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taniabrodbeam · 25 days ago

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first request (JohnAllerdyce xreader)

I've just finished my first request! (yees!!) for @caroa8!! It's really long but I was inspired ^^'. Also, I've started writing in english not long ago so I hope it will make sense ^^'

Still, I really hope you'll like it and that it’s what you were looking for! Enjoy!! <3

DRAWN TO YOU

Night had fallen over Xavier's Institute, and everything was calm. The mansion was cloaked in darkness; the students had long since retreated to their rooms. All except one.

In the library, curled up in one of the many armchairs, you were drawing. Your eyes were glued to your sketchbook, all your attention focused on the figure coming to life, line after line, on the page. For as long as you could remember, you had always drawn. Your parents used to proudly say to anyone who would listen that you were the next Picasso... Proudly... That was before they noticed you were... "different." Before the Institute.

You gave your head a slight shake, trying to chase away the wave of melancholy that threatened to wash over you, and refocused on your sketchbook. Anyway, the point is—drawing had always been your escape. When everything got too heavy and your mind felt like it was going to explode, this was your sanctuary. Here, alone in the calm, with only the crackling of the fireplace and the scratch of your pencil on paper to keep you company.

Except, you weren’t really alone—far from it. You’d actually fit in pretty quickly and got along with almost everyone, especially Kitty, Rogue, Bobby… and John.

John.

You couldn’t help the strange feeling you got whenever you thought of his name. Whenever you thought of him.

You remembered the first time you met. It was your first day at the Institute, your first class. Bobby had been kind, inviting you to sit with him and his group. Everyone had been really welcoming… except him. Off to the side, fiddling absently with a lighter, eyes locked on you like he was sizing you up from a distance. And when you’d tried to push past your nerves to greet him, he’d given you nothing but a nod and a little smirk.

God, that smirk.

Things had changed since then. Now, John talked to you just as much as the rest of the group—still his usual sarcastic, snarky self, always teasing you for your shyness. Some might’ve called it mean, but truth be told, he was the one you felt closest to. You couldn’t really explain why. Maybe it was because opposites attract, and his fiery personality helped pull you out of your shell. And honestly, it worked. You’d gotten used to it, learned how to fire back at his provocations, pile onto his terrible jokes, and play along when he flirted with you.

It was just a joke between friends… right?

But the more time passed, the less it felt like a joke to you. The way his eyes locked with yours, intense and unreadable. His smiles that lingered a little too long. The way he’d brush against your hand or shoulder "by accident" or lean in just a bit too close to whisper some dumb joke during class that always made you laugh.

Of course, you weren’t delusional—you knew it was just fun to him. He’d never see you as anything more than a friend.

Still… you couldn’t help but hope.

Click—click—swoosh!

A small metallic sound rang out like a gunshot in the stillness of the room, and you let out a startled gasp, jumping slightly. You snapped your sketchbook shut and looked up, eyes locking on the silhouette leaning against the wall across from you.

“Dammit, John!”

He didn’t even try to look sorry—just laughed.

“What? I wasn’t exactly trying to be sneaky. I called you a few times, not my fault you were so into… whatever that is,” he said, nodding toward your sketchbook.

You stared at him, heat rising to your cheeks at being caught so off guard.

“Lucky it’s me. Pretty sure Storm wouldn’t be thrilled to catch you still up at…” He glanced over your shoulder at the large clock on the wall. “…past 2 a.m.”

“It’s Professor Monroe, John…” you corrected automatically.

He shrugged with a dramatic eye-roll. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“What are you even doing here?” you asked.

“Right back at you, princess.”

Princess. The nickname he’d decided to give you a few weeks after you arrived. You raised an eyebrow and lifted your sketchbook slightly in response, a silent but obvious answer.

He scoffed lightly through his nose. “Yeah, I figured that. Not what I meant.” His gaze sharpened. “I meant, what are you doing up wandering the halls at 2 a.m.?”

“Am I asking why you’re wandering the halls past two in the morning?”

He gave you that infamous little smirk.

“Fair enough.”

A few seconds passed.

Or minutes. It was hard to tell, the silence stretching thin except for the soft snap of his lighter opening and closing, again and again, until he finally broke it.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“…Same.”

Not a lie. Just not the whole truth.

He watched you for a beat longer before walking over and dropping into a chair across from you, arms draped over the backrest, eyes on you.

“If we’re both up, might as well be up together.”

He nodded toward your sketchbook again. “Go ahead. I won’t bother you.”

Then he turned his attention to the fire, idly toying with the flames, making them dance and rise with the flick of his fingers.

You stared at him for a moment before slowly reopening your sketchbook and picking your pencil back up. You glanced down at the last page… and your heart skipped a beat.

John.

You’d drawn him. Without thinking. Instinctively. You quickly flipped the page to a blank one, praying he hadn’t seen.

The nights passed, and so did the days. Without either of you realizing it, this became a habit. You waited for the mansion to fall silent, then met in the library. John would reignite the fire if it had gone out or rekindled it when it was about to die. You’d settle into your spot on the couch, open your sketchbook, and draw. He’d take his chair, sit backwards on it, arms over the top, playing with the flames in quiet concentration.

The silence between you didn’t feel awkward anymore—it had become... comforting.

And without a single word about it, those nighttime meetings started to change something in both of you.

When he wasn’t staring into the fire, John would sneak glances at you. Watching the way your brow furrowed in focus, how your lips parted ever so slightly, how the firelight played over your features. He even caught himself shifting the flame's reflections on your skin—just to see how the light moved with you.

And you? You just kept drawing—trying not to get caught staring back.

Over time, what started as a quiet nighttime ritual began to leave traces in broad daylight. Ever since those late-night meetings at the library, something had shifted. At first, it was subtle — a glance that lingered just a second too long, a smirk he seemed to reserve only for you. But now, it’s becoming impossible to ignore. Even the others have started to notice.

Bobby raised an eyebrow the other day when John leaned in and murmured a soft “see you tonight” before leaving class. Kitty had pulled you aside afterward, curiosity twinkling in her eyes. “So… what’s going on with you and Johnny?” she asked, trying to sound casual. You just shrugged and muttered something about inside jokes, your heart pounding harder than it should. Even Rogue had chimed in with a smirk, half-teasing, half-serious: “Just jokes, huh?”

But today? Today is too much.

It’s Friday, right before the weekend, and for the entire day, John has been pushing every one of your buttons — staring from across the room, flashing that grin, teasing you in ways that feel a little too personal now. And of course, the rest of the group just won’t let it go. Like you’re supposed to have all the answers — when even you have no idea what the hell is happening.

How are you supposed to explain something you don’t understand yourself? He’s messing with your head during the day, then watching you in silence at night like nothing ever happened. It makes no sense. Either he knows exactly what he’s doing… or he’s completely blind. Either way, you’re tired.

And unfortunately for her, it’s Kitty who takes the hit.

You shove your things into your bag, eager to escape and make it back to your room — anywhere quiet, where you can clear your head… and wait for night to fall, to fall back into your routine. But Kitty tries again.

“Okay, Y/N, come on. You can't keep dodging this — there’s obviously something going on with you and Johnny. You two are practically undressing each other with your eyes when the other isn’t looking. You can tell me, I won’t ju—"

“I. Don’t. Know. Okay?”

Your voice snaps through the hallway before you can stop it. Kitty flinches slightly at the sharpness of it, stunned into silence. Instantly, you regret it. She doesn’t deserve that.

You exhale, softening.

“I… I’m sorry. It’s not about you, Kitty, really. I just…” You sigh, eyes on the floor. “I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know if he’s joking, if it’s just some stupid game for him, or if I’m completely imagining things. So how am I supposed to explain it to anyone else when I can’t even explain it to myself?”

There’s a pause. Your voice comes out quieter, now more tired than angry.

“So yeah. If you and the others could maybe chill out with the constant questions and stop acting like I’m the latest episode of mutant reality TV… I’d really appreciate it.”

You don’t wait for a response. You turn on your heel and head toward the front hall, desperate to disappear — to get somewhere, anywhere else.

What you don’t notice, though, is that your bag wasn’t fully zipped. That your precious sketchbook slipped free and hit the floor. And most importantly — that someone picked it up.

Night had fallen. Despite everything that had happened during the day, you couldn’t help but feel that same quiet anticipation bubbling under your skin. But... there was a problem.

