms around his torso. “It’s okay,” you murmured, resting your head against his shoulder. “I’m here.”

His body stiffened at first, the vulnerability of the moment making his instincts scream to pull away, but then he let out a shaky breath and folded you into his arms. The solid warmth of you against him—the weight of your presence—was like a lifeline, anchoring him back to the present.

“I dreamed about… losin’ you,” he said after a long moment, his voice low and raw. “It—it was like I could feel it happenin’ all over again.”

Your heart ached at the pain in his tone, but you didn’t pull back. Instead, you tightened your hold on him, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “You didn’t lose me,” you whispered. “I’m right here, Logan.”

His arms tightened around you as though he needed to remind himself you were real. After a few moments, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching your face like he was memorizing every detail. His hands came up to frame your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“I gotta hold you,” he said, his voice gruff but almost pleading. “Just let me—” His words faltered, and he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was desperate yet tender, like he was pouring all the fear and love in his heart into the connection.

You kissed him back without hesitation, your hands resting on his chest. But when he pulled back only to kiss you again—this time slower, deeper—you pulled away slightly, just enough to catch your breath. “Logan,” you murmured, your voice gentle, “are you sure you’re okay?”

His forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “Just lemme kiss you, please,” he said softly, his voice almost breaking. “Need to feel you. Need to know you’re here.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you nodded, your hands sliding up to cup his face. “I’m here,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his again, reassuring him with every touch that you weren’t going anywhere.

Time seemed to stop as you stayed like that, locked in the quiet intimacy of the moment. His hands moved to your waist, holding you securely, while yours stayed on his face, grounding him. Eventually, you pulled back, your noses brushing, your breaths mingling.

“You wanna talk about it?” you asked softly, your fingers tracing soothing patterns along his jawline.

Logan hesitated, his eyes flickering with something raw and unspoken. “Not yet,” he admitted, his voice thick. “Just… don’t leave me tonight, darlin’.”

You shook your head, offering him a soft smile despite the emotion welling in your chest. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, wrapping your arms around him again.

---

The Blackbird hummed steadily, the low vibration underscoring the tense silence among the team. You glanced toward Logan, his expression hard and unreadable as he stared out the small window. He hadn’t said much since takeoff, and you didn’t push him. Instead, you’d focused on Jean, who was reviewing the mission details, and Scott, who’d been unusually quiet.

“I can handle this,” Logan had said when you vouched for him earlier. You hadn’t doubted him then, and you didn’t now. But Scott’s skepticism hung heavy in the cabin, evident in every glance he shot Logan’s way.

You let out a soft breath and shifted in your seat, nudging Logan’s arm with your elbow. “Hey,” you said quietly, leaning in. “You good?”

Logan turned his head, his eyes meeting yours for a moment. He nodded, though his jaw stayed tight. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m fine.”

You didn’t buy it, but you let it go. For now.

Scott’s voice cut through the tension. “We’re approaching the drop zone. Everyone stay sharp. This should be quick, but let’s not get sloppy.”

“Sloppy?” Logan muttered under his breath. “We don’t do sloppy.”

Scott shot him a look from the cockpit but didn’t respond, and you bit back a small smile despite the nerves fluttering in your chest.

---

The mission was supposed to be simple. Extract intel, neutralize threats, and get out. But as usual, things didn’t go as planned.

The team moved as a unit through the labyrinthine corridors of the facility, the dim lighting casting long shadows that danced with every flicker of movement. Logan was at the front, claws out, his senses leading the way. You stayed close, your focus split between him and the others.

“Jean, you got eyes on the server room?” Scott’s voice crackled through the comms.

“About twenty meters ahead,” Jean replied, her voice calm despite the rising tension.

Logan’s claws retracted with a snikt as he held up a hand, signaling everyone to stop. His nose twitched, and his head tilted slightly. “Something’s off,” he murmured, his voice low.

Before anyone could ask what, the ground beneath your feet rumbled, and the corridor ahead exploded in a burst of heat and light. You stumbled back, shielding your face, as alarms blared throughout the facility.

“Damn it!” Scott barked. “It’s a trap!”

Logan was already moving, his claws gleaming as he launched himself toward the first wave of attackers. “Get to the server room!” he shouted over his shoulder. “I’ll clear the way!”

“Logan, wait—” But he was gone, a blur of fury and precision as he tore through the enemy.

You exchanged a quick glance with Jean and Ororo before taking off in the opposite direction with them. The mission had gone sideways, but there was no time to panic. Focus was key.

---

You weren’t sure how long it had been—minutes? Hours? The battle had stretched into chaos, and every step felt like a fight to stay alive. You found yourself separated from the others, the air thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood.

Your powers buzzed beneath your skin, a familiar warning. You’d been careful not to overuse them, knowing the toll it took, but the situation left you little choice. Cornered by a group of heavily armed soldiers, you raised your hands, time itself seeming to shudder as you concentrated.

The soldiers froze mid-step, their weapons hanging suspended in the air. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you pushed harder, distorting the flow of time around you. The strain was immediate, your body protesting as you manipulated the anomaly.

“Y/N!” Logan’s voice cut through the haze, rough and urgent. He appeared out of the smoke, his claws dripping red. His eyes widened when he saw you, the flickering distortion around you making it clear you were at your limit.

“I’m fine,” you said, though your voice was strained. “Go help the others.”

“Like hell,” Logan growled, rushing to your side. His hand gripped your arm firmly but gently. “Stop this. You’re gonna tear yourself apart.”

“I can handle it,” you insisted, though your knees buckled slightly under the weight of your own power.

Logan didn’t argue. Instead, he scooped you up with a gentleness that belied his strength, cradling you against his chest. The anomaly wavered, then shattered, the soldiers collapsing as time resumed. But the damage was done.

As the world around you stabilized, you felt a strange, disorienting pull in your mind—like something had snapped and splintered all at once.

Logan froze mid-step, a strangled noise escaping his throat. His grip on you tightened as his body went rigid, his breathing shallow and erratic.

“Logan?” you murmured, your voice weak. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His eyes darted wildly as memories surged through his mind—memories that didn’t belong to the man he’d been moments ago.

A wedding. Your smile, brighter than the sun, as you held his hands. The weight of the gold ring he’d finally placed on your finger after lifetimes of waiting.

Laughter. Laura’s tiny hands clutching his shirt as he carried her on his shoulders, her giggles echoing through the halls of the mansion. Gabby’s wide grin as she showed him a picture she’d drawn of the four of you—her family.

Peace. The quiet nights on the porch, your head resting on his shoulder as the stars twinkled overhead.

Love.

A life.

A family.

Logan stumbled, dropping to his knees as the memories overwhelmed him. They were vivid and unrelenting, a rush of emotion and experience that left him gasping for air.

Your hands trembled as you knelt beside Logan, panic bubbling in your chest. His body shook, his breaths coming in sharp, shallow gasps. You reached out, gripping his shoulders. “Logan! Please—what’s wrong? Talk to me!”

He didn’t respond. His eyes were wide and unfocused, darting as though he was watching something invisible and overwhelming. His claws had retracted, his hands pressed flat to the ground like he was trying to anchor himself.

“Logan…” Your voice cracked, tears blurring your vision. “I’m sorry—I don’t know what I did—please, just say something.”

His breath hitched sharply, and he finally looked at you, though his gaze was distant, almost haunted. “I… I can’t—” His voice was rough, fractured, as though he was choking on the words. “It’s… I remember.”

You froze. The blood roaring in your ears was nearly deafening. “What do you mean? Remember what?”

Logan shook his head as if trying to clear it, but his face was pale, his features twisted with a mix of disbelief and something raw—grief? Love? Fear? You couldn’t tell.

“It’s us.” His hands reached for you instinctively, his calloused palms cupping your face. “I see you. I see…” His words faltered, and his gaze flickered like he was staring into a memory you couldn’t reach. “The wedding. Laura. Gabby. God, darlin’, I see all of it. I feel it.”

Your heart clenched, your breath catching in your throat. “You remember this life?” you whispered, your hands resting on his wrists.

Logan’s eyes, normally so sharp and guarded, now brimmed with something far more vulnerable—tears threatening to spill as his gaze bore into yours. “Yeah,” he rasped, his voice rough, choked. “Not just bits and pieces… all of it.”

Tears continued to blur your vision as you searched his face, struggling to process his words. His hands stayed on your face, steady even though they were trembling slightly, and his eyes darted over yours like he was trying to memorize every detail, afraid you might vanish if he looked away for even a second.

“Logan…” Your voice wavered, the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest. “You… remember everything?”

He nodded, the movement jerky, uncoordinated. “Yeah. Every damn thing,” he rasped, his voice thick with emotion. “I remember… us. Our life. Laura. Gabby. The day I put this ring on your finger.” His thumb brushed against the gold band on your left hand, his expression flickering between awe and devastation. “I remember it all, darlin’. And it’s like I’ve been livin’ two lives at once.”

Your heart twisted, torn between relief and worry. Relief that he was remembering the life you’d built together—your family, your home—but worry because you knew what this meant for him. Logan wasn’t just remembering. He was reconciling two lifetimes, one full of loss and pain, and one where he’d finally found peace.

You cupped his face now, your hands trembling against his rough, stubbled cheeks. “Logan,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the fight still raging in the facility. “You’re here. You’re with me. With us. And that’s all that matters.”

His eyes stayed locked on yours, and you could see the storm of emotions swirling behind them—grief, guilt, love, hope. “It’s real,” he said, almost like he needed to hear it to believe it. “This… all of it… it’s real. I didn’t lose you this time.”

“No,” you murmured, tears spilling freely now. “You didn’t lose me. You’ve got me, Logan. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His hands tightened ever so slightly on your face, his forehead lowering until it rested gently against yours. His breath hitched, and you felt the faintest tremor run through him. “I lost you six times, sweetheart. Six times. I held you in my arms while you—” His voice broke, and he sucked in a sharp breath like he was trying to keep himself together. “I can’t… I can’t lose you again. I won’t.”

“You won’t,” you said firmly, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks. “You won’t, Logan. This is our life. Our family. And you’re not gonna lose me. Not now, not ever.”

For a long moment, the two of you just stayed like that, kneeling on the cold floor in the middle of a war zone, holding on to each other like the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

Finally, Logan spoke again, his voice quieter now, though no less weighted. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his tone raw. “I remember us, but I don’t… I don’t feel like the man you married. I don’t feel like Laura and Gabby’s dad.”

Your heart ached at his words, but you held his gaze, your own resolve strengthening. “You are the man I married,” you said softly but firmly. “You’re the same Logan who’s been by my side for twenty years, who’s been an amazing father to Laura and Gabby, who’s built this life with me. I know it doesn’t feel that way right now, but it will. You’ll remember not just with your head, but with your heart, too. I promise.”

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling shakily before nodding. “I hope you’re right, darlin’,” he murmured. “Because I don’t wanna screw this up.”

“You won’t,” you assured him. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Another explosion sounded in the distance, and Logan’s head whipped around, his instincts kicking in. “We gotta move,” he said gruffly, helping you to your feet. “You okay to walk?”

“I’m fine,” you said, though your legs wobbled slightly as the adrenaline began to wear off. Logan steadied you with a hand on your waist, his touch firm but careful.

“Let’s find the others,” he said, his voice steadying as he slipped back into mission mode. But before you could take a step, he stopped, turning back to you. His hand cupped your cheek again, his eyes soft but serious. “I love you,” he said, the words rough but filled with conviction. “I just… I needed to say it.”

Your breath caught, but you smiled, leaning into his touch. “I love you, too,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “Always.”

He nodded once, then released you, his claws sliding out with a familiar snikt. “Stay close,” he said, his tone low and protective as he led the way down the corridor. And though the chaos of the mission loomed ahead, you felt a flicker of hope—because no matter what, you were facing it together.

---

Once back at the mansion, the first things you saw were Laura and Gabby standing by Rogue, waiting for the others to clear the jet before you and Logan stepped off.