You reached into your bag to grab your sketchbook, fingers already itching to draw—and froze.

It wasn’t there.

Panic hit you like a punch to the stomach. “Shit, no no no... please tell me this is a joke.”

You never took it out of your bag. Ever. Which meant one terrifying thing: someone must have taken it.

Your eyes started to sting. It wasn’t just a sketchbook—it was everything. It held your thoughts, your feelings... and lately, well—him.

What would they think when they saw it? When they realized who had started showing up on every other page?

You sat on your bed in stunned silence, your heart racing, your inspiration completely gone. The thought of going to the library tonight felt suddenly unbearable.

And then—your phone buzzed.

Johnny: “What the hell, princess? You coming or what?”

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath. It’s just a sketchbook. You have others. It’s not the end of the world.

But the tight knot in your throat said otherwise.

You walk in silence, your steps heavy, every one of them dragging like weights tied to your ankles. The door to the library is already open. A warm glow spills into the hallway—soft light and the familiar crackling of flames dancing in the fireplace.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, rehearsing the mask of everything’s fine one last time. “Hey, sorry I’m late, I was just—”

You stop dead in your tracks.

There he is. John.

Sitting on your couch. The one you always curl up in when you draw.

And in his hands, Your sketchbook.

He’s flipping through it slowly. Page by page.

Your heart. Your secrets. Him.

You freeze in the doorway, breath caught in your throat. John is there, sitting in your chair — the one you always curl up in to draw — legs stretched out, your sketchbook in his hands.

The room glows softly under the flickering firelight, and he's flipping through the pages slowly, not even looking up.

“You know, if you wanted me to model for you, you could’ve just asked.”

His tone is light, teasing — classic John. But there’s something tight in his jaw, something careful in the way he keeps his eyes on the page.

“Didn’t know I looked that good on paper.”

This time, he looks up. His gaze locks with yours, and for a moment, neither of you moves. The silence stretches, heavy and electric.

You don’t say a word. You can’t. You’re not even sure you’re breathing.

His eyes drop back to the sketchbook, and that’s when you see it. He’s on that page.

That portrait. The one you drew without thinking, without planning, the one where he looks like himself. Not the snarky, flirty, firestarter version of him everyone else sees. Just John.

He’s laughing in the drawing, caught mid-smile, his eyes bright with something real. His features are soft, relaxed, unguarded — the mask he wears in public nowhere in sight. His fingers are mid-motion, playing with his lighter, and you’d spent extra time there, capturing the way the firelight danced across his hands, the flicker of movement, the quiet familiarity. There’s a warmth to it, a kind of intimacy no one else would pick up on — a glimpse of the boy behind the bravado. His thumb brushes along the edge of the page, slow and thoughtful. And when he speaks again, his voice is quieter. More real.

“You’ve been drawing me... why?”

No smirk. No sarcasm. Just a question, low and almost hesitant.

You bite your lip, words stuck somewhere between your chest and your throat. But you know he’s not asking for a joke. He’s asking for the truth.

You stare at him, desperately trying to come up with something to say. That’s it. It’s over. You ruined everything before it even had the chance to start. Your mouth opens, then closes again, the words stuck somewhere in your throat.

Seeing your panicked silence, he gets up, walking toward you with that same teasing, but unexpectedly soft smile. “Relax. I’m not mad,” he says, gently closing the sketchbook. “Kinda flattered, actually.”

He doesn’t stop. Keeps walking, until he’s standing just a few steps away.

“But I gotta ask... why would someone like you draw someone like me?”

He tries to keep his usual cocky tone, but even you can hear the hesitation in his voice, see the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. If you didn’t know him, you might even say he looked... like a little kid waiting to find out if he broke something that mattered. You swallow hard, and when you finally speak, your voice is barely louder than a whisper.

“Because... you’re a good person. And I think good people deserve to be seen.”

John doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are locked on yours, searching, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re actually serious. You glance away, suddenly too aware of how close he is. Of how quiet the room’s gotten. Then he takes another step.

“That’s... probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he says quietly, like he’s not sure he’s supposed to hear it out loud. “You really see me like that?”

You nod. Slowly. This time, you don’t look away.

“I’m not stupid, John. I see the way you look at Bobby when Rogue’s in his arms... or when a teacher praises him. How you flinch when someone points out your attitude, or when students make space like you’re some kind of walking threat.” You exhale a soft breath. “The way you stare at the family photos he has on his wall. And I don’t judge you for any of that. Because I get it. And, believe it or not, I think Bobby does too. Even if he doesn’t know how to say it.”

You let out a tiny, nervous laugh before growing serious again.

“I know you see yourself as a monster... or the villain of the story. But I wish you could see yourself the way other people do. The way I do. You’re the guy made of fire, yeah. Maybe dangerous. But only when the people you care about are threatened. The one who’d throw himself into the flames if it meant making a difference.”

You lower your eyes once more.

Come on t/n... now or never.

You mumble quickly, barely letting yourself think:

“...the guy I’m in love with.”

He smiles—just a little—but this one’s real. Quiet and warm.

“You always draw what you feel?”

You hesitate, then nod again.

“Only when I can’t say it out loud.”

He stays quiet. But the silence between you isn’t heavy anymore. It’s soft. Careful. Precious. And then, slowly, he reaches out—his fingers brushing against your wrist like he’s asking for permission.

“Then maybe you should draw me again. But this time... while I’m watching.”

Your eyes shoot up, startled.

Did he just—? Wait. Did he mean—? Are you dreaming??

He’s watching you. You’re watching him. Neither of you move. It’s like time holds its breath.

And then he steps in. Closer. Until your faces are only inches apart, his breath ghosting across your lips. His eyes flick down, from yours to your mouth. A silent question.

You nod. Just once. Because you honestly can’t speak.

Holy shit. It’s happening. It’s actually—

And then his lips are on yours.

At first, you freeze. Then instinct takes over. You melt into it, unsure of what to do with your hands... until he gently takes them, placing one around his neck and guiding the other into his hair. His hands settle on your waist. The kiss that started out tentative quickly turns more intense. His hands travel from your waist up to your neck, like he’s trying to keep you there, to hold on. As if he’s scared you’ll vanish. Your own fingers tighten in his hair, pulling slightly. He lets out a low groan. You whimper in response. It’s the need for air that finally forces you apart—barely. His forehead rests against yours, both your breaths short and uneven.

“...wow,” is all you manage to whisper.

He looks at you, his gaze burning.

“Fuck. If you knew how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

You swallow, summoning every ounce of courage you have.

“...you can do it again. If you want.”

He lifts his head, a relieved smile on his lips… quickly replaced by his usual grin.

“So... you really thought about me that much, princess?” he teases, nodding toward the sketchbook tossed on the armchair, then his eyes return to yours. “Or do you just like drawing me shirtless?”

Your cheeks turn crimson in under a second... because oh god, you remember exactly how many not-so-innocent sketches are in there. You clear your throat, trying to look confident.

“...maybe both.”

His eyes darken instantly, desire flickering in his expression.

“Still doesn’t compare to the real thing... Wanna see for yourself, princess?”

Your breath catches.

Oh god.

Come on, y/n... don’t back down now.

“Okay... but the princess wants a kiss first.”

A slow, wolfish grin spreads across his face as his hands gently cup your cheeks.

“Gladly.”

Morning comes. Classes blur one after the other, the day moves on — and with it, John’s attention toward you grows. More frequent. More intense. More pointed. Until the final bell rings, signaling the end of the school day. Evening creeps in. Homework. Dinner. And then… time to go to bed.

Across the table in the cafeteria, you and John exchange a glance — one filled with unspoken understanding… and something else entirely. Then suddenly, both of you shoot up from your seats.

He’s the first to mumble a barely audible, “’Night,” before power-walking toward the boys' dorms. You blurt out something about “having homework to finish”, then practically sprint toward the girls' wing.

At the table, Kitty, Rogue, and Bobby just stare at the exit.

“…Do we even want to know—” “No.” “Definitely not.” “That’s what I thought.”

#fanfiction #x men movies #john allerdyce x reader #request #john allerdyce #x reader #pyro xmen #pyro x reader

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charlesxavierswife · 2 months ago

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‼️

i NEED more Cherik x reader fics, Pyro and Quicksilver also deserve some recognition too!!

#charles xavier x reader #pyro xmen #john allerdyce x reader #charles xavier #peter maximoff x reader #marvel #xmen #poolverine #gravity falls #x men movies #magneto #x men comics #erik lehnsherr #cherik #xmcu #xmen first class #professor x #smut #x reader

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chloe-skywalker · 1 year ago

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Leaving - Pyro / John Allerdyce

John/Pyro x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 212

Summary: Pyro telling Y/n that he loves her before leaving to join the brotherhood.

Authors Note: Haven’t wrote X-MEN in awhile

Masterlist

X-MEN Masterlist

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“What are you doing?” Y/n asked as she walks into their shared room seeing him packing his duffle.

“Y/n-” John turned around not knowing what to say.

“You're leaving.” Y/n states when he doesn’t say anything, eyes not leaving his packed duffle.

“I’m sorry. But I have to go. I don’t belong here.” He tells her with tears welling up in his eyes.

“You're going to join Magento and his brotherhood, aren’t you?” Y/n looked at him with tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Yes.” John nodded.

“I’ll miss you.” Y/n’s voice broke as more tears rolled down her cheeks.

John rushed over to her and cupped her cheeks brushing her tears away with his thumbs. “I’ll miss you too. More than anything. But-”

“You can’t stay. I get it.” Y/n nodded as they embraced each other into a tight hug.

“We’ll see eachother again.” John promised as they parted from their hug.

“I hope so.” Y/n gave him a sad but hopeful smile.

“We will. I love you.” John placed one last kiss for now on her forehead before he grabbed his bag and left. Hoping when everything was over they’d see each other again. He’d protect her, even if they are on opposite sides.

Taglist: @padawancat97 @starkleila

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hiraet3h · 3 months ago

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Alate { Pietro Maximoff x FEM!Reader }

Alate - Adjective (Latin) |

~ Having wings; lifted up in flight

Summery:

"The past dripped slowly in places like this—quiet, empty, and full of ghosts. The ground doesn’t forgive, it just waits."

An 'impromptu' encounter with a boy she never quite really knew. And a man she never had any interest in meeting.

Too bad they were the same person.

Pairings: Primarily: Pietro Maximoff/Fem!Reader, Slight John Allerdyce/Fem!reader, Slight Remy LeBeau/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 11.5K

Warnings: strong language, canon typical violence, reader gets hurt, smoking, cigarettes, bad bird puns/nicknames, Use of (Y/n)! I'm sorry if that bothers you, but i use it quite a bit, Pietro being an asshole, Reader is also an asshole to be fair, Gambit and Pyro too honestly, so everyone really, an excessive use of em dashes, Reader has curly hair! It's pretty vague and not specified what kind of curls, but it's mentioned a couple times! other than that, her appearance is pretty neutral i think. Let me know if I forgot something!

Fic Type: Oneshot/standalone

Author's Note: Omg! this is the first time i'll ever be posting to tumblr, and it being my shitty fanfic is kinda nerve-wracking! I've posted on Ao3 and Wattpad before, but tumblr always intimidated me for some reason. But there are SOOO many incredible writers on here, and i thought someone else might appreciate a non movieverse/fox/MCU Pietro x reader, so i decided to post it here as well! I hope it makes someone out there happy as well!

Anyways, this take place in a semi -alternate AU? In the way that, i didn't quite have a specific variation of Pietro or the x-men universe i was writing for. It's a mesh between an aged up X-men Evolution AU and the Wolverine and the X-men universe. With some comic elements thrown in. So it's my playground essentially.

This fic will also be available on AO3! I have other nonsense on my AO3 if the curiosity ever strikes and you want to check it out!

Please, if anyone wants to chat about anything, my door is always open!

The wind carried more than cold that night. It howled like a wounded creature through the hollow veins of the abandoned train yard, weaving around rusted steel and splintered wood and forsaken motors with a kind of sorrow only old places knew. (Y/n) stood near the skeletal remains of a cargo car, arms crossed, her shadow carved in sharp lines by the moonlight above. She found comfort in places like these. In places filled with things long abandoned and things that should have been. A feeling of tragedy she couldn't help but chase. A masochistic tendency she’d hoped she would have outgrown in her adolescence but had unfortunately been a habit that had followed her into adulthood.

Maybe she found comfort in things and places and stories she could relate to.

Romanticizing life, or whatever the hell the kids were calling it these days.

She hopped onto the train tracks, her arms outstretched to her sides in an attempt to keep her balance as she walked along the stealrail of the track, as though she was a tightrope walker, dangling dangerously on the brink of doom and death.

A single misstep and she’d be gone, and nothing but her memory would remain, before that too would inevitably wade out of existence, time chipping away at the ghost she used to be.

The metal creaked under her boots like it remembered her from all those years ago—like it knew she didn’t belong to war or missions or field assignments. Not really.

But she'd always show up anyway.

"You’re late, L/N."

The voice skittered through the dark, cocky and cruel and cold, like a blade dragged across glass.

A sharp exhale through her nose.

She didn’t turn. She didn’t need to.

The air told her he was close. It always did, vibrating with the static of him, with the feeling of electricity that he would leave in his wake and upon his arrival. With a disruption in the winds as it bowed to his whims.

"Punctuality has never been your thing, has it?" she replied, dry. "I figured if I gave you an extra ten minutes, you'd still manage to make an entrance."

In a blink, he was standing where moonlight met shadow—just on the edge of it, and the light of a street lamp which was miraculously still working save for the occasional flicker before being resurrected by the currents running in the wiring.

Quicksilver. Pietro Maximoff.

Silver hair tousled like he’d just stepped out of a storm, windswept and wild but in a way that looked intentional and effortless all at once. And smirking, of course. Always smirking. His eyes were electric with the kind of arrogance only someone who could outrun time itself had any right to wield.

"Nightingale," he drawled, crossing his arms with exaggerated ease as he leaned against the streetlamp with a casual grace that could only be achieved by a man who had been trained in combat for years upon years. A confidence that came with self assurance and a pride that wasn’t completely unearned "Did you miss me?"

She rolled her eyes. “Like a migraine.”

"Oof. And here I thought we were finally building something resembling camaraderie."

"No, but we can build something else entirely. Like a coffin for you to lie in. Or your gravestone. If you’re here to finally do the honors and give me the relief that would come with you dropping dead.”

He chuckled, stepping closer with the kind of laid-back threat that came from someone who didn’t need to try hard to be dangerous. "Come on, (L/n). You think anyone else could put up with your holier-than-thou shtick and still show up like clockwork?"

Her jaw tightened. Her glare was met with a look of mirth. A punchable one, if she was able to say so herself.

"Why are you here, Maximoff?"

“Birdwatching,” he says, a smug grin playing on his lips. He looked proud of that one.

She gives him a bored look, unamused.

He rolls his eyes at her, not at all intimidated, nor deterred. And he had not enough shame to ever feel a lick of embarrassment, so that was out of the question as well, despite his ill-received pun.

“C’mon, that was a good one. Even you have to admit it.”

She spins on her heels, ready to walk away from him, and this train yard and the whole useless encounter, when his voice stops her in her tracks before she’s made more than a couple feet away.

“Magneto wants a word,” Pietro said suddenly, almost too casually.

She turned slowly, narrowing her eyes. He remained at ease.

“Then he should send someone with better people skills.”

He chuckled. “He did. I’m charming. Ask literally anyone.”

“Not your ex-wife, I presume.”

That got a crack in his cool, his brows furrowing and a frown marred his lips quickly. It filled her with a satisfaction she’s not proud of.

“Low blow,” he muttered, eyes flashing. “He wants to make you an offer.”

“No.”

“You haven’t heard it yet.”

“I don’t need to.”

Pietro tilted his head, undeterred, voice still carrying humor of a joke she wasn’t in on. “You always this stubborn, or is it just around me?”

“I know how he sees people. How he turns them into pieces on a board. I’m not interested in being another one of his knights, thanks.”

“You’d be a rook, if anything,” he said, thoughtful. “Straight lines. Limited. Boring.”

“Funny, coming from a pawn.”

That one seemed to have also landed. His jaw clenched, but only for a second

He recovered with a grin. “You used to be more fun, birdie.”.

“And you’ve always been annoying.”

He sighs. And rubs the back of his neck, his eyes closing for a brief reprieve from her insults.

“Look, he only wants to talk right now. There’s no harm in a conversation, right?”

She stepped back. Not far. But enough. Enough to make the space between them suddenly mean something deliberate.