Gabby was the first to make a move, walking at a brisk pace until Logan finished climbing down the stairs and kneeled down, “c’mere princess.”

She let out a happy squeal and ran the rest of the way, launching herself into Logan’s arms. “You haven’t called me that in ages!”

Laura walked over to the three of you, giving you a short hug from the side, “weeks, Gabby, weeks.”

Gabby removed herself from Logan’s chest, turning to face her sister, “that’s ages Laura!”

Laura crossed her arms, her eyebrow arched in exaggerated disbelief. “It’s weeks, Gabby. Don’t be so dramatic.”

Logan chuckled, low and gravelly, still kneeling on the hangar floor. His hands rested lightly on Gabby’s shoulders as she spun back around to look at him, her big, expressive eyes narrowing in mock irritation.

“Well, she’s right about one thing,” Logan said, ruffling Gabby’s hair. “I haven’t been callin’ you ‘princess’ like I should.”

Gabby beamed, throwing her arms around his neck again. “It’s okay, Daddy. I forgive you!”

Behind them, you stood near the ramp, watching the scene with a mix of relief and warmth. Logan caught your eye over Gabby’s shoulder, his gaze softening as it locked on yours. For a moment, it was like the rest of the world disappeared.

Laura’s voice broke the spell. “You’re forgiven this time,” she said with a teasing smirk as she stepped closer. “But Gabby’s gonna milk it for at least a week. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Logan straightened, a hand resting on Gabby’s back as he looked at Laura with that gruff, fatherly affection he’d perfected. “Yeah, well, I reckon I can handle that.”

Gabby grinned triumphantly, glancing between her sister and her dad. “See? Told you I’m his favorite.”

Logan groaned, shaking his head as he rose to his feet, lifting Gabby effortlessly in his arms. “Don’t start that, kiddo. I got room for both of you troublemakers.”

Gabby giggled, but Laura rolled her eyes. “Nice save, Dad.”

You chuckled softly, stepping forward now that the moment felt a little less overwhelming. “Alright, you two,” you said, your voice warm but firm. “Let’s get inside. Everyone’s probably waiting, and your dad looks like he could use a break.”

Logan gave you a small, appreciative smile, one that lingered longer than usual, like he was drinking in every detail of you standing there. He shifted Gabby to his hip and reached out with his free hand, his calloused fingers brushing yours briefly as you both turned toward the mansion.

The walk back was filled with Gabby’s chatter, Laura’s sarcastic commentary, and Logan’s occasional grunt of amusement. But as the four of you crossed the threshold into the warmth of the mansion, you could feel the shift in Logan—a quiet resolve mixed with the raw emotion still simmering beneath the surface.

Once the girls were out of earshot, you tugged gently on Logan’s sleeve, pulling him aside into the quieter hallway. His brows furrowed slightly, but he let you guide him, his hand instinctively finding its way to your waist.

“Logan,” you started softly, looking up at him as the distant echoes of the mansion’s activity faded. “Are you okay?”

Logan’s jaw tensed, his eyes searching yours as though weighing his answer. The soft glow of the mansion’s lights illuminated his face, highlighting the exhaustion and turmoil etched into his features. He let out a low sigh, the sound heavy with emotion, before his hand slid from your waist to cradle the side of your face.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice rough but honest. “It’s like... I’ve been livin’ someone else’s life for weeks. Like it was mine but not mine, ya know? And now…” He paused, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, his brow furrowing. “Now it’s all there. Every moment. Every damn thing. I remember our girls, our wedding, us. And it’s... it’s real. But it feels like it shouldn’t be. Like it’s a dream I’m gonna wake up from any second.”

Your heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in his voice. You reached up, covering his hand with yours, grounding him. “It’s not a dream, Logan. This is real. We’re real. Laura and Gabby are real. You’re their dad, my husband, and the man who’s been by my side through everythin’. You’ve got us, and we’ve got you.”

His eyes softened, but there was still a shadow of doubt lingering in them. “Feels like I’ve been walkin’ around with a piece missin’, and now it’s slammed back into place all at once. It’s almost too much.”

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest. His heart thundered beneath your ear, fast and unsteady, but his arms came around you like they always had, holding you tightly. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight,” you murmured. “We’ll take it one step at a time. Together.”

Logan buried his face in your hair, his breath hitching as he clung to you. “I missed this,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it. “Even when I didn’t know what I was missin’, I missed this.”

You smiled against his chest, your tears dampening the fabric of his shirt. “You’re home now,” you whispered. “That’s what matters.”

He nodded against you, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “You’re somethin’ else, ya know that?” he said, his lips twitching into a faint, almost self-conscious smile. “Don’t deserve you.”

“You’re wrong,” you said firmly, your hand coming up to rest against his cheek. “We deserve each other. And we deserve this life we’ve built. It hasn’t been perfect, Logan, but it’s ours. And it’s worth every fight.”

Logan’s hand slid to the small of your back, his thumb tracing lazy circles there. His gaze held yours for a long moment before he dipped his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Thanks, darlin’,” he murmured. “For not givin’ up on me.”

“Never,” you said softly, a smile tugging at your lips. “Now, let’s get back to the girls. They’ll probably think we’re plotting something if we’re gone too long.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, the sound easing some of the tension in his expression. “Yeah, don’t need Gabby comin’ up with some wild theory about why we’re takin’ our time.”

You chuckled, threading your fingers through his as you began walking back toward the living area. “She’d have us starring in some kind of superhero soap opera.”

“Kid’s got a hell of an imagination,” Logan muttered, though there was unmistakable fondness in his tone.

As the two of you reached the living room, Laura and Gabby looked up from the couch where they were sprawled out with popcorn and a movie on the screen. Gabby’s face lit up when she saw you, and she patted the spot next to her enthusiastically. “C’mon, Daddy! We saved you a seat!”

Logan glanced at you, his lips quirking in a small, grateful smile. “Think I better take her up on that,” he murmured.

“You better,” you teased, giving him a nudge. “I’ll grab some drinks and join you.”

He squeezed your hand once before letting go, striding over to settle between his daughters. Gabby immediately curled up against him, and Laura leaned over to steal a piece of his popcorn, earning a mock growl from him.

As you watched the three of them together, laughter bubbling up from the couch, you felt a deep sense of peace settle over you. Logan might still be navigating the storm in his mind, but he was here. And with time, you knew he’d come to fully embrace the life he’d found again.

and it's a happy ever after!!

this was meant to be much shorter. actually, i originally wasn't going to include logan getting his memories back and just make that into a bonus chapter but i couldn't stand it. if it's gonna be a happy ever after i had to go all the way.

and i have i have an idea of how they found laura that does not involve the logan movie. cause, no, no, no, they are getting their happy ending.

with that in mind, again, if anyone is interested in reading about how reader and logan got married, found laura, had gabby, let me know! or, if you have any ideas of stories you want me to tell with reader and logan don't be afraid to ask! (i might have already started writing for the alternate timeline...)

[lehnsherrrr]

Here’s a collection of all the gayest cherik gifs I could find, with a description for why each one of them is gay because micro movements and body language are my favourite. (I’m autistic and focus on details instead of the big picture.)

First things first.

The way he’s just STARING, and he does this a lot, like pretty much always. But as Charles turns, Erik stays in the same place, meaning he is now weirdly close to him. The only place he could look is Charles neck and jawline, which is CRAZY, but what’s crazier is how he does it so confidently.

Charles goes to put his arm up, but decides not too. Even after this I’m pretty sure he has his arm around Erik anyway, but it’s actually gayer that Charles had a moment to think ‘Wait I shouldn’t put my arm there. He could’ve just done it, but instead he had to think about it.

The calm before the violence. The way Charles sees them both there, then actually realises it’s Erik, and his eyes light up. Also love the way you can see Erik’s reflection, it’s beautiful.

But of course that tender love that came so instinctively immediately washes away as the past 10 years come flooding back. But for just a moment, the shock of seeing Erik again made him forget about the pain.

Also see, Erik’s moment of recognition. This isn’t the pretty shiny professor big eyes, soft face, and love radiating from him. This is a tired grizzled man, a whole 10 years older, no longer prim and proper, no longer the star student. And also in this moment, Charles doesn’t have his powers, so Erik also can’t feel those constant rays of love being sent from him, which he so heavily associated with him. He might even only recognise him because they’re face to face, but he still manages it, cause how could he ever forget Charles.

More on that previous idea, here Erik immediately recognises Charles from just the presence of him alone. It’s been another 10 years, Charles hasn’t even spoken, and Erik already knows he’s there.

Think of it, him going through all this darkness and pain, standing there wallowing in a shadow. And then suddenly, there’s a light. That beam of love that he hadn’t felt for over 20 years now, but it’s stuck with Erik, because he holds onto it so dearly.

These two gifs together. If these are the brotherly friend enemies bros that the movies were supposed to portray them as, then there was absolutely no reason for either of them to be so stricken with emotion about the other that they are brought to tears.

You can feel it if you look at them here, you can feel your heart ache as theirs do. There are words unspoken, tears spilling out as they think about the other, thinking about coming back together.

Okay easing up from the heartbreak. Aftercare for the emotional rawdogging I just put you through.

Look at this hoe. GIRL LOOK AWAY??? FOR ONE SECOND??? I don’t think Charles even feels that strongly for Erik in this moment, but Erik sure does. Look at him, the pure admiration in his eyes. Terrible.

In this part of the film, Erik is still in awe at Charles. Everything Charles does is so full of love, Erik can’t even comprehend it. Especially that this love was being directed towards him, towards people Charles didn’t even know. He’s dumbstruck.

And then this. What. Girl. WHAT.

As a queer person, it’s rare that I have such an intensely gay moment. Look at it. There’s not even tension here, they’re so relaxed.

But now think about this. How did they get there?? Which of them suggested it?????

One of them would’ve had to ask to hang out with the other. Alone.

Then I bet it was Erik who said “excellent idea I’ll bring the chess set.”

And then they wondered around looking for a place to sit and thought “hm yes those big white steps beside a beautiful view of water looks perfect, we’d be very alone there!”

And then they both would’ve walked up those steps, and sat down to play chess.

and THEN.

Charles would’ve eventually leaned back. But he didn’t just lean back, he leaned towards Erik. Look at the way he’s laying, he’s so relaxed.

You ever been by yourself and realise you’re sat in the weirdest position? Hanging out with a close friend or partner, this will also happen.

Charles isn’t aware of how he’s sat, he just did it cause he’s relaxed and comfortable.

And they ain’t even playing chess.

It’s either Charles or Erik’s turn, and I’m not even sure if they know whose turn it is. Erik is yapping about politics, and Charles is listening but also staring at him instead of the view.

Also note the way that Erik doesn’t look at Charles here. He is looking at his thoughts as he speaks (a very neurodivergent thing to do). And if he is always looking at the thing he’s thinking about, then that explains what he’s thinking about when he’s looking at Charles.

I mean really Michael Fassbender, what was your thought process when acting out these scenes.

I went to acting school for a very large part of my life (absolutely traumatic) and the most important thing in acting is to not just do what the character is doing. You have to think it, believe it.

So tell me Michael Fassbender, what was Erik thinking as you stared longingly at James’ jaw, eyes, neck. When you looked him up and down, when you touched him so gently.

You made those decisions, you knew what you were doing. Actors always have the final say.

ONE LAST THING.

This happens so many times I couldn’t find just one gif, and I also met the gif maximum.

There are so many moments in all of the films where Erik and Charles just stare at each other. I thoroughly believe they are talking telepathically in those moments. When they stare at each other at the strip club? They’re saying something about Angel. It’s obvious.

I actually really like the way the film doesn’t tell us what they’re saying, cause they’re so obviously speaking and we don’t even need to hear it. Charles is a telepath, you don’t just stare into a telepaths big blue eyes and have no thoughts in your head. And a telepath doesn’t just stare at you and not project anything. That’s so unrealistic.