"Not interested."

"Didn’t ask if you were," he said smoothly, straightening and taking a step forward to reclaim lost distance "Only told you what’s happening."

"Not to me, it’s not."

She turned as if to leave, but in a flash, he was in front of her again. This time closer. Too close. She could feel the charge in the air between them. Like standing beside a live wire. He towered over her, and she was face to chest with him. She tilts her head up to meet his eyes, and his gaze is firm. Jaw tight and lips pressed into a firm line, almost resembling a frown but not quite.

It seems her jeers and refusal were getting to him. Good.

"I’m not here to play tag, (L/n). I’m here to bring you in."

She blinked. Slowly. As if the words themselves needed processing.

Then her laugh—a low, bitter thing—cracked through the lighting-tension like a sharp knife.

“You're pathetic. Running after daddy’s approval by doing tasks he couldn't be bothered to do himself.”

His jaw tensed. Just a flicker. But she saw it. She knew all his sore spots. That one was particularly tender, she knew.

"You think I have a choice?" he said quietly.

"You always do." Her voice was sharper now. Not louder, but colder. "You just stopped pretending to care."

Pietro's expression shifted then—like clouds over the moon. Not anger. Not yet. But the storm was there, gathering behind his eyes.

"You think you know anything about choices, L/N? You, with your perfect little X-men who’ll pat you on the back every time you try and fail to throw a punch? You don’t know what it’s like to be needed by someone who only values what you can do, not who you are."

Her jaw tenses at his words of vulnerability. But she knew a farce when she saw one. He wasn't going to emotionally manipulate her tonight.

"And yet, here you are," she said cooly, stepping past him. “I’m not going with you.”

He grabbed her wrist. Gently—but firmly. His touch was warm. Steady. Frustrating.

"(Y/n). You don’t get it. He’s not asking.”

She looked up at him, chin lifted, heart pounding like war drums beneath her ribs.

She hated that he said her name like that. Like it meant something. She rips her arm out of his grip and takes a step back, insistent on keeping space between them

“I’m not going to be a pawn, Pietro.”

"You're already in the game. You just don’t want to admit it."

“I'm not in shit.”

Her fingers sparked with energy then—just barely. A shimmer of violet light flickered up her arm like fire in a hearth. Slow and steady. Pietro's eyes dropped to it, then back to hers.

"You sure you want to do this, moon girl?"

"I’ve never been more sure of anything."

He didn’t move. For a moment, the silence held its breath. The wind paused. The night listened.

Then he stepped back. Let her go.

“You’d lose.” he says like it's a fact. Like no other outcome could be possible.

She holds his gaze for a beat. Then two.

He was probably right. She couldn’t fight to save her life. Which, coincidently, was exactly when she needed it. And she needed it often.

Her sigh then cuts through the air like a slow exhale of a long-forgotten lullaby. The kind of sound a soul made when it was too weary to fight the silence, but too stubborn to surrender fully.

She was stretched thin with exhaustion, not from the confrontation, but from everything. From war and missions, from expectations and choices. From a world that hated them for simply being, and the constant requirement to prove themselves worthy of existing in places that deemed them undeserving. And the inevitability of running into him. Again. Always.

The past dripped slowly in places like this—quiet, empty, and full of ghosts. The ground doesn’t forgive, it just waits.

A reluctant truce between instinct and exhaustion and pure curiosity had overcome her.

So she turned. Slowly. Her boots whispered against the gravel as she moved, the oversized denim jacket she adorned slipping from her shoulder just enough to show the moonlight pale on her skin before she pulled it back up into place. It was approximately five sizes too big— ill-fitting, like a life she never asked for but lives anyway cause there’s no other choice. A little girl lost in grown-up‘s clothes. A soldier pretending she knows how to play war. The cold of the freight train bled through her layers when she leaned back against it, metal biting down through fabric and resolve alike at her back. She flinched only slightly, then settled, one boot scuffed against the asphalt, the other kicked up behind her to rest flat against rusted steel.

It was the posture of someone who wasn’t going to run, but wasn’t going to be dragged either.

Quicksilver hadn’t moved. Maybe he was waiting for her to bolt. Maybe he was calculating how many steps it would take to reach her if she did. But she wasn’t running.

Her eyes flicked back to him with a gaze she wore like armor. Bored. Tired. Disinterested. Except it was a lie, of course. She was studying him. Every angle. Every slight change.

His hair was longer now. Not by much, but enough for her to notice. Enough to know she hadn’t seen him in months. Time had been kind to him in the way it was kind to cruel people—preserving their beauty like a warning sign. His silver strands, always unnatural, gleamed in the moonlight like silk laced with mercury. She remembered thinking, once, that he looked like he’d been touched by the stars. Moonkissed, she had called it.

But that was before she knew who had really touched him.

Before she knew who had carved him from the same sharp stone and set him loose on the world.

It had always been like that, even when they were teenagers, even when he was just some cocky blur of a boy who annoyed her on missions and flashed too many teeth when he smirked. She’d initially thought the color was dye, some edgy brooding Brotherhood thing.

She'd been wrong. It was blood. It was legacy. It was Magneto’s, like everything else about him. The sharp lines of his jaw. The eerie grace of his movement. The cold glacier- blue in his eyes, That intensity beneath the bravado, coiled tight like a spring, waiting to snap. The anger. Oh, the anger. Constant and bitter. Angry at a world that wouldn’t change no matter how hard anyone tried.

He looked more like Erik than Wanda did. More than Lorna ever could, despite her having her father’s powers. It unsettled her. That resemblance. That inheritance. Sure he was younger, the lines of time yet to set into his face. He was taller and leaner and wore his cockiness out and arrogant, but at the core they were alike in a way that was undeniable. She wondered if he ever looked in the mirror and saw himself, or only the man he’d been chasing his entire life like a ghost, despite him always being right there, just unwilling. She wondered what Magneto thought when he looked at him. His eldest child? Or the reminders of the failures of the man he used to be? Maybe that’s why he was so cold towards his only son.

Her eyes lowered briefly. Civilian clothes, tonight. That was interesting.

No combat gear, no flashy insignias. No weight of war on his shoulders, only a dark leather jacket that suits the season, resting just right across a frame broader than it used to be. He’s taller now, more filled in. Still lean, still quick—but not all sharp corners anymore. There’s muscle under that snug black tee. Probably more than he needs. Probably more than she needs to know about.

Of course the shirt clings like it always did, tighter than it probably needed to be. Not that he needed help drawing attention. But Pietro Maximoff didn’t know how to wear anything without a little arrogance sewn in.

“What could that man possibly want with me?” she asked at last, voice level, somewhere between disinterest and disdain.

Pietro didn’t answer at first. He just looked at her.

And maybe it was the moonlight, or maybe it was something else, but for a moment, he wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t mocking her. He just stood there, staring like she was something just slightly out of reach, slightly more dangerous than she'd ever let herself be.

"You're asking the wrong guy," he said eventually, voice lower now, almost thoughtful. “I don’t play chess, remember? I’m the piece that gets moved.” He tilted his head. “You, on the other hand… you’re a piece Magneto can’t quite figure out.”

"Or maybe I'm just not worth the effort," she replied.

His smile returned, sharp and annoying. “If you weren’t, I wouldn’t be here.” He took a step closer, boots crunching on gravel. “You think he sends me to do grunt work?”

“Yes,” she says, not even hesitating for a second. Voice flat and deadpan, like it was an obvious answer to that question

“Ouch. You wound me, little bird.”

She gave a lazy shrug, the oversized jacket slipping slightly off one shoulder once more. She didn’t bother pulling it back up this time. “That’s the idea.”

Pietro's gaze slips to the newly revealed skin for a brief second, eyes mapping out her collarbone and the slope of a shoulder that was now exposed due to the sleeveless shirt she wore underneath, before his eyes snapped back to hers. She pretends not to notice.

They stood there, not quite talking. Not quite fighting. The wind carried a whistle down the tracks, eerie in the emptiness. The city was far away now, nothing but a glow on the horizon.

"Why are you really here?" she asked, softer this time. "You hate taking orders. You cannot stand your father. I’ve seen the way you flinch when he speaks to you like you’re a tool. So why are you still running his errands?”

His jaw worked. For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then:

“Because I’m good at it,” he said finally. “And when you’re good at something, you’re not given a choice. Not really.”

Her brows furrow at his words.

“That’s not true.”

He scoffed. “Says the girl who stayed with the X-Men even after they kept sending her out there like bait.”

That one stung.

He noticed. His voice softened just a little. “You ever wonder what it’d be like to stop trying to be what they expect?”

“I don’t take advice from someone who also does exactly what’s expected of him,” she shot back. “You think you’re a rebel, but all you’ve ever done is chase your father’s shadow. You talk big, but you’re still a scared little boy running after a man who will never give you what you’re looking for and everybody knows it.”

That did it.

His expression hardened, and he took a threatening step forward. Once again the distance between them has shrunk to a considerably small size. Like a waltz, they ebb back and forth. The air seems more hostile this time, however. It seems her words had finally stung as deeply as intended.

“I came here,” he said through clenched teeth, “to give you a chance. You could’ve walked away from all of this. Could’ve had power. Could’ve stopped playing foot soldier for Xavier and his pathetic dream.”

God he was insufferable.

“Firstly, it’s not pathetic, you self-absorbed-”

“Please, i’m self-absorbed that’s actually rich coming from you-”

“-And you’re no better, following orders like a dog-”

“-considering the moral high-horse you lot sit on. it’s actually nauseating-”

“-for a man who has no idea he’ll become what he hates-”

“-the way things are going is gonna get us all killed, we don't have time to-”

“-he’s a damn hypocrite, and you’re no better-”

“-and the X-men are useless at best, hoping if you do enough dirty work, they’ll accept mutant-”

“-Have you and any of your buddies actually done anything except prove every mutant stereotype down to a T or-”

“-Who the fuck cares? They’re gonna blame everything on us anyways-”

“-yeah, so proving them right is the move-”

“-God, you reek of self-righteousness and privilege-”

“-better than playing terrorist-”

“-you’re saying this from up in your ivory tower-”

They were yelling over each other at this point. And it was beyond unproductive, considering neither was willing to even attempt to hear the other out.

“Enough!” she yells, and it's actually enough to get him to shut up. He continues to glare at her and she lets her eyes close, and her head drop as a sigh pulls from between parted lips, her breath fogging in the cold air with the exhale.

“I didn’t come to debate politics with you,” she says, voice tired. She takes a few steps away from him and slips further against the freight train, letting the rusting junk take on the brunt of her weight so she wouldn't have to carry it all on her own. Her bones feel heavy. They have for a while and she was getting tired of carrying them with her everywhere she went.

(Y/n)'s words fell like slow, deliberate raindrops—each one dampening the tension rather than snapping it. They weren’t meant to wound. Not really. But they were heavy, and the weight of truth had a way of bruising.

“Xavier’s a bastard,” she said, voice steady, eyes narrowed as she watched him. “But Magneto’s no better. ‘Sides, Cyclops has been calling the shots for a while now.”

Pietro scoffed, but said nothing. Not yet. So she kept going.

“I’ve disagreed with Charles plenty, especially the older I get and the more I see what he's willing to overlook for the sake of the dream. But his ideology doesn’t rest on bloodshed, or dominance, or this superiority complex your father breathes like air.”

his eyes narrow back at her words.

‘Not talk politics, my ass.’

“It’s not a superiority complex.” He says, voice cold and agitated. “News flash, Nightingale—they hate us. They want us dead. We have to fight back with the same force or we’ll be wiped out. Why cant you and those spandex-wearing freaks get it through your thick heads.”

He also lets himself rest against the cart, his shoulder to the metal so his body is facing her, but his head is looking out into the rail yard, nothing in particular catching his interest. He just didn’t want her to see him seething.

“You think ‘peaceful coexistence’ means anything to the people outside that mansion, praying we disappear? We’re fighting for our lives, and you're still acting like it's some kind of moral debate club.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not doing this with you, Pietro .”

“You’re the one who started it.”

“Just shut up.”

He fumes, but relents.

The quiet overtakes, and they let it settle between them and the night like a balm on a burn, meant to soothe. Frustration and anger easing out of both bodies slowly and slightly.

He steps closer—not all the way, but enough that she could feel the cold static of his presence again. That same subtle tension in the air, like a thunderstorm waiting behind glass.

“You’re scared of it,” he said, softer now. “Of your powers.”

Her lips parted, just slightly but no words came out. He’d hit something. Something she didn’t like people seeing.

“I’m not afraid,” she said eventually. “I’m cautious.”

“Same thing,” he said, and for once, there was no tease nor malice in it. Just truth.

She swallows a huff, breathing slowly through her nose. “Maximoff, I can go borderline nuclear in five seconds flat if i dont have the reins all the way in check. What would you have me do?”

He gives a lazy shrug. Nonchalant and noncommittal. Like she couldn't level a city block with a flick of her wrist if her head was on wrong.

“Don’t be afraid.” He says it like it's the simplest thing in the world. Like the answer has always been obvious and she’d been looking in all the wrong places for it.

She shakes her head, not bothering to answer him. She doesn’t really know how.

Maybe he was right. Maybe not. It didn't particularly matter. Because she didn’t know how to stop being afraid. It was etched into her soul, the fear she had of herself. It took over a decade of training to get where she was, to the mastery she possessed of her own mutation. And even then, it felt like a bandaid over a gaping wound. Superficial. Only there to cover the damage so nobody had to look at the bloody, ugly thing.

Another sigh slipped from her lips like the wind blowing between forgotten cracks. It was quieter this time. Less a sound of defeat and more the weary exhale of a woman who'd been holding her breath too long. Her head dipped forward, curls swaying gently kissing the sides of her face, as she reached up with a manicured hand to rub the back of her neck, her fingers digging into a knot that had formed like a stone lodged beneath her skin. Firm and pulsing like the echo of the tension she'd been carrying for days. Weeks. Years, if she was being honest.

This place—the X-Men, the mansion, the maddening missions and miscommunications, the quiet understanding that no one really knew what they were doing—they were home. Not perfect. But hers. The family she never had. The one that fought like hell and screamed in the halls and cried behind closed doors. The children running around, learning to use and accept and be with their mutations. The one that let her be broken, and still let her stay.

There was never a version of this where she left the X-Men. Not even in dreams. Not even when the mansion got too loud, or too quiet, or too full of ghosts.

They were hers. Her ragtag, squabbling, loyal, impossible family. The one she chose. The one that stayed.

Scott with his leadership and saviour’s complex. Ororo with her soft reprimands. Kurt, always trying to make her laugh even when her world was falling apart. Kitty, with her quiet strength. Rouge with her southern charm and a shoulder she always had to cry on. Logan with his gruff grunts that somehow meant love.

Even the ones who were gone. Even the ones who’d stayed too long.

She would not leave them.

And she definitely wasn’t trading them for Magneto’s army of true believers and half-broken boys pretending they weren't scared.

Her gaze slid lazily back to Pietro, head tilting, curls catching moonlight. Her voice came soft, almost amused, like a cat playing with something half-dead between its paws.

“He still hates you, y’know?”

Pietro blinked, clearly not expecting it. “Who?”

She smirked. “Scott.”

The reaction was instantaneous. That deadpan look returned to his face like a well-worn mask as he stared at her in exhausted disbelief.

“Good,” he snapped.

A pause.

And then, quieter, sharper: “Mutual.”

She laughed.

Not a scoff, not a sneer. A laugh.

It burst from her, sharp and musical, and it knocked the cold out of the air for a second. It was unexpected, unguarded—like a bell ringing in a quiet cathedral. Genuine, melodic, light. It peeled from her like sunlight through fog. And Pietro, who’d spent a lifetime outrunning things—responsibility, feelings, his own name—froze in place.

Because it was the kind of sound a man might go into reverence for.

It undid something in him. Made the space between them feel impossibly close, impossibly far.

Pietro would’ve done anything she asked to hear it again.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. There was a soft twitch of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed at his sides, like they ached to hold something they knew they couldn’t.

It was unfair, honestly, how good it sounded. How alive it made her look, even draped in fatigue and denim too big. The smile that followed bloomed across her face, softening her features into something sweeter than he had any right to see after threatening to drag her back to his father like a prize.

The smile on her face was gentle now, real. Something that didn’t belong on a battlefield, didn’t belong in the ruined husk of a rail yard at midnight. It belonged in gardens. In sunlit kitchens. On slow Sunday mornings and soft cotton sheets. It made her look younger, somehow—like this war hadn’t touched her quite as deeply as he knew it had.