Also see this post to see how gently Erik touches Charles (and one time he doesn’t) ((wish that was me AWOOGA))

Need to rest my hands now this one knackered me. If you have any other gifs of those little moments, PLEASE SEND THEM TO MEEEEEE

[sundrop-writes]

Hii can I request some basic relationship HC’s for Erik Campbell x Fem hair stylist reader(specifically a color specialist) that has a similar alternative style to his? It’s okay if you can’t or dont want to and sorry I don’t really know how to request😭

I love this concept so much omg. I am just so downbad for Erik, and like I said - I am prioritising requests related to him (an Erik pwp has been calling my name, but the right concept has not struck me yet. so if anybody has an idea for one, send it my way)

anyway, here we go

ALSO I got carried away and the beginning of this turned into a whole detailed 'how they met' fic, so like... idk if that's a good thing or not. lmao. I just love him and this is technically my first time writing for him and I had a good time

Headcanons for Erik Campbell dating an Alternative Hairstylist (Erik Campbell from Final Destination: Bloodlines x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: reader uses she/her pronouns and is generally described as a 'woman'; mentions of the reader having a non-natural coloured hair (but the reader's hair texture is never described, as to not insist upon her race); there is also mentions of the reader having tattoos and piercings and wearing 'alt' clothing; mentions of the reader being cheated on by a man who is not Erik; there is sexual themes in this, but no explicit smut - though I will do Erik smut/kink headcanons if prompted; mentions of Erik giving the reader more than one tattoo; mentions of Erik's family being judgemental toward the reader. I think that's it for this. This fic does not contain any spoilers for the film, so if you haven't seen it yet and you want to, this will not spoil it for you.

...

Erik would have never called the start of your relationship a Meet-Cute. In fact, it was quite literally the opposite. It was more like... a Meet-Bitch. A Meet-Hell. Okay - he was no good with words, and he had no clue what the hell the opposite of a Meet-Cute would be.

But he loved looking back on the day he had met you, because it was one of the best days of his life.

He had been working the shop by himself. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and who the hell comes in to get a tattoo or a piercing on a fucking Tuesday afternoon? Weekends are always the busiest for walk-ins, and his boss always booked appointments in advance for the evenings anyway. So on a Tuesday afternoon where the sun was shining brightly outside, seeping in through the glass storefront, reminding him of the gorgeous day that he was missing out on, Erik was drinking an iced coffee and listening to one of his playlists at a low hum while he worked on a sketch.

It wasn't anything fancy - just a skull with devil horns and a pentagram on the forehead with flames coming out of the eyes. A tattoo that he was considering giving to himself if he could pick a good place for it.

When you burst in through the front door, causing the bell overhead to ring, he was almost startled by your presence.

"Are you free?" You asked. He didn't noticed the trembling in your voice at first, the slight sniffle you gave that would have indicated you had been crying, and when he looked up at you, he honestly thought that the redness in your eyes was from you partaking in a mid-afternoon toke, and not due to crying.

But that redness was far from the first thing he noticed about you.

The first thing he had to notice about you was the fact that you were smoking hot. You had bright blue hair streaked with some jet black, done in a fancy style that said you definitely knew what you were doing. You were wearing skin-tight jeans that looked as though they had been painted onto your body, with a few rips in them revealing streaks of black and somewhat colourful ink underneath - definitely not the only tattoos you had on your body. Complete with a groomer belt that he easily pictured himself unbuckling...

You were wearing heavy combat boots and a tee shirt that said Puppet Master with a picture of some very weird white faced character on it that immediately made him curious. And your look was topped off by a lot of jewellery - bracelets, rings, and a lot of metal adorning your face and ears. Erik found himself immediately attracted to you, and he had no clue how long he stood there, staring without even saying a word.

"Hello?!" You screamed at him, giving another small sniffle. "I asked you a question!"

"Uh, yeah, I'm free." He replied. "What do you-?"

He was about to ask what you wanted done, and before he could, you muttered 'thank god' under your breath, and much to his shock, you reached to the hem of your shirt and proceeded to rip it over your head. His jaw nearly came unhinged as he watched you parade across the room in a black lace bra and immediately lay down on his table, quick to make yourself comfortable as if this was your twentieth session with him and the two of you weren't complete strangers.

"What do you want?" He asked, moving to approach the table, trying to maintain his professionalism despite the fact that his eyes kept migrating to your cleavage as you lounged on your back.

"I want to feel some damn pain." You huffed out. "Just - do whatever you want."

"You know, that's basically giving me license to draw dicks on you," He chuckled, attempting to make a joke.

Your only response was a tired huffed, and his stomach swirled when your lip quivered, and he quickly realised that you were holding back tears. He knew that it wasn't his responsibility to talk you out of it, especially because you already had so much ink and you clearly wouldn't regret it. It was his responsibility to give you something sick, and probably be a listening ear for whatever you needed to blow off.

He moved back to the desk and grabbed the notebook he had been drawing in, and brought it over to show you.

"What about this?" He posed, showing you the flaming skull.

You looked over, and in a moment, your sad eyes lit up.

"That is actually a wonderful summary of how I'm feeling right now." You told him. "Do me up, baby."

"You gonna tell me what fucked you up so badly?" Erik asked.

You let out a huff, and shook your head.

Naturally, you asked for the tattoo to be on your ribs - one of the most painful places to reflect the emotional pain that you were feeling. He wasn't surprised when you sat like a champ, barely showing any signs that you were in pain as he took the needle to your skin, inking in his design. He had to assume that the tears leaking from your eyes had to do with whatever was troubling you emotionally, and not the actual pain of the tattoo, because you seemingly ignored his presence altogether.

It was more than an hour into the session when Erik finally managed to get an answer out of you.

You only spoke up when a particular song came up on shuffle, Erik's playlist still coming out of the speakers at a moderate level. Your face twisted in disgust as LA Devotee by Panic! At The Disco started playing.

"Ugh, can you change this?" You asked, your eyes flickering over to the nearby speaker, as though trying to spite the sound waves coming at you. "This song just reminds me of my stupid - ugh. Would you mind?"

"You can change it." He told you. "Don't wanna touch my phone with the gloves on."

He gestured toward his phone, which was sitting on the edge of his instrument tray, and you didn't hesitate to reach out and grab it. After only a moment of looking at the screen, another song came on, and he was delighted by what you had chosen. So Long And Thanks For All The Booze by All Time Low started playing as you placed his phone down above your head, and you mumbled the lyrics under your breath.

"Break-up tattoo." He theorised aloud, noticing how more tears came to your eyes as you continued to quietly hum along to the song. "I never would have guessed you to be the type to get all heartbroken over a guy-"

"I'm not heartbroken." You barked, cutting him off. "I'm pissed off."

"Okay." He replied. "Usually those are the same thing."

You rolled your eyes.

"What happened?" He had to ask. When you remained silent, he added on: "Come on, it might make you feel better to tell someone about it."

You inhaled sharply through your nose, and then, for the first time since that morning when you had discovered the devastating news, you finally braved bringing the words to life.

"My boyfriend cheated on me." You said. Erik focused patiently on filling in the shading around the skull, not looking at you, giving you the room to speak more because you clearly needed it. "I was in Tulsa for the weekend doing a wedding - one of my regular clients was getting married, and she insisted that I be there-"

"Clients?" He prodded curiously.

"Yeah." You replied. "I do hair. Usually I'm just a colourist, but she wanted me to freshly colour it and style it for the day of her wedding. She wanted her signature look for her pictures."

That would explain why your hair was so nice.

Erik nodded, and focused back on the tattoo as you continued your story.

"Anyway - when I came back early this morning, I came into my apartment and found my boyfriend in bed with some fucking fried blond cocktail waitress... and she said that he told her we were broken up. Apparently he's had her there every late night I've worked for months. She must have been sniffing that Level 40 she uses, because all my stuff is still in that fucking apartment-"

"Sounds like he knows he's not good enough for you and he picked someone who's actually on his level." Erik commended mindlessly.

"I'm not paying you to be some armchair therapist. I'm paying you for the tattoo." You replied.

"Okay." Erik shrugged. "But, I do have to say..."

You gave him a glare as he continued, but as usual, he couldn't stop his mouth from crossing the boundaries that had been set.

"Any asshole that would fumble a hot girl like you is a total idiot. And if you're crying over him, he doesn't deserve it."

"Then what do you recommend, Doctor-?" It became apparent to you then that you didn't know the name of the hot tattoo artist that was currently inking you.

"Doctor Campbell." He winked, playing along with your bit. "But you can call me Erik."

You rolled your eyes at him. "I'm Y/N."

He wanted to make a comment about how he thought even your name was hot, but he didn't want to push it.

"And for the record, I would recommend - instead of wallowing in self pity, getting revenge." He told you, very determined.

"Revenge?" You questioned, raising a brow at him.

"Yeah." He replied, giving you a smirk. "If he's gonna fuck some 'fried blonde cocktail waitress', then you should fuck someone else as revenge. Maybe... a hot tattoo artist with a pierced dick?"

He didn't miss the way your eyes flickered down to the zipper of his jeans, clearly curious about his words.

"You're an asshole." You huffed quietly.

But still, after he had wrapped your new tattoo - which you loved, by the way - he ended up locking the front door and dropping the curtains so that he could show you that piercing. And you ended up riding his cock in the piercing chair.

Then, he escorted you back to your apartment so that he could help you throw all your boyfriends things into garbage bags - some of which you picked out to burn in his family's fire pit - and by the time your boyfriend returned, you had changed the locks, and all his things were in garbage bags in the hallway. And you were too busy showing Erik the fresh sheets you had put on the bed to even bother answering his screaming and banging on the door.

And that was just how the two of you met.

Your relationship from there was... everything. (And definitely a lot better than the relationship you had with your ex.)

After it healed, Erik quickly became obsessed with the flaming skull and how it looked on you. He took any opportunity possible to kiss it, rub his hands on it, even when you were wearing a shirt that covered it (which was a lot of the time), his hand would always migrate to sit right there on your ribs, possessive of the place where he had marked you right when the two of you had first met.

You knew one of the easiest ways to drive him insane was to wear a short crop top that revealed the tattoo to the world, showing off one of his greatest works. And whenever people asked about the amazing body art, you could easily point him and tell them 'my boyfriend did it'. It was a quick way to get creeps off your back if they were hitting on you, or just a way to brag about having him in your life. And whenever you said this, he was quick to throw an arm around your neck and take credit for the work with a smirk at whoever had been leering at your body.

It wasn't long into the relationship that the two of you got matching tattoos.

You both knew about the regret rate of couple tattoos and you knew it would be stupid to get each other's names or something like that - though often, if you annoyed him, Erik threatened to get his tattoo gun and etch his name into your skin so that you 'couldn't run away'. (He had no clue how much this turned you on, and how often you wanted to pull your pants down in the middle of the shop and let him paint his name across your asscheek, even if you might regret it later.)

But when you both knew that you wanted matching tattoos, you settled on something cheesy and simple - two halves of a broken heart, positioned above your thumbs so that it came together as one when you held hands. He did yours, and then strangely, even with no experience, he trusted you to do his - he guided you the whole way through it, and said that your 'delicate, steady hands' from hours of colouring hair would make you a natural.

(The edges turned out a bit wonky, the ink bleeding just a bit more than it should have, but he claimed that he loved it nonetheless.)

It wasn't long after that night that Erik finally let you talk him into colouring his hair. Previously, he was convinced that he might look dumb with brightly coloured hair, especially because he definitely wasn't going to let you die his beard, and he didn't want it to be mismatched.

But you picked a few tasteful streaks in the front, and after he spent some time enjoying your boobs dangling in front of his face because of how close you got during the process, he came out of the ordeal with some new bright red hair that looked absolutely badass on him. And he quickly became addicted to cycling through colours, trying them out to see how each would look on him.