She rolled her eyes, but there was no sharpness in the gesture. Just… tired affection. Fondness. Soft-edged history. The kind that tasted of years they pretended didn’t matter.A thread of memory pulling through the decade. The old days, back when the fights were mostly verbal and the stakes were mostly pride.

Some things didn’t change. Not really.

She slipped a hand into her pocket then, the movement smooth, easy. Like instinct. Her fingers closed around the battered pack she hadn’t even dared touch for months now. Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was the company. Maybe she just wanted to reclaim a little vice for herself tonight.

The Camel menthols box were practically falling apart. The cardboard was soft with wear, corners dented and edges fraying like the last edge of self-control in a stressful week. But she popped the lid open and plucked a cigarette from the pack like it was routine.

Then her eyes flicked back to him, one brow arched high.

A silent offer.

Pietro’s eyebrows rose, a soft scoff escaping him. “You smoke?” he asked, arms crossing over his chest again, the leather of his jacket groaning softly under the strain. His too-snug shirt pulled tighter across his chest with the movement. It was entirely too obvious, and he was entirely too unaware of just what he was doing to her unconsciously. She ignored it expertly.

She shrugged, the cigarette dancing slightly between her fingers. “Not really,” she said. “Sometimes.”

Another scoff. But he reached out anyway.

She didn’t hide her surprise at that, though she disguised it behind a curl of her lip. He plucked a cigarette from the pack she held, slipping it between lips that were always slightly wind-chapped, with practiced ease.

And for a moment, they just stared at each other, smoke-less, caught in the absurdity of it all.

She tucked the pack away again, reached into the same pocket and produced a cheap plastic lighter—one of those corner-store things, half-broken and temperamental. She flicked it once, twice, three times before the flame danced alive in the dark. She gave him a look, one of those universal gestures that meant you’re too damn tall, get down here.

He snorted but obliged, bending at the waist, so their faces were close. Too close. With only the lighter’s flame flickering in the narrow space between them. It danced like a restless spirit, casting his face in shifting gold and shadow, tracing the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the curve of his mouth.

The flame caught his eyes like a hook in water, drawing out something ancient and quiet and furious. An impossible shade of blue, not sky, not sea, not anything she’d ever seen. Something colder, deeper—like the gleam of lightning before it strikes.

There was anger in that gaze, a deep, smoldering kind—the kind that burned low and endless. Anger at the world. At how it had turned him hard when he might’ve been something else.

He was painfully handsome. Unfairly so. Like a statue half-broken by time—still beautiful, but not untouched. Not innocent.

But it wasn’t like she wasn’t, either. Innocence wasn’t something she could claim anymore—hadn’t been for a long time. It had been taken, not lost. Ripped away in pieces, sharp and sudden, in the way only the world could do when it didn’t care how young you were.

They’d all been too young. Too soft, too full of things like hope and wonder and the foolish belief that the world might give back what it took.

And yet—here she stood. Still holding onto that hope like a lifeline, knuckles white around it. Because that was all she had. Cause it was all she could believe in to keep herself going. Because without it, everything unraveled—everything turned gray and senseless, and she needed something to tether her to the fight. Hope was the thread she stitched herself together with each morning. Fragile, foolish, maybe, but hers.

He didn’t seem to need something as delicate as hope. Anger was enough. There was no softness in the way he looked at the world—just that simmering fury and a drive so relentless it was almost frightening.

She stepped forward, closing the last inches of space, the heat from her hand near his jaw, the flare of fire catching the end of his cigarette. He kept his eyes on hers, unmoving. That’s when he caught a whiff of her perfume—soft, powdery, clean and sweet. Something candied-floral tucked beneath warm skin and the faint scent of ozone that always clung to her after she used her powers.

It hit him harder than expected. It made him dizzy.

It was her. And it was comfort. And it was memory. And it was the scent of someone who made abandoned train yards feel like the edge of something beautiful.

Then she stepped back, putting space between them again as she lit her own cigarette with the same soft detachment, as though she hadn’t just handed him a memory he’d crave for the rest of his life. The flame briefly illuminates the gentle curve of her face, the shadows beneath her eyes, that seemed darker these days. She inhaled, slow and long, and exhaled just as steady, smoke curling from her lips like fog rolling through forgotten hills.

Her absence was immediate. Like being snapped out of a dream too soon. The distance felt wrong, like something sacred had been broken.

Pietro took a drag, the nicotine burning hot and sharp in his chest, and for a second, they were just two people in a forgotten train yard, caught somewhere between what they were and what they could’ve been.

He savored the moment. He wanted to memorize it. To stretch it out so it could last forever. The ease. The quiet affection of an enemy who still remembered what he used to look like when he was seventeen and angry at the world.

He supposed not much had changed. He was still angry at the world. Angry at all of it.

He took another drag, this time, without looking at her, letting the menthol numb his tongue and sting the back of his throat. His jaw worked as he exhaled slowly, letting the smoke unfurl into the cold night air, curling like ghosts between them.

She leaned against the train again, one leg bent, boot still planted on the metal behind her, cigarette now resting between her fingers like an old friend. Her eyes were on the stars.

“You ever think,” she said, voice quiet now, like the moment between them had shifted into something not quite safe to name, “that if we’d met under different circumstances... things might’ve been different?”

Pietro’s gaze drifted toward her.

The wind carried her curls across her cheek. The cherry of her cigarette glowed faintly red. Her lips were parted just slightly, flushed a deeper color from the cold. She looked something straight out of a painting. A masterpiece.

He didn’t answer right away.

He didn’t want to lie.

So he didn’t.

“Yeah,” he said eventually, exhaling smoke from the corner of his mouth. “I think about that a lot.”

She turned to look at him then. Just once.

And in the silence that followed, they both said everything they couldn't say out loud.

The smoke curled from her lips, delicate and transient, vanishing into the cold night like the moment they were standing in—fragile, stolen, doomed. They stood in that half-silence, the kind that only exists when two people are trying not to admit there’s nothing left to say. The train yard stretched around them, rusted and quiet, a graveyard of motion and memory. A place suspended in time, where the past dragged its heels and refused to die.

For a breath—a single breath—it felt like peace.

But peace was never meant to linger.

Not for people like them.

The leaves rustled in a way that wasn’t wind. In the way that whispered company. Her spine straightened before she even processed why, cigarette frozen halfway to her lips. Years of training kicking in subconsciously like reflex. Her eyes narrowed, scanning the shadows between the train cars. She heard them before she saw them—footsteps too coordinated to be casual. Too numerous.

Pietro noticed it too. She caught the flick of his eyes, the way his jaw locked tight. Not fear. Not surprise. Just cold understanding.

Then they stepped out of the shadow and into the moonlight.

Three men.

Monsters, some would say. Freaks.

She knew them all.

The first wore a grin that stretched too wide over his sharp face, flame-red hair catching the dim light as if already half-ignited. His eyes sparked with glee, like he loved the idea of having an audience for whatever carnage he planned. As unstable as the fire he worshipped.

The second was all smooth swagger and subtle menace, red-on-black eyes glowing faintly under the brim of his hood. With those cards of his and a mouth that dripped charm like venom. She remembered him kissing her hand once, years ago, as a distraction to swipe something from her pocket.

And the last…

The sight of him made her stomach turn.

His footsteps were heavy and slow and sure. A beast in human skin. A hunter stepping into the world. Taller than the other already tall men, Older. Broader. Wild blond hair tangled like a lion’s mane, falling around his face like a curtain. His eyes were yellow—sharp, detachteched, cold, predatory. She didn’t even need to see the claws to feel them at her throat.

She remembered that feeling all too well. It still haunts her nightmares sometimes.

Her fingers tensed around the cigarette. Her lips parted in a breath that didn’t come. Her heart plummeted.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

Her eyes moved to look at Pietro then, with a slow turn of the head, as if she could somehow will him into explaining this away.

But he didn’t.

He stood still, expression unreadable, back straight and spine rigid like a soldier at attention. His face was blank, so carefully composed it almost hurt to look at. He wasn’t surprised.

He’d known.

The realization hit her like a blow to the gut.

She’d been set up.

The look she gave him wasn’t betrayal. Not quite. No, it was something softer, something older. The weight of inevitability. The quiet ache of knowing they’d always end up here, drawing lines in the dirt only to find themselves standing on opposite sides again and again.