Of course, this meant that the two of you ended up matching a few times. The first was when you were mixing up a batch of teal for yourself and claimed that you were simply using the leftovers on him. And though he said that he thought it was dorky - the picture of the two of you with your matching hair was one of his favourites, it remained as his phone lockscreen to this day.

Strangely, Erik's family didn't like you when they met you. At least not at first.

Even though they know and love Erik, they judged you when they met you based on your appearance. They had known Erik forever, and had more than enough of a chance to get to know him past his tattoos and piercings and his general grudgey attitude. They still knew him as the ten year old kid who wore a Ninja Turtles backpack to school.

But when they saw you - (sadly) they immediately thought you were mean. And due to your nerves about meeting his family, you were quiet, standing off to the side, crossing your arms - and they took this to believe that you were snobbish and bitchy, which truly didn't help with the first impression.

Bobby was the first one to come around to you. On the night that Erik had first brought you over to meet everyone, it wasn't going so well, and Erik suggested that you and his siblings hang out at the mall for a bit because his parents kept giving you odd glares and not-so-subtly whispering about you to each other.

He thought that you would better relate to his brother and sister. After an awkward walk through Sephora with sister where she talked about 'glowing skin' and compared shades of pink that you thought were the same and your jaw nearly dropped at the price of a single black eyeliner - while Bobby chewed him out over dating someone 'so cold and stuck-up', the three of you decided to go to the food court. The three siblings were the first to get their food and sit down, and Julia made a joke about how you had ditched them, right before you seemingly came out of no where and nearly tackled Bobby, smacking the corndog out of his hand.

It left an epic mess of mustard over the front of his shirt, and all Bobby, Julia, and Erik looked at you with intense confusion, questioning your sanity before you blurted out:

"Those are fried in peanut oil."

"No they're not!" Bobby quickly argued. "I've eaten stuff from there a dozen times! I think I would know-!"

You grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the kiosk, pointing to a small, barely visible sign that said 'Alert - Allergen Risk'. Apparently the brand had been bought out by a new parent company and switched all their products to being fried in peanut oil. When Erik relayed the story to their father, he went on a rant about how he should sue the company for not having a more visible alert of the allergen, and Bobby praised you as a hero.

He was the one to invite you to the next family dinner, and everyone started coming around to you after that.

Overall, Erik was a sweet, thoughtful boyfriend, even if he didn't always voice it and showed it through is actions instead. He loves you a lot, loves the way that the two of you are alike, and loves how you challenge him with your differences.

...

(Okay, I might have gotten carried away and lost the plot a bit, but I had so much fun with this. I need to write more about Erik so badly. If you enjoyed this, please check out the rest of my Horror Characters Masterlist - there is definitely gonna be more Erik Campbell on it soon. And feel free to request other horror characters that I might put on it too.)

[kaznejis]

Make it Fun, don't trust anyone- Erik Lehnsherr x Reader

“I can feel it.” He spoke, refusing to meet your eyes as he visibly failed to prevent his thoughts from spilling, “I could sense the metal as soon as we left the building; I could sense your necklace, the rims of your sunglasses, the iron in your blood, and that ring.”  His words turned to venom at the procurement of the final item, you watched as he grit his teeth; smoothing a hand over his head as his jaw clenched. Anger bloomed at the pits of your stomach in response, anger at his audacity to attempt to stake such ownership over you, “You were gone, Erik.” You spat, turning to him, anger blazing in your eyes; as reflected by the shock upon his face, “What? Did you expect me to wait around like a child? Wait for you to come back on the slim chance that it would happen?”

A/N: Hello! If anyone sees this, I hope you enjoy! If not, this is entirely self sufficing and I thoroughly enjoyed writing it. Just to note, sorry if the scenes taken from the movie seem a little..rushed? If there's one thing I do not enjoy it's working out how to incorporate existing scenes into canon compliant fanfiction. The struggle.

Word Count: 6,692 / Read it on AO3!

If you'd like to see more from me about Erik- please feel free to send in any requests! :)

The Cuban sunlight had acted as the perfect antithesis to your situation; the gaping hole that had formed and taken a residual spot within your ribcage as you knelt beside Charles, screaming and crying at the lack of feeling in his legs. 

But your eyes had not been upon him. 

You had stared up at Erik, stomach collapsing at his stoic gaze; only remnants of his grief were prevalent to yourself, the person that had known him most in the world. That wretched helmet had sat upon his head, his eyes empty with the melancholy of his own steadfast determination. 

“Join me.” He had whispered, his lower lip trembling as his eyes finally landed upon you; the first time since you had boarded the plane to Cuba. He had reached out then, his palm splayed towards you; hope swimming in his eyes as he beckoned you forward. 

You had simply shaken your head, lips tight and breaths heaving as you held his gaze. You watched as his heart broke, as his eyes glistened and bloodied hands trembled. You watched as he nodded and as he turned away from you. Turned away from the love that you had shared, choosing his own foolish endeavours of revenge over you. Allowing grief to swallow you, you had ducked your head; unable to watch as he walked away, unable to face Charles, writhing in the pain of your lovers’ actions. 

That had been it- you had returned to the school. Welcoming and accepting prospective students; working as an administrator and overseeing the school’s board. It had been good, amazing- supplying a necessary distraction to the heartbreak you had endured and a chance to improve your powers, learn from the experiences of others. There, in your reluctant state of happiness, you had met Adam. 

Adam, the school’s mutant psychology teacher; specialising in mind-based and largely telekinetic powers. Your curiosity regarding Erik’s powers had led you to him, sitting beside his desk; asking question after question. Questions soon turned into conversations and you soon found yourself being courted. All the traditional romances that had never crossed your mind when with Erik had become your reality; constant flowers, gifts, candle-lit dinners as your heels caressed his leg beneath the table. 

Your family had loved him, adored him. They had never met Erik, for obvious reasons, and whilst they were more supportive of your mutant gene than the average family; they had hoped that you would still be able to live the average life. Meaning, that you would acquire the average husband. Your family had practically demanded that you married him despite only being a year into the relationship, the pointed remarks about you being ‘unwedded at such an age’ a constant force at each gathering. 

So, you had. You had adorned the white dress, the large diamond ring, and Charles had granted his blessings by allowing you to host the wedding on the school’s grounds. Everyone and anyone that could have possibly been there had been in attendance, a day simply to forget about the wrongdoings of the past, the present and the future. 

On paper, everything was perfect. 

“Do you ever think about him?” Charles had asked, the night before your wedding, the two of you nursing a glass of scotch each within his office. 

You had exhaled through your nose, a lodge forming at the base of your throat, “No.” Despite the pronunciation of such a small, singular word; your voice had croaked, your chest trembling pathetically. 

Charles had simply nodded, his eyes flickering; his powers catching your obvious lie. “He’s in prison now, you know?” 

You nodded, humming affirmatively, your gut twisting at the reminder. 

“Are you sure you want to go through with tomorrow?” 

“I do.” You smirked, a failed attempt at humour as Charles had only looked back at you with sympathy, “I can’t sit here and say that Erik is never on my mind but… this is for the best.” 

Charles had only nodded, his face twisting as hair fell before his eyes, “He will never bother us again, I will make sure of that.” 

Whilst you had thanked him, smile wide and eyes crinkling as you both raised a glass; you couldn’t ignore the way your stomach had swooped in disappointment. The way your chest had heaved with unbridled pain, simply at the thought of never seeing Erik again. You would wrestle with it for the years to come- the guilt of constantly thinking of another man as you lay beside your husband. 

Your love with Erik had, to simply put it, been enigmatic; fuelled by passion- both by the mission at hand and the way you felt for each other. There had been awful, screaming fights on the worst days and entangled limbs with scratches lining his spine on the best. You had loved him with every ounce of your being, cared for him, yearned for him when he wasn’t there. Whilst you had endured the worst pains of your life with him, you had also been at your happiest. 

It had been toxic, ferocious, you had never known what would come next. 

You missed it every day. 

You passed the feeling off as pure delusion, your mutant gene playing cruel tricks on your mind as the years passed; as you grew bored. Bored of the same mundane life every day, bored of the simple forehead kisses, bored of that house. You and Adam remained within the dark confines of the manor instead of finding a place of your own following the fallout of the war in Vietnam; acting as support for Charles, who had steadfastly begun to dwindle in both his morality and his health. You had used this as an excuse every time Adam had attempted to introduce the necessary conversation of moving on, settling down. Children. You had deflected his attempts every time, claiming that you needed to be there for Charles, that you weren’t ready, that it wasn’t the right time. 

You knew for a fact that the reality lay within your inability to let Erik go, your inability to potentially miss the opportunity to catch a taste of his mere presence again. As the breadth of time since he left and the distance with Adam widened, you thought of Erik more and more. His serrating blue eyes and wicked charm haunted every moment, both awake and unconscious. You yearned for him, worried for him, hated him. You hated him for giving you up so easily, your lack of support in that specific moment signifying the end of everything, defining the status of the rest of your life. Sometimes, during the darkest of nights, the ones where you felt so alone, the nights where the wind howled and the trees drew vines and branches upon the walls- you imagined what it would have been like to join him, to have clasped his hand against yours and allowed him to lead you into the darkness.

Secretly, you knew that following Magneto would have led to your early demise, sometimes you pondered on whether that could have been a better end to your time together than your reality. 

But then, as Spring turned into Summer; as the grounds of the manour flourished in their unkempt state and the sun cast illuminations through the large windows- Logan arrived at your doorstep. A mission from the future, unbelievable if not for the pure conviction in his eyes. Unbelievable if not for the grief that haunted his strong features. 

You had been completely unprepared when Logan had stood from the chair you had offered him, yourself having been perched on the edge of Charles’ crumpled couch; your legs crossed and hands clasped with worry as he had detailed the horrors he had experienced, the horrors that he was there to prevent. He had paced the length of the table, surveying each resident of the room; you hadn’t missed the way his eyes had flickered between you and Adam; his forehead scrunching before his brows raised in amusement. 

“Ah…he warned me about this.” He grinned, flicking a finger between the two of you and scratching at the base of his head. “Kinda weird to see actually.” 

“Sorry?” You smiled politely, head swarmed with confusion, you looked over at Adam only to see he bore a similar expression, “He?” 

“We need to find Magneto,” Logan spoke determinedly, his gaze fierce, his voice taking a tone of finality. He was serious, conviction overtaking the air as the gravity of the situation dawned upon each resident.  

You knew that he was right. 

In that moment, you had been able to do nothing but stand and promptly leave the room; abandon the sound of Charles’ manic laughter that followed Logan’s words, Hank’s doubt that tended to suffocate a room. But most notably, you were abandoning your so-called husband’s silence.  

Somehow, you found yourself curled beneath your bed covers, arms crossed over your knees like a small child; your form shrunken in your fear and heartbreak and doubt, tremors racking your shoulders. As you attempted to steady your breathing, a knock sounded at your bedroom door. Expecting it to be Adam, you promptly rose from your position; scrubbing furiously at your swollen eyelids. 

But to your shock, Logan entered the room. 

“I’m sorry to barge in like this,” He held his hands out placantingly, slowly approaching you as if you were a timid animal, “I know you don’t know me, but I know you, Y/N, very well and… I wanted to check you were okay.” 

You nodded, crossing your arms and biting your lip as you mulled over the words he had spoken since his arrival, “It’s okay… I just- haven’t heard his name outside of my own head in a while.” 

“Erik?” 

You smiled, your heart blooming at his real name, the name you had known him by, “Yes… I’m assuming you know about us; I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve witnessed one of our messes for yourself,” He had smiled at that, his teeth glinting as he chuffed in amusement, though you could only stare at Logan, building the courage to ask what you desperately wanted to know, “When, you know, you were sent here… was Erik there?” 

“Yes.” Logan nodded. 

“Was I?” 

Logan nodded once again, though opted to do so silently this time. 

“What did he tell you about us?” 

Logan laughed properly then, a smile finally breaking across his face, “He told me not to meddle, that your situation is especially… sensitive, at this point.” He scratched a hand across his chin, his expression filled with nothing but pure mirth as he spoke, “Which I can see, seeing as though he’s locked one hundred feet underground and you’re married.” He finished that with a pointed look at your ring finger. 

You nodded, that you found yourself unable to match his amusement, unsure of exactly what it was he found funny, “I haven’t seen him in almost ten years.” You shrugged, “When I try to think about it, I don’t even know what he looks like anymore.” 

“But you still think about him?” 

You sighed, lowering your gaze to pick at the loose threads upon your old bed sheets; you had always been reluctant to get rid of them, the memories that they held with Erik remained too precious. Slowly and timidly, you spoke, “Every day.” 

Logan could only nod, an exhale sounding from his nose, “Well, if I can trust anything from my time knowing you; it’s your ability to give that man hell.” 

So, the following day; with an overly-energised, overly-excited teenage mutant in tow; Hank, Charles, and Logan had embarked en route for the Pentagon.

“Stay safe.” Adam had spoken as he leaned against the entrance to the house, having opted to stay behind; claiming that the house needed to be watched despite Logan being the first visitor in years. You had simply smiled at him, waving goodbye before turning towards the car; you didn’t miss the way the door had immediately slammed, Adam having chosen to waste no time in ensuring your safe departure. He had been quiet since Logan’s arrival, especially since the mention of Erik’s name and your obvious upset in response. 

You feared that despite his promise to protect the house, he would not be there upon your return. 

“I can’t believe you even married that guy.” Logan had mumbled, chuckling to himself and shaking his head as he slid into the car’s driver's seat; you could only manage a meager glare- your doubt regarding Adam had been clear even to yourself. 

Whilst the others performed the monumental task of attempting to free Erik; you had been tasked with organising the transport from the Pentagon and away, far away. You knew that Charles had orchestrated this purposefully, giving you the chance to see Erik as little as possible if necessary. You had accepted without a fight, you feared that if faced with Erik in a dire situation; you would act impulsively, irrationally. You feared that if faced with Erik, you would be able to do nothing but throw yourself into his arms. 

“Not appropriate.” You had mumbled to yourself at the thought, tapping a hand against the car’s wheel; dark aviators high upon your nose as you awaited. Your other hand hung from the drivers-side window, a dwindling cigarette balancing lazily between your fingers; it had been a nasty habit you had picked up in your adulthood, largely to Adam’s chagrin who had banned you from doing so indoors. You began to recognise that the stress of marriage had aged you significantly; the existence of service had overtaken your life in a way you hadn’t predicted. 

Just as you had begun to dwell upon your own disappointing life decisions; a loud bustle of noise exploded from the doors exiting the building’s kitchen; you only had a second to rescue your cigarette and balance it between your teeth before the group rushed to the car. Peter immediately sped ahead and claimed the passenger seat, grinning at you cheekily as he slid beside you; though this was quickly diminished when Logan slammed the car door back open, promptly gathering the teenager by the lapels of his jacket and ejecting him from the seat. You could only guffaw as he promptly plucked the cigarette from between your teeth, taking a hasty drag as the rest of the group piled into the back. 

You refused to glance at the rear mirror.

“Seriously Y/N?” Charles huffed exasperatedly from what you could assume was the seat directly behind you, the rustling of his jacket prevalent as he attempted to get comfortable in the tight squeeze of seats, “This may be a getaway car but it doesn’t mean you can abuse it to your will with your smoking.” 

You gritted your teeth, slamming your foot upon the pedal and pulling out onto the road; en route to the airport. Erik’s presence behind you plagued your mind, causing your fingers to tighten upon the wheel and your toes to curl within your shoes, every hair upon your neck stood ramrock straight as you waited, yearning for him to acknowledge you. 

This was what you had dreamed of, every night for years, and now you couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him. 

A gleam caught your eyes as you drove, suddenly all too aware of your left hand rested on the steering wheel. Your wedding ring still adorned upon your finger, glistening obnoxiously in the afternoon sun. Risking a glance, you rose your eyes to the rearview mirror- only to immediately flick your eyes back to the road before you. 

There, in the middle seat, sat Erik- his cheeks sunken, hollow; the effects of years in confinement were prevalent in his every feature. His skin was pale, almost ghastly; his haircut was shaggy, uncaring. But what shocked you the most, what made you pull your eyes away from the man you loved so suddenly- was the way his eyes, those hauntingly blue eyes, stared straight at you, straight at the ring upon your finger. You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from squeaking in response, the taste of blood plaguing your mouth as you willed yourself to focus on the road, focus on the mission at hand. 

You knew that Logan had witnessed every moment of that encounter, his dark eyes sunk into the side of your face as you determinedly stared forward, refusing to acknowledge any of the people around you. Alongside the stench of smoke, the air in the car was thick with tension- the aura of unspoken words choking every passenger. Even Peter, the usual chatterbox and the one who had spoken your ears off the entire way to the Pentagon had opted to stay silent; instead staring out of the window, his lips twisted in his own display of tension. 

As you drove in silence, you became all too aware of Erik’s presence; you found yourself pinpointing his specific breaths, the crinkle of his prisoner-assigned uniform, the shuffle of his legs against the side of your seat, the nervous tap of his finger against his knuckles. 

It was a miracle you managed to reach the airport. 

Upon saying goodbye to Peter, you determinedly pushed past the front-row seats of the private jet, opting to sit at the very rear of the plane alongside Logan, of which had simply raised an eyebrow and sighed as you lowered yourself before him, “You two are more pathetic than I expected.” He exhibited an air of nonchalance as he lit his cigar, despite the plane now very much being in the sky, and propped open a newspaper upon his lap- though it was prevalent that he found delight in watching the entire situation unfold. 

You raised your eyebrows, shrugging your shoulders stubbornly and sliding back against the base of the chair, “There’s no ‘us two’,” To which you complimented with the use of air quotes, “I am married, Logan.” 

Logan could only laugh at that, shaking his head, a habit he seemed to have picked up in his exasperation at what was unfolding before him, “You do realise I’m from the future right?” 

Scowling, you crossed your arms and opted to sulk at the back of the plane; still determinedly refusing to look Erik’s way- who was now engaging in a heated argument with Charles.

“Do I at least age well?” 

“Of course,” Logan smirked, holding his cigar up in a toast; though he was quickly interrupted by the creaking of metal as the foundations of the plane shook; Erik. Logan jumped forward and immediately threw the two of you to the ground- acting as a human shield as the plane began to tip sideways; Erik’s passion overtaking all rational thought as plates and glassware shattered beside you. 

“You abandoned us all.” He spoke with finality, Charles lay splayed across multiple seats, his hair a tangled mess as he gaped at Erik. You could only pull yourself back into your seat as Charles left for the cockpit, both you and Logan gasping at each other as you attempted to regain your stolen breath.

“So,” Logan grunted, fetching a new cigar and lighting it, “You were always an asshole then.” 

You could only scoff as Erik turned, facing you for the first time since boarding the plane; you noted the way his eyes landed upon anything, anywhere but you. 

“I bet we’re best buds in the future,” Erik smirked sardonically, his voice rough with the sudden severity of his outburst. 

Logan hummed, puffing on his cigar before offering you a puff, to which you politely declined, “Not like me and your old friend Y/N here are.” 

At the mention of your name, his hands spasmed at his sides; his fingers convulsing in a bodily reaction at the mere recognition of your existence. You would have felt excitement, love; if it weren’t for the way his eyes told a different story- cold and piercing as they landed upon you, his cheekbones twitching as he allowed himself a second of eye contact before he abruptly turned, returning to his seat across the plane. 

“Jesus,” Logan mumbled to himself, reclining in his seat and widening his eyes at you; you could only nod. Jesus.

With Erik and Charles opting to keep to themselves, the rest of the journey went swimmingly- immediately upon landing you wasted no time in departing from the suffocating air of the cabin; luxuriating in the deep breaths of fresh, evening air that greeted you. 

“We need to find somewhere to rest.” Charles spoke from behind you, “The drive to the next spot is too long and we’re all exhausted.” He glared pointedly at Erik then, who simply sighed; as you allowed yourself a glance at him, it was prevalent that he too was plagued by fatigue. His cheeks were more sunken than before, his eyes drooping as he visibly struggled to hold himself up. You yearned to reach out, place a hand on his spine and simply hold him, aid him as he wrestled with the weight of the world upon his back. But then, as his eyes turned towards yours, the weight of the wedding ring upon your finger prevailed once again; you could only turn away. 

Hank managed to find a group of last minute rooms at a nearby motel, though as he returned to the reception's waiting area, keys in hand, his nerves were ever-prevalent. “I only managed to get three rooms; two have two beds and another has one, I was thinking-” 

“I’m taking the solo room,” Logan ordered, snatching the key from Hank’s hand and sauntering down the hallway, though not without sending a wink over his shoulder at you. Bastard. 

“Oh-” Hank froze, the other keys dangling from his fingers- you could only watch as he winced, practically praying for you to forgive him with his eyes, “Charles, I doubt it would be safe for you to be with Erik, so I guess…” 

You could only sigh, electing every ounce of confidence you could embody before standing, cutting Hank off once again before retrieving a key from his hand, without turning you spoke, “Well, come on then, Erik.” 

You felt his presence behind you, each of you electing to say nothing as you unlocked the haggard wooden door; its hinges creaking as you pushed open the door. Before you stood two double beds, an only-just-comfortable distance between the two. Nodding to yourself, you entered the room, your fingers twirling the keys nervously as you surveyed the room; you felt the air thicken as the door slammed behind you- you felt like prey finally being cornered by the predator. 

Erik cleared his throat behind you, the sound thick and grating, “I’ll take the bed beside the door; would you like to use the bathroom first?” 

You turned towards him, shocked by his kindness; he could only stare back at you, his eyes heavy-lidded and exhaustion tinting his features. “I- Sure.” You could only croak, opting to briskly enter the bathroom; afraid of irrationality taking over your lovesick mind. Reaching behind the shower’s curtain, you turned on the water before stripping off your clothes, the sound of your ring clattering against the sink as you placed it down caused you to flinch, knowing that Erik would be all too aware of your every move from the other side of the door. 

You took your time in the shower, breathing in the warm steam and collecting yourself after the events of the day, collecting yourself in preparation for the events of the night that was to come. You could do this, even if it meant a sleepless night whilst Erik lay only feet away; whilst the object of all of your nightmares lay only feet away. It reminded you of a night, a night a long time ago; in a motel room just like the one you were in, his skin against yours; his breath hot against the base of your throat as he had slowly stripped you of your clothes, as he had kissed every inch of you. It reminded you of his pants as he pushed into you, his groans as he buried his sweat-coated forehead into the skin of your shoulder, biting and licking and sucking there as you became one. The way that he had moaned his love for you into the skin there, your responsive moans loud and uncaring as you had clawed at the skin of his back, gripped at the hair upon the base of his head- 

Stop; you shut off the hot water, stumbling from the shower as you panted, your cheeks and chest red with warmth as you desperately attempted to remove the memory from your mind. Gripping the porcelain of the sink, you eyed your pathetic reflection; willing, begging, yourself to let this go, let your silly daydreams go. This was reality, your reality. Getting through the night was the only necessity you needed to accomplish, then you could avoid Erik and promptly never see him again. 

You could go back to your husband, back to your life. 

Undeniably however, you couldn’t ignore the way Erik made you feel, the way his mere presence made you feel. Adam’s influence upon you paled entirely in comparison, your obligation to return to him simply one of duty, one to appease your family, one to live the ‘perfect’ life- be the perfect wife. But you craved more, you craved better; for years you had chased and yearned for the way Erik’s slightest touch had made you feel- the way that his love encompassed every molecule of your being; the way that he had branded you for life, rendered unable to ever feel the way you had felt with him again. Your thoughts of Erik made you all too aware of how long you had spent in the bathroom.