Her heart dropped through her chest, nonetheless. She didn’t need to say it. The betrayal wasn’t loud, wasn’t dramatic. It bloomed quietly in her eyes, like the first crack in a stained-glass window. Barely visible.

But once it started—it never stopped.

She looked at him like someone who had almost let herself believe in something, only to be reminded why she never could.

He would say it if she gave him the chance.

I don’t owe you anything.

And he’d be right.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t defend himself.

Didn’t say anything.

Because what could he say?

They always ended up here.

Different sides. Same battlefield. The same war they never asked for. Both fighting for mutantkind in their own way, but walking paths that would run parallel for all of existence, never crossing. Not when one was lit in fire and fury and the other was a tightrope balanced over a chasm of compromise and restraint.

Maybe it was fate.

Or maybe it was another cruel trick of the universe.

Or maybe it was just survival.

She took a final drag of her cigarette, the burn of menthol sharp and grounding. She exhaled smoke slowly, deliberately, as the three men came into clear proximity. They didn’t run. They didn’t need to. The way Pyro’s grin widened, the way Gambit rested his hands in his pockets lazily, the way Sabertooth sniffed the air like he was already tasting the hunt—it was clear.

Magneto had sent his Acolytes.

They were here to collect her.

And it was clear they didn’t think they’d have to try very hard.

"You never were very subtle, mate," Pyro called out, an Australian accent thick, “Bit dramatic for a snatch-and-grab, don’tcha think? Having a smoke under the moonlight?”

Her eyes turn back to Quicksilver’s face. "How long?"

His jaw clenched. Just a flicker.

"Since the start."

She nodded once. Not big. Not dramatic. Just an acknowledgment of something already known in her bones.

"Well, well, well," Pyro purred, voice coated in gasoline. As the three had made their way over to them. “Didn’t think we’d find you out here alone, Nightingale. Guess the songbird strayed too far from the nest, eh?”

(Y/n) didn’t answer. unblinking, unreadable.

Sabertooth chuckled low, like gravel sliding down a mountain. It was a sound that was familiar in all of the worst ways. “This her, Maximoff?”

Pietro’s voice came steady. Empty. “Yeah.”

That was all he said.

Not a warning. Not a protest. Just confirmation.

Her blood ran colder.

“You’re not walking away tonight, chère,” Gambit said smoothly, his voice sliding around her like smoke, Cajun accent as heavy as she remembered. “We’ve got business. You, me, and the boss.”

She straightened, finally, letting the cigarette fall from her fingers to the dirt below. She ground it out beneath the heel of her boot, slow and silent. When she lifted her head, there was no fear in her expression. Only resolve. Contained. Contoured.

Like a fuse lit but not yet burning.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said, voice steadier than she felt.

“Come on, now,” Pyro crooned. “Don’t be like that, love. Magneto’s got plans. Big ones. And you’re on the guest list, baby bird.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He just flashed his teeth at her with a knowing wink that went completely unacknowledged.

The weight of the situation came pressing on her chest. Hot and heavy, and cold and unfeeling all at once. She looked around uselessly already knowing there wasn’t an out for her. She wouldn't be able to escape or flee. Not with Quicksilver and not with Sabretooth. And fighting seemed laughable. She was outnumbered, outclassed and outranked. She couldn't take on one of the assholes, much less all four. It was a losing situation for her no matter the hand dealt.

She sighed for what felt like the thousandth time that night.

Besides, she didn’t want to fight.

Not tonight. Not now.

The adrenaline was starting to mix too heavily with the nicotine in her blood, and she knew if she let her panic take the wheel, she’d regret what followed. So she reached back into her jacket instead—hands steady, slow, deliberate—and pulled out the battered pack of Camels. Her fingers dipped inside and came out with one last cigarette, slightly bent, a little weathered, but still perfectly smokable.

“Quite the party,” she murmured, voice soft but steady, refusing to look away from the approaching threat. “Didn’t realize I was so popular.”

It perched delicately between her lips, the curve of her mouth pulling around it like it belonged there.

A girl playing dress-up in her father’s jacket. A delicate, pretty thing made of soft curves and sharper edges. The cigarette looked out of place in her hand. On her mouth. She didn’t look like a smoker. But the ease with which she moved—the practiced, habitual precision of it—betrayed the truth.

It looked out of place until it didn’t. Not when it had clearly lived a few lives with her already.

Because nothing about her was simple.

She let her eyes drag lazily over the men in front of her, as though they weren’t here to drag her to some gilded prison of Magneto’s making. As though they were just three guys she might see in a dive bar or waiting outside a concert venue.

They were dressed like civilians, the same way Pietro was. Their attempt at blending in, at pretending this was anything less than an ambush. Gambit, of course, wore that damn trench coat—dramatic as ever, even without the armor or gear. Pyro looked like he’d stepped out of an indie band lineup, something almost artistic in the haphazard way his clothes clung to him, flannels and baggy jeans and some obscure band’s t-shirt she couldn’t tell you the first thing about .

And Sabertooth?

Sabertooth looked like a monster in borrowed clothes.

Nothing on earth could domesticate that man.

She studied them with the same gaze one might give a gallery painting from across the room. An art critic trying to decide if they were charmed or offended.

Gambit caught her eye first.

He’d changed. Gambit looked older now—matured. The boy she remembered was long gone, replaced by a man who hadn’t lost a drop of that swamp-born charm. Heavily shadowed stubble now lined the sharp angles of his face, making him look older, rougher, better, honestly. His charm had deepened—ripened with time like some expensive wine. The smirk on his face was criminal, lethal, and she knew if the smile didn’t get a woman, the voice would. Honey-dipped and sin-slick, he’d always known how to draw hearts like blood from a wound. The kind of thing that would make a girl trip over herself and thank him for it.

But his eyes—those unforgettable eyes were the same as she remembered them. Oddly beautiful; red irises and black sclera like spilled ink and blood. They seemed amused. Like he could hear every thought in her head. Roguish charm was an understatement.

He caught her looking.

Of course he did.

He offered her a lazy grin, slow and smooth, like molasses poured from a silver spoon. “Ma chérie,” he said with a wink that probably made hearts flutter from miles away. “If you keep lookin’ at me like that, I might start thinkin’ you missed me.”

She didn’t dignify that with a response, just raised one unimpressed brow and moved on.

Pyro—he hadn’t changed as much. His frame had filled out some, arms defined beneath the thin long-sleeved tee he wore under an open flannel. Shoulders broader than she remembers, and he might’ve been an inch or two taller than he used to be. His vibrant hair had grown a little longer, hanging in his face, which was sharper now, in artful chaos. Tonight, he’d swapped his flamethrowers for something subtler. He stood with one hand in his pocket and the other fidgeting with a matchbook—flicking it open and closed, the snap-snap-snap a rhythmic tic she remembered from years ago. There was still that unhinged brightness behind his eyes. That barely-contained chaos that looked like a spark always about to ignite.

Her eyes lingered on him a little longer.

Old crushes were a strange thing.

She remembered liking him once. Maybe it was the accent. Or the danger. Or that brand of reckless energy. Or maybe just the way his eyes used to light up when he talked about fire like it was a living thing. Like he was in love with it. That kind of devotion was rare. It was foolish, in retrospect. But she had been seventeen, and he had laughed at her jokes. Sometimes that was all it took.

And then there was Sabertooth.

She swallowed.

He hadn’t aged a damn day.

He still looked older than any of them but was aging like some slow-turning curse. Healing factor made him almost eternal.

Out of everyone, he had changed the least. He was still enormous. Still terrifying. Still too quiet and too aware for someone so feral. Still exuding the kind of hunger that wasn’t about food or sex, but something deeper, more primal—an instinct to devour whatever he couldn’t control. His golden eyes didn’t blink as he watched her. They never had. He was the same the day she met him, and he’d be the same long after she was dead. Time didn’t touch men like him and Logan. Not the way it did everyone else.

She looked at him, and in the quiet between her thoughts, wondered—not for the first time—how long he and Logan had been circling each other, roaming the earth. How many times had they torn chunks from each other’s flesh, only to heal and meet again?

And how many more times were left? It seemed they’d be here till the end of the universe itself.

Star-crossed lovers, Shakespeare had written.

She supposed Logan and Creed were something else entirely.

Star-crossed enemies.

The term didn’t exist, but maybe it should’ve.