How long you had spent, very obviously, avoiding him. 

You emerged from the bathroom in nothing but the oversized shirt you had packed hastily to sleep in; swiping it from the bed due to the short notice you had received in regards to this trip. You felt bare, naked suddenly as you left the bathroom to Erik’s piercing gaze. He sat, fully clothed, lounging against the headrest; allowing a pen to swirl around his fingers, dancing from pointer to thumb as his wrist spun. Entrapped, you could only stand there and stare; stare at the beauty of his powers, at the beauty of him. 

“It feels good,” He spoke slowly, carefully, allowing the pen to drop onto the sheets beside him, “To use my powers again; to feel metal.” 

You nodded, smiling politely, unsure of exactly what to say in response. You opted to stay silent, allowing yourself to walk past him and into your own bed, the crinkle of the duvet loud in the silent room, loud within the silence that was swelling between you. 

“You aren’t wearing it,” Erik spoke suddenly, his voice slicing through the silence; to your shock. Once you recovered, you simply crooked an eyebrow at him, to which he spoke; swallowing his words audibly, “Your ring.” 

“Oh,” You shook your head, staring down at your empty finger, remembering that you had placed it on the sink, “I usually-” 

“I can feel it.” He spoke, refusing to meet your eyes as he failed to prevent his thoughts from spilling, “I could sense the metal as soon as we left the building; I could sense your necklace, the rims of your sunglasses, the iron in your blood, and that ring.” 

His words turned to venom at the procurement of the final item, you watched as he grit his teeth; smoothing a hand over his head as his jaw clenched. Anger bloomed at the pits of your stomach in response, anger at his audacity to attempt to stake such ownership over you, “You were gone, Erik.” You spat, turning to him, anger blazing in your eyes; as reflected by the shock upon his face, “What? Did you expect me to wait around like a child? Wait for you to come back on the slim chance that it would happen?” 

Slowly, at the pit of his lungs, he formed a laugh; his head shaking as his fingers trembled once again, “You think so lowly of me, Darling.” 

“You left me!” You were yelling now, rising from the tangled bed sheets as your chest heaved with anger, heaved with the heartbreak and sadness that had plagued you for the consequent years following his departure, “You left me.” 

“I gave you a choice, Y/N. You chose Charles, you were more than welcome to come with me.” 

You shook your head, scoffing, “Well… if I had gone with you; I would be dead by now.” Your tone held a sense of finality, as supported by your return to the bed as you promptly turned your back to him, curling up under the duvet and refusing to face his reaction to your words. His response followed in the slam of the bathroom door as he promptly left the room; leaving behind the stale air of your own regret. 

It felt like hours as you waited, wondered; hoped for him to come back. Hoped for the two of you to forget the words that had been said, to sleep comfortably in your separate beds and complete this mission as peacefully as possible; to go your separate ways and live your separate lives once again. 

In the depths of these daunting thoughts, you fell asleep; the exhaustion of the day’s tensions taking hold as your eyes slipped closed. You woke, hours later, to the moon’s rays spanning throughout the room; a ghostly glow hanging in the air as you rubbed at your eyes, glancing to your side, Erik was fast asleep; his sharp edges and soft hair illuminated in the scant light- you allowed yourself a moment, just that moment, to take him in. Drink in the features you hadn’t faced in almost a decade, the features you longed to reach out towards; to trail a finger down his jaw or scratch a nail upon his hair. His hair was wavy, a slightly damp smell filtered throughout the room told you that he too had taken the opportunity to shower. 

The thought of his broad shoulders and lean back illuminated by the spray of hot water did nothing to help the swarm of doubt swirling within your gut. Shaking your head, you reached into the bag beside your bed; fetching the box of cigarettes stashed within one of the inner pockets. 

Then, barefoot and in just a shirt, you shouldered open the room’s door, balancing a cigarette upon your lip as you did so before promptly lighting it, traversing the motel’s corridors silently before reaching the fire escape. Hoisting yourself upwards, you climbed up the ladders before finally reaching the building’s roof. The night was clear, quiet; the only sounds emerging from the distant highway and subsequent traffic- you listened out for any signs of disruption as you lowered yourself to the roof, allowing your legs to dangle from the side of the building. 

The silence of the night and the goosebumps prickling at your bare arms allowed the tears to emerge; it allowed them to pour down your cheeks, for snot to bubble at your nose and for your lips to tremble with unkempt sobs. You allowed for your hurt to take hold, for your hurt at Erik’s words and actions and simple presence to take hold. But then you allowed your hurt towards yourself to unfold; for allowing yourself to end up here, in this situation- living this life that you had manufactured for yourself. 

You couldn’t go back to that motel room, but most notably you couldn’t go back home. You couldn’t bear it anymore; the stresses of being within that barron manor were becoming too much to bear. If you couldn’t be with Erik, then you would rather be alone; somewhere far away, far away from here. You stewed upon this thought for a long time, as you lit your second, third and fourth cigarettes; it prevailed. 

Just as your fourth cigarette began to dwindle, the slam of a door sounded below you before hasty, alert footsteps lined the hallway. You rose, walking back towards the highest entrance of the fire exit before looking down; listening as the hurried steps continued, haggard breaths accompanying it. Opting to investigate, you lowered yourself onto the platform below before descending the stairs; entering the residential hallway of the hotel. There, at the end of the corridor stood Erik, the obvious source of the worried footsteps as his chest heaved; he was turning in place, visibly searching for something as he rushed down the hallway. 

“What-” You mumbled, slowly walking towards him as he had not yet spotted you. Finally, you decided to catch his attention; concerned as to whether there was some form of danger, “Erik?” You called, a hand shielding your eyes as you peered down the dark hallway. You watched as he froze at the sound of your words, his head snapping towards you as he drank in your presence, your appearance. 

“What the fuck-” He breathed, immediately shaking off his shock and advancing towards you, practically running as he reached you. Entirely unannounced, he swept you up into his arms; shaking as he lowered his head to your shoulder, practically breathing you in as he tightened his hold by the second. 

“Erik, what-” 

“What is your problem?” He pulled back almost as soon as it had begun, his breathing staggered as a blush covered his cheeks; he wore only the black tank top and sweatpants he had been asleep in, his hair a mess upon his head; as if he had just jumped from his bed, “I woke up and- and you were gone, your bed sheets were practically stale with how long you’ve been gone I-” 

“I’m fine.” You assured, catching his hands between your own as an attempt to calm him down; the worry he had been feeling now prevalent within the staggering of his chest and the blush at his cheeks, “I just went to have a smoke I- let’s get you back to the room.”

He nodded, his glassy eyes immediately beginning to droop as he allowed you to use your grasp on his hand to pull him down the hallway. Upon depositing him into his own bed, as you left to enter your own, a tight grip latched upon your wrist; you turned, only to be met with those blue eyes swarming with desperation, “Stay?”

You sighed, nodding reluctantly before crawling in beside him; allowing him to drape an arm over your waist, allowing him to rest his head upon yours. Before your departure, before the decision would be set; you could allow yourself this one thing, this one night of unplagued sleep as his comfort would ward away the nightmares that tended to tinge your nights. 

But, before you could fall asleep; Erik’s voice rumbled above you, “I’m sorry, Y/N.” 

You could only shrug, pressing your nose to his chest as you listened to his heartbeat, “Me too, Erik.” 

He moved backwards then, settling so that his face lay directly before yours; the tip of his nose rubbing against yours with each second breath. It seemed that he could only muster a whisper as he continued to speak, “You have nothing to be sorry for.” His eyes grew wet as he spoke, his head shaking slightly as he smiled sadly. 

“Erik.” You whispered, your voice soft with contempt as you raised a hand to his cheek; brushing away the tears that had begun to fall there. Feeling him swallow against your wrist, you could only watch as his eyes flickered downwards, just as your tongue darted out to wet your bottom lip. Before you could register, he had moved; his lips pressed to yours as your cheeks grew wet with his steadily falling tears. Your mind allowed nothing else but to kiss back, to shift your leg upwards and to caress his cheek with your thumb. He kissed you earnestly, slowly; as if approaching a terrified fawn, testing the waters as to what you would allow him. You could practically taste the desperation perspiring his tongue, as you assumed he could yours. You would take anything, trade any parts of your wretched souls if it meant that you could feel this forever; feel the warmth of his tongue sliding against yours for every waking moment that remained. 

Erik pulled back then, only to lower himself; his mouth hot and needy against your throat, his hands trailing patterns against the skin of your stomach; becoming exposed as your shirt had rode upwards. His ministrations rendered you only able to lay there and pant; to bask in the feeling of being needed, wanted. Truly, ferociously. 

As he began to paint a trail of kisses down your stomach, something changed; something shifted in his demeanour. His hands, beginning to pull your thighs upward, were shaking and whilst his lips were forming kisses, they were forming words too. As you raised yourself to rest against your elbows, you finally heard the words forming within his mouth, “Please don’t go back to him.” He was whispering, pairing the almost unspoken words with a gentle kiss to the nearest area of skin; he was crying again, his eyes glistening with fresh, unshed tears as he burrowed his face into your skin. It seemed as if he was afraid to let you go, practically burrowing himself into your being, with the hopes that you would stay. 

“Erik, Erik wait-” You spoke urgently, lowering your hand to his chin before pushing him away; he stared up at you through his glassy eyes; his hair ruffled and cheeks rosy. Confusion graced his features at first, though he soon registered the concern in your eyes and realisation visibly dawned upon him. 

He removed himself from you then, moving to sit at the end of the bed; the duvet splayed around his waist as he sat with his legs crossed. He seemed to take a moment to compose himself, wiping at his mouth and running a finger over his teary eyes, “I’m sorry Y/N, I- it’s not my place to tell you what to do.” 

Instantly, you crawled towards him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and settling yourself into the space between his legs; you felt his cheeks crinkle as you pressed kiss after kiss to his face, but you could still sense his confusion, his doubt. “I knew I would be leaving him the moment Logan mentioned your name, whether you were coming with me or not.” You stroked his hair as you spoke, caressing your fingers through the thin tendrils of oaky brown hair that adorned your lover's head. Erik grinned then; his teeth shining as he practically mooned up at you, he kissed you again then; pulling you in and deeper into his lap. 

Before you could push him onto his back, before you could lower yourself upon him and mobilise the groans that would fall from his mouth; he abruptly straightened up, untwining his hand from beneath your shirt and raising it in the air- your wedding ring flew towards the two of you, hanging in the air before Erik made a flicking motion with his fingers; you could only gape as the ring flew through the open window and into the darkness of the night. 

“Erik!” You squealed, hitting at his chest as he laughed loudly, unabashedly. Despite being secretly pleased, you couldn’t allow him to know that. “That was expensive!” 

“I can find you better,” Erik grumbled against your chest, burrowing his head into your shirt and inhaling unashamedly, “That one wasn’t you anyway, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw that ghastly thing on your finger.” 

The only response you could have mustered in that moment was to shove him back against the bed; silencing him with the warmth of your own mouth.

[lucydixon]

Sweet on you

GIF by @jst2guyz

Summary: You and Erik are friends who seem, to everyone around you, including the Campbell family, to have a deeper relationship than either of you is willing to admit. When you express wanting your nipples pierced one afternoon, Erik jumps at the chance to offer his services.

Warning: NSFW, Needles, Piercing, Hand Stuff, Unprotected P in V

You and Erik had been somewhere between friends and maybe more since high school. You didn’t kiss and weren’t sleeping together, not in that way at least. You’d spent plenty of nights sharing his bed, and you'd woken up in his arms too many times to count after a late night at the Campbell family home.

From the outside, the two of you looked like a couple. You teased one another relentlessly, exchanging flirty banter and hanging off of eachother constantly.

Even his family wasn’t sure where you stood.

Neither of you had ever had a serious relationship that had lasted all that far beyond the introduction to the other. Every partner either of you had ever had was unsettled by how close to eachother you were, and they always wound up asking you to choose. 

You’d never not chosen each other. 

There was tension, sure.

More times than either of you could count, you’d gotten a little bit too close, and found yourselves inches away from locking lips, or allowed your casual touching to venture beyond the line of friendship, your fingertips would brush over his stomach when he was walking around the house shirtless, his running over your exposed collarbones or the curve of your waist whenever he had access to either. 

But, anytime things got a little too real, the two of you laughed it off. 

“How bad did it hurt when you got your nipples pierced?” You asked Erik absently, chewing on the end of your pencil while you sketched in the margins of your notebook, legs draped over his lap while he played videogames on a Sunday afternoon. 

“Not as bad as it hurt to pierce my dick.” He scoffed without tearing his eyes away from the TV. 

“Think I could take it?” You asked, genuinely waiting to know what he thought. 

Nobody knew you better than he did.

“Probably,” He shrugged “There’s no way it’ll hurt worse than getting your ribs inked did. Why? You want me to pinch them so you can find out?” 

A lazy smirk crept across his face and you kicked him lightly. 

“No, I don’t want you to pinch them.” You rolled your eyes “Asshole.” 

“I just don’t know if I wanna deal with the healing time.” 

“That’s the worst part.” He bobbed his head thoughtfully. “I think you could handle it though, you’re tough.” 

“I think I’m gonna do it.” You muttered, nodding decisively to yourself after a moment. “Tomorrow.” 

“Tommorow?” He raised a brow, looking away from his game finally. 

“Before I chicken out.” You shrugged, “Is Janey working tomorrow?” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoah!” He exclaimed, tossing the controller aside to look at you like you’d lost your mind “You’ve got an expert piercer right here and you want Janey to do it?” 

“If you wanted to see my tits, you could’ve just asked.” You told him, biting back a smirk when his cheeks noticeably warmed.  

“C’mon, sweets” he groaned, trying to play it off “I could really use the scratch. You let me do it and that’s fifty bucks in my pocket.” 

You rolled your eyes at the nickname. He’d been calling you that for ages. Neither of you were sure when it had started or where it had come from, but you never asked him to stop so he never did. 

“Yeah, okay.” You conceded, holding your hands up in surrender. “Fine.” 

“Alright, sweets,” Erik started getting set up the following evening after he'd finished with all of his clients for the day, and waved you over to the piercing chair “strip.” 

“You could at least buy me dinner first” You gave him a light shove, shrugging off your coat while he chuckled under his breath. 

You pulled your shirt over your head and draped it over the back of the chair, then made yourself comfortable. You’d purposefully not worn a bra so that you didn’t have anything rubbing up against your fresh piercings. 

When Erik turned to face you, he wasn’t sure why your bare chest had caught him so off guard. 

He’d seen them in tanktops and sports bras, but to see your tits in all their glory without a stitch of fabric covering them was something else entirely. 

His eyes raked over the soft swell of your breasts and the little, pink buds adorning them. 

They were perfect and looked like they’d fit beautifully in the palm of his hands. 

He’d be lying if he said that he’d never thought about it. 

Erik felt his breath hitch in his throat, but covered it up with a cough, trying not to look like he was ogling you despite that very much being the case. 

The fact that you were just sitting there comfortably, making no attempt to hide them from him, even for a moment, made his dick twitch in his pants. 

He rolled his stool closer to the piercing chair so that it would hide the bulge slowly growing from your view, determined not to ruin this. 

He wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking when he offered to do it. 

Maybe he did just want to see your tits. 

“Do you want them vetical or horizontal?” He asked you, swallowing hard. 

“That’s a thing?” You asked, looking amused “People get verical nipple piercings?” 

“Some people.” Erik shrugged “I take that as a no on the vertical?” 

“Correct” 

“Okay, I’m gonna mark them out with a pen” He muttered, grabbing one off of his station before hesitating. “I’m gonna have to like, touch you.” 

“Oh, really?” You smirked softly “Here I was thinking you could pierce my nipples without touching me at all.” 

“Alright.” He rolled his eyes “Laugh it up sweets, I’m about to cop a feel, so you’d better savour it.” 

“Oh, I will.” You scoffed, but still, you shuddered when he reached out and touched you gently. 

The side of his hand rested on your breast, fingers carefully pinching the little pink bud while he placed a dot on either side, ducking down to make sure it was even. 

He was close enough that you could feel his breath fanning over your chest and you couldn’t deny the way it made you feel. 

He moved onto the other side, just as diligent and shockingly professional about the whole thing while you watched, breathing shakily. 

Your cocky, teasing stare was was long gone, replaced by a soft look and lightly parted lips. 

You wondered if he could feel your heart racing in your chest. 

Erik was far too busy fighting the urge to engulf your nipples with his mouth to notice anything. 

He was trying so, so hard to pretend that you were just any other customer. As if it would keep the nerves settling in his chest from getting any worse. 

He wasn’t sure that the two of you had ever been in such an intimate position. 

It shouldn’t have felt intimate. Not when he was just doing his job. 

But it was you. 

Even though he was talking you thorough the whole process, you still jolted when he came near you with the clamp. 

“Easy, sweets.” He warned, looking up at you teasingly as he clicked the clamps “don’t get all squirmy on me now. You’re gonna fuck it up.” 

“I’m not getting squirmy.” You defended, huffing softly “just do it.” 

“I’m trying!” He chuckled, slowly fastening the clamp so he could grab a clean needle. “Don’t look while the needle’s going through it.” 

“Yeah, okay.” You grumbled, looking up at the ceiling. 

“Do you want me to count?” Erik asked, lining the tip of the needle up with the marks he’d made. “Or just do it?” 

“Just do it-” Your sentence ended in a gasp when you felt the needle pierce the bundle of nerves 

“Fuck Erik!” You whimpered, fighting the urge to look “That fucking hurt!” 

“Of course it did, it’s a needle.” He rolled his eyes “Want me to kiss it better?” 

“Shut up.” You huffed, able to hear the smirk in his voice. 

He put the bar through it and started on the other one right away. 

You made the same gasping sound when the needle went in, but this time, you didn’t complain. 

“There.” He undid the clamp and sat back, admiring his work, acutely aware hat he probably wasn’t going to ever get to stare at your tits so blatantly ever again. So, he was taking full advantage. “Done.” 

You looked down and inspected the little metal bars through your nipples before beaming at him. 

“What do you think?” You asked, looking back down at them “Cute, right?” 

“Very.” Erik scoffed, biting back a remark about just how good they looked. 

He tossed his gloves into the bin under the table, and you immediately reached for your bag before even putting your top back on. 

“Nah, you don’t have to pay.” Erik waved you off and you faltered, staring at him. 

“I thought you needed the money?” You frowned, brows pulling together slightly. 

“I said it’s fine.” He insisted, very clearly avoiding eye contact.

“You fucker!” You gasped, “You did just want to see my tits!” 

He made a huffing sound and you knew that you were right. 

“Erik Campbell, you sly dog.” You teased, reaching out to grab his chin and force him to look at you “I told you yesterday. You could’ve just asked.” 

“Stop,” he groaned, trying the pull away. 

“No, way!” You exclaimed, tightening your grip and looking far too amused. “tell me the truth. Was this all some ploy to cop a feel?” 

You didn’t seem weirded out, which was throwing him off a bit. 

Did you want this as much as he did?

His breathing shifted, a little ragged as he considered the possibility. 

“What if it was?” His voice didn’t waver, his gaze suddenly sharp instead of embarrassed, darting down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. 

Now it was your cheeks heating up. 

You swallowed hard. 

“Then I’d tell you again,” you breathed, leaning forward slightly in your seat, “You don’t need a ploy, Campbell. Don’t need tricks or excuses. You could’ve just asked.” 

“And what?” He scoffed softly, resting his hand over your knee, fingers digging into the soft flesh. “You’d have flashed me?” 

“I’d have let you do a whole lot more than look.” 

“Yeah?” he couldn’t help the gleam of disbelief in his eyes, hiding behind the blatant hunger. 

“Mhmm.” You hummed, releasing his chin to let your hand trail down his neck and rest on his shoulder. 

“Well, how was I supposed to know that?” He muttered, breathing deeply as you kept getting closer and closer “You’ve been teasing me for years, sweets.”

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t tease me too, Campbell.” You nuzzled his cheek with your nose once you got close enough.

“I’m not the one walking around in short little skirts.” Erik’s fingers inched up your leg “You think I don’t notice when you rub up against me in the morning? The way you squirm whenever you’re sitting in my lap? That little smirk when you act like you can’t feel me getting hard?” 

“What about you, huh?” you all but purred, “I’m not the one who only sleeps in their underwear. Don’t think I can’t feel you rubbing right back in the mornings, Erik. You’re just as bad as I am. The way you hold my waist when we’re at concerts or on the train? That’s a little more than friendly, don’t you think?” 

“We’ve always been a little more than friendly, sweets.” he hummed, raking his nails over the skin just below the hem of your skirt “You know that as well as I do.” 

“What’s a little more then?” 

You yelped when Erik pulled you off the table and into his lap suddenly, grabbing onto his hair. 

You could feel his bulge pressed up against your scantily clad clit, arching your body into him slightly as a whimper slipped past your lips. 

“Watch the piercings.” he pulled back slightly to growl at you, hands resting on your ass, over your skirt. “That’s some of my best work right there.” 

“You watch them.” you huffed, tilting his head back with the grip you had on his hair. 

Your bottom lip was jutting out in a soft pout and he’d never wanted to kiss you so badly in his life. 

So he did. 

Your lips collided roughly, slotting together and immediately moving at a near frantic pace. 

Years of tension bubbled up to the surface and you were really struggling not to press your upper body flush against his. His hands kneaded the plump flesh of your backside roughly and you moaned into his mouth. You could feel your panties soaking right through and were sure that you were so wet that you’d soak through his jeans if he didn’t take them off very soon. 

Your hips rocked into his and he couldn’t help but groan. 

You swallowed the sound happily, hands trailing down his shoulders to tug at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours while you continued to grind yourself up against him, getting yourself more and more worked up.

Erik happily shrugged off his t-shirt, tossing it across the room before grabbing the bottom of your thighs and standing. 

You whined when he set you down, but the sound turned into a gasp when he spun you around and pulled you back into his lap. 

Your back pressed up against his bare chest as he hooked your legs over his knees and spread you wide open. 

You could feel the cool air against your soaked panties and let your head fall back on his shoulder, giving him great access to the side of your throat. 

His mouth was on you, hot and wet, sloppily pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck while you squirmed in his lap, making little needy, breathless sounds. 

“You know how long I’ve been wanting to touch you like this, sweets?” he muttered into your throat, hands running up and down the insides of your thighs, coming so close, yet still too far from your aching core. 

“How long?” you panted, about ready to let your own hand fall between your legs to get some relief. 

“Since the day I met you.” he growled, finally caressing the drenched fabric acting as the sole barrier to your burning heat. “God, you’re fucking soaked, aren’t you?” 

“Maybe I’ve been waiting for you to touch me like this for just as long.” You whined “please, Erik.” 

Your pleading almost had his cumming in his pants but he squeezed his eyes shut and goaned loudly into the back of your shoulder. 

Just as you were opening your mouth to start really begging, he suddenly pulled your panties to the side and ran his finger along your slit.

You jolted, hips bucking into his hand involuntarily as you hissed.

“This what you want, sweets?” he breathed, struggling to keep his composure. There was a slight vulnerability in his tone.

He needed you to say it. 

Needed you to tell him that this was okay and that it wouldn’t ruin things because he just couldn’t lose you and if stopping then and there was it took to make sure he didn’t, he would’ve done it in a heartbeat. 

“Yes,” You gasped, breathy and desperate, “Oh god, please. Yes, Erik, yes! I want this.” 

That was all he needed. 

The sound that tore its way out of your throat when his finger sunk into your drenched hole was other worldly and send a shudder up his spine. 

Your entire body melted into his, and he was sure that if he wasn’t already sitting down, his knees would have buckled. 

“Promise me I’m gonna see you tomorrow.” It was a demand, really, but he needed to hear it. 

“I promise.” You panted, crying out when he worked a second finger into you “Fuck- of course you will. You’ll see me tomorrow and every day after that.” 

“Think you can get rid of me, Campbell?” You rocked your hips into his hand, moaning lowly 

“you’re stuck with me, baby” you were practically fucking yourself on his fingers, only vaguely aware of the words coming out of your mouth in between desperate whines and mewls. “Always have been, always will be” 

A shaky breath fell from his lips and for a moment, he was glad that you couldn’t see him. 

“You’re mine, sweets.” he muttered into your ear, his breath fanned over the sensitive skin and you shuddered. Your movements slowed and your breath caught in your throat “Aren’t you?” 

“Course I am, Erik.” you breathed, leaning further into him, “now, are we gonna keep talking, or are you gonna take your pants off?” 

A soft growl left his throat and in an instant, you were being tossed back onto the chair while he stood abruptly, fumbling with his belt buckle. 

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his clear eagerness, but the laughter died in your throat when he finally got his pants down around his knees and pulled you to the edge of the chair, prying your legs open roughly so he could line himself up with your cunt. 

“Last chance to turn back,” He breathed, running the head of his cock through your folds. 

You could feel the cool metal of his piercing nudging your clit and throught you might come undone then and there. 

You forced yourself to look up at him instead of letting your eyes roll back inside your head. 

“Fuck that.” You panted, desperate to feel him inside of you. 

After one last deep, shaky breath, Erik teased your entrance with the head of his cock, easing it into you painfully slowly in long, but shallow thrusts. 

That piercing of his dragging along your walls was damn near eupphoric. 

He’d only made it to the halfway point, exercising an impressive amount of restraint despite the urge to slam into you, before you started gasping and groaning, already teetering over the edge. 

“You already gonna cum for me, sweets?” He cooed teasingly, albiet shakily “God, you’re so fucking hot. You’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?” 

All you could do was nod, screwing your eyes shut in complete bliss. 

“Fuck, that feels so fucking good.” He groaned, letting his head fall back while he quickened his shallow thrusts, timing them in between your little desperate pants. “So goddamn tight.” 

You were so wet hat lewd squelching sounds filled the air, background music to the symphony of sounds pouring out of your mouths. 

As soon as he felt your walls fluttering around him, Erik sunk into you until he bottommed out. 

You gasped, but didn’t have time to adjust before he was pounding your poor cunt, fucking you hard and fast through your orgasm. 

“Holy shit,” He panted, slamming himself home over and over while you convulsed around him, your cunt squeezing him so tightly that he couldn’t have stoped his own release even if he’d wanted to. 

You could feel the hot ropes of cum painting your insides and clenched around him, milking his balls of all you could while he sloppily thrust into you, slowing to a stop.

For the third time, he picked you up and sat himself on the piercing table, keeping himself buried deep inside your still pulsating cunt while you both caught your breath, still be careful with the fresh piercings. 

“Does this mean you’re gonna clean these piercings for me every day till they heal?” You sighed contently after awhile, brushing your fingers over his chest. 

“Gonna have to hang out with me extra if I’m gonna do it twice a day, every day.” he breathed, smiling softly, and blinking at you tiredly “You sure you can commit to that?” 

“I’m pretty sure I can live with that.” 

“Then yeah.”

Dividers made by @saradika-graphics

[simplyholl]

Frozen Stiff

Summary: Captured by the Frost Giants, your time on Jotunheim gets interesting.

Pairing: Jotun Loki x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18+ ONLY. Minors DNI. Loss of virginity. Size kink. Somnophilia.

See my Masterlist here

You really did it this time. Your father instructed everyone stay in their homes this night. Loki, king of the Frost Giants had warned your father, King Erik, king of the elves that he would be coming through Alfheim. If anyone was caught outside, they would be considered an enemy, and taken prisoner.

Your father’s royal decree had went in one ear and out the other. You were considered a trouble maker. Not because of anything you had done consciously. Trouble seemed to follow wherever you went. You were so unlike your sister, the future queen of Alfheim, and no one let you forget that.

She was tucked away safely in her chambers with the door locked. Here you were, hiding in the bushes outside the palace. You wanted to get a good look at the Frost Giants. You had never seen one in person, and you didn’t think the view from your chambers would do them any justice.

Loud footsteps echoed throughout the forest as they stomped through. The trees were shaking with each step they took, the force of their large bodies leaving holes in the ground where they walked. They were approaching quickly. You really should run back in the palace, but you were frozen. The first few Jotuns walk by and you’re stunned.

They are even bigger than you imagined. Then you see him, King Loki. He struts through and a wild thought comes to you. He’s beautiful. You had always been taught that the Frost Giants were ugly beasts that would take misbehaving children in the night. They seemed nice enough. King Loki had even given your father warning before passing through. He and the last three giants walk passed you and you count the seconds before you can run back inside.

Woof

You look beside you terrified. Your sister’s dog, Arnie, pants beside you, tail wagging.

Woof

He barks again. You grab him, trying your best to shush him. But it’s too late. He’s gained their attention. They turn back around, looking toward the bushes you are hiding in. You sink lower to the ground, trying to shove your body under the bush. You close your eyes, hoping if you can’t see them, they can’t see you.

But their footsteps shake the ground as they come closer. “What have we here?” One of them growls, picking you up with one hand. “We found a spy, your highness.”

“Bring him to me.” King Loki demands. You squeak as you are dropped from one huge hand into another. You shiver, the temperature of his skin is colder than you could have imagined. “Not a he, but a she.” He says amused, as he looks closely at you.

“What are you doing out here, little mouse? I warned your king that we would take anyone we found outside prisoner.” You swallow, trying to seem braver than you felt. “My father, King Erik, he did command the whole village to stay inside, your highness. I was simply curious and I wanted to see you for myself.”

Loki looks at you in the palm of his hand, amusement dancing on his features. “Your father, the king? So that makes you a princess? Are you the heir to the throne?” You shake your head. “No, your highness, that would be my sister.” You introduce yourself hoping it will get you out of this situation.

“A princess for a prisoner. What an interesting day it’s turning out to be.” He sneers. “No, wait!” You protest. He closes his hand around you, silencing you. When you arrive in Jotunheim, you are brought to a room with a giant bed, huge fluffy pillows, and a roaring fireplace. King Loki places you on the bed.

“This isn’t normally how I treat my prisoners, but you are still a princess. As long as you obey me, you may stay in this room and avoid the dungeon. You are free to walk around, and I will let everyone know that no harm is to come to you. Am I understood?”

“Yyyyesss” You stutter, you had been freezing the entire trip. You run to the fireplace, rubbing your hands together in an effort to get warm. Loki studies you, his red eyes lingering on your sheer nightgown. You really didn’t plan on getting captured when you went out, so you didn’t bother with putting on a proper dress.

You regret that decision now as his gaze lands on your breasts, heaving on your shaking form. He could see everything through the nightgown, and he was already looking, so you didn’t bother with attempting to cover yourself. “I’ll have someone make you proper clothing. In the meantime, there are extra blankets in the closet.” He walks out, leaving you with your thoughts.

Months had passed and you were settling into your new home. No one treated you like a prisoner, and you decided for once in your life to stay out of trouble. You had been given a job in the palace kitchen and you were making new friends. You were actually starting to like it here.

You giggle as your closest friend Marta, asks about your sex life. As a princess, you had to save yourself for whoever your father chose for you. You knew very little about the act itself. But Marta filled you in. She answered every question you had without judging you, and she even gave you some tips. The most shocking part was learning that a male might want to kiss you between your thighs. Marta told you there was nothing like it, so you couldn’t help fantasizing about it the rest of the day. When you laid your head down to rest, your tried to think of more questions for Marta.

The door to your room squeaked open. King Loki walked in, shutting it behind him. He gently removed the blankets from your sleeping form. You were wearing the nightgown from the first night you met him. He reaches out, his long finger grazing your nipple. The chill from his skin causing it to harden under his touch. You sigh from his attention, but don’t wake up. He carefully spreads your legs, laying down between them. His cold tongue meets your center, and you buck your hips toward him. He takes this as an invitation, long tongue lapping between your thighs.

You jump up, searching your room for him, but he’s not there. It was all a dream. You confide in Marta about it and she says it must be your conversation. It made its way into your subconscious. But you didn’t talk to Marta about it the next night when you had it or the next night. Weeks had passed and still, you had the same dream every night. It made it awkward for you when you had to serve King Loki his meals.

“King Loki has requested you serve his dessert in his chambers.” Marta told you, handing you the tray piled high with pastries, cakes, and fruit. You knock on his door, waiting for his instruction to enter. When he calls for you to come in, you bow to him. “My king, I’ve brought your dessert.” He’s propped up on his bed, gesturing for you to place it on a table by the window.

He’s so big, he nearly takes up all the room on the large bed. His muscled blue form has been the object of your fantasies for a while now. “Remove your dress, and get on the bed.” He demands. You drop the metal tray on the table. “Excuse me, your highness. I must have misheard you.”

He pats the bed, “You heard correctly, little mouse. I know you desire me. You dream of me every night. I’m only rewarding your good behavior.” You fight the urge to pinch yourself. You must be dreaming. “How did you know about that?” You manage to mumble. “I know all, little one. You can hide nothing from me.”

He beckons you with his thick finger. You do as he instructed, removing your dress and getting on the bed with him. He lifts you with one hand, hovering you above his face. “Wha- what are you doing?” You stammer. “I’m having my dessert.” He quips placing you on his mouth. His long, cold tongue covers your center. You shiver from the chill. His velvety muscle curls beneath your clit, flicking it.

He treats you like a porcelain doll, holding you as if you might break. He could easily crush you without trying. You really were like his own personal doll. He enters your untouched flesh with his tongue, rocking you back and forth on it. Your small hands wrap around his fingers, trying to ground yourself. He drinks you like it’s water, the icy muscle tipping you over the edge, making your toes curl.

He suddenly tosses you on your back, his bulky form trapping you beneath him. He settles between your thighs. They start aching as he spreads them as wide as he can. It’s still not wide enough to accommodate him. So he pushes your knees to your chest, his gigantic cock nudging your center.

The thought of ruining such a small, delicate woman driving him mad with lust. “I’ll split you in half, little mouse. You would like that wouldn’t you?” Your still dazed from your orgasm, so you only hum in response. “My sweet princess is cock drunk and she hasn’t had any cock yet.” You nod, reaching for him. “I am the first to touch you, correct?” Another hum to confirm.

You gasp when he dips a large finger inside you, curling it upwards. “I have to get you ready.” He explains. As he works his skilled finger inside you, you rock your hips, hungry for more. You whine as he removes his digit from you, but you’re not left wanting for long. He thrusts into you, and you scream. He stretches you, and you try to adjust to his size. You feel him bottom out and you wiggle to get more comfortable.

Tears fall down your cheeks, the stinging not subsiding. “My poor princess. I’m too much for her. It’s only the tip, my sweet girl.” He gently traces the outline of his cock bulging in your stomach. Loki presses on it. “I can see myself protruding out of your stomach, little one. Do you know how feral that makes me? Such a small creature struggling to take the head of my cock.”

He tilts his hips, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. Goosebumps line your arms when you feel his breath on your ear. “You’re doing so good for me, my little princess. You feel incredible. I’ll keep you forever, my little plaything.” You whimper at his words, a gush of arousal soaking him. He moans, looking at your fucked out expression. He wraps his enormous hand around your waist, thrusting you down on him, faster.

Loki roars as he releases inside you. He pulls out, spreading your now limp legs. “I want to see me dripping out of you.” He lowers his head, black tresses covering your stomach as his icy tongue laps at you once more. “What a delicious mess you made.” He coos.

Tags

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