Destined to destroy, and somehow, destined not to die.

Her voice broke the stillness like glass underfoot. She turns her attention back to Pyro, her head cocked to the side, a dry smile on her lips.

“Got a light?”she asked, utterly casually. As if she wasn’t surrounded. As if they weren’t here to kidnap her. She thought she was funny. She brought the cigarette up in front of her and waved it nonchalantly, as though that explained everything.

Pyro blinked.

A heartbeat passed.

Then a shit-eating grin spread on his face, like a fire catching wind. God help her, he looked like the type who’d light a match just to watch it burn down to his fingers and laugh about the scars.

Oh, he liked that. Not just the question, but the whole performance. The cigarette dangling from her lips like punctuation. The way her curls framed her face in disheveled poetry. The tilt of her head like she was unbothered, like this was just another Tuesday and not a setup spiraling into something dark.

Gambit let out a low whistle under his breath. “Mon dieu chérie… bold of you.”

“Oh, Darlin’,” Pyro drawled, pulling his lighter from the inside of his coat like it was a holy relic, flicking the silver Zippo open with a practiced snap. A distinct cling sound filling the hollow air. A tiny flame danced to life, flickering gold in the shadows. “You know I always have a light.”

He took a step forward, hand outstretched. Even though he didn’t need to. They both knew that. He could’ve lit her up from ten feet away with a thought and a twitch of his fingers.

She raises a brow at him in question, and he just flashes her a brilliant smile.

“Don’t mind sharin’. Any excuse to get close to you, songbird.”

(Y/n) didn’t flinch. She didn’t laugh either. But her lips twitched, like she was amused. Maybe she was. In a twisted sort of way.

Pietro let out a slow breath through his nose, muttering something under it that sounded suspiciously like you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

She stepped forward as well with casual ease, cigarette held delicately between her lips. She didn’t rush. The men around her, the fear clawing up her ribs, the betrayal still scalding behind her breastbone—all of it could wait.

“Let me guess. You want me to say something cheesy. ‘Light your fire, birdie?’”

“I’d actually prefer it if you’d shut up, but I never get what I want.”

“Aw don’t be like that, love.”

Pietro’s voice cut in then. Cold and sharp.

“She has her own lighter.”

(Y/n) didn’t even look at him. “It’s out of fluid.”

That was a lie. Her plastic Bic was full. She just didn’t feel like using it.

She could practically hear him grit his teeth from somewhere behind her. She didn’t really care.

She leaned in, letting the thin cylinder of her cigarette rest against the edge of Pyro’s flame. It caught with a soft flick and a brief flare, the scent of menthol curling up in the air between them. For a second—just a second—they stood close enough that she could see the ash flecks in his eyes, the faint scar near his temple she didn’t remember from before, the way his grin faltered as if surprised by the calm in her gaze. Like maybe she wasn’t scared of him. Like maybe she never had been.

She stepped back once her cigarette was lit, giving a little flick of her fingers in a mock salute. Smoke twisted in lazy ribbons around her face.

“Thanks, Johnny. Glad to see you’re good for something still” Her voice was breezy, offhanded, cut from the same cloth as the smoke curling from her lips—soft and biting at once.

He chuckled low, licking the inside of his cheek. “You know how much I like watching things burn. I take any chance I can get to light one up for pretty girls.

A beat.

“Especially the mean ones”

She rolled her eyes, but the sharp edge of her mouth softened just a touch, betraying the ghost of reluctant amusement.

Behind her, somewhere closer to the rusted freight train, Quicksilver grunted.

Not loud. But sharp. Meant to be heard.

(Y/n) didn’t turn.

Pietro hadn’t moved since the moment the others arrived, but the tension had twisted his spine into something steel-cable tight. He looked like he wanted to punch something—preferably Allerdyce’s stupid face.

And Pyro, the bastard, caught his eye over her shoulder.

Met his stare.

And gave him a slow, lazy grin, mouth quirked like a match head begging for a strike. His expression said What? Jealous? as clearly as if he’d spoken it aloud.

Go on, do something

Pietro’s finger’s twitch, every bit of self restraint he had going into not choking the redhead right here, right now.

He could. God, he could do it before anyone blinked. Pyro wouldn’t even see it coming.

But he didn’t.

“Mm. Therapy might help with that.” Nightingale replies, unaware of the silent threats the two men shared in a split second.

The flame snapped closed with a flick, and Pyro watched her with something unreadable in his gaze as she took a drag. Something one could mistake as veneration.

Not lust. Not infatuation. Something deeper.

The kind of quiet awe a boy might carry for the storm that ruined his hometown—beautiful, destructive, unforgettable.

Behind her, the moon hung low, swollen and bruised against the indigo sky like it had seen too much and said too little. A witness draped in borrowed light. She turned her head and exhaled smoke up toward the stars. Ironic, how peaceful it looked. How quiet. Like the world wasn't holding its breath around them.

Like nothing was about to break.

“You’ve changed,” he said eventually, almost admiring.

She exhaled again, eyes on him like steel under velvet. “So have you. Still an asshole, though.”

His lips pulled into a smirk. Crooked. Honest. “Fair.”

A low growl cut through the air then like a scalpel through skin—feral, throaty, primal. The kind of sound that made your bones remember what fear was even if your brain insisted you were fine.

“You’re stalling,” Sabretooth rumbled. His voice was gravel soaked in blood, low and sharp, the warning in it unmistakable.

(Y/n)’s head snapped toward him on instinct, her pulse hitching despite her best efforts. For just a flicker—just a breath—panic danced behind her eyes, a sliver of raw instinct. The kind that came when someone called your bluff before you could salvage the illusion. Her expression didn’t falter long, but it was enough to make the corners of Sabretooth’s mouth twitch.

She covered it with a lazy draw from her cigarette, but the damage was done.

“Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe I just wanted a smoke before your people started throwing punches.”

“You always this mouthy before a beating?” Sabretooth asked. He was watching her the way a lion watches a cornered gazelle—curious, patient. Hungry. A confidence that comes with knowing you’ve already won.

Something in his gaze said: Run. It’ll be more fun for me.

(Y/n) inhaled, and let the smoke sit in her lungs for a heartbeat. Then exhaled slowly through her nose, eyes trained on the older mutant like he didn’t terrify her down to the marrow.

So she opened her mouth and said something she knew was beyond stupid.

“You always this eager to play attack dog for someone who keeps you on a leash? Or is this your way of proving you still got it after that thrashing Logan gave you?”

The silence that followed was deep and sharp, like the breath before a scream.

Sabretooth’s snarl was instant—teeth bared, hackles raised, the line between man and beast erased in one second.

He lunged a half-step forward, claws twitching into view—

And Pietro moved.

In a blink, he was between them, arm outstretched, fingers splayed—not touching her, but blocking the space between her and the coming storm. His voice came low

“Enough.”

“You got a real goddamn mouth on you, girl,” he hissed. “Let’s see if you still got any jokes when I tear out your fucking throat—”

“Whoa, whoa—easy, mon frère,” Gambit cut in, stepping slightly in front of him, one hand raised.“Ain’t no need for that just yet. She's just talkin’, homme,” Gambit said lazily, though his tone was a notch more serious than before. “You know how birds get when they’re backed in a cage. She don’ mean nothin’ by it.”

(Y/n) turned her gaze sharply to Gambit. “Don’t speak for me.”

The look Gambit gave her was pleading—bordering on annoyed. Like a man trying to keep a bar fight from turning into a body count.

Quicksilver turned toward her at that, eyes burning. His jaw clenched hard enough to tremble at the edges.

“Stop talking,” he bit out. “Just—stop. You’re not helping yourself.”

His face was unreadable, but his eyes flickered—furious.

And beneath it all—he looked scared.

For her?

She nearly scoffed. Yeah, right.

He’s the one who got her into this fucking mess.

From off to the side, Pyro chuckled lowly, breaking the tension just enough to turn all eyes.

“Bloody hell, love. Ain’t you just a little spitfire.” His voice was darkly amused, tinged with something she couldn’t quite place. “Careful now, Creed,” he added, eyes flicking toward Sabretooth. “Looks like the little birdie’s got claws too.”

Sabretooth growled again, a low, guttural threat vibrating up from his chest. But Pyro wasn’t finished.

“She’s not wrong though,” he mused, head cocked, genuinely entertained. “Wolverine did mop the floor with you last time. What was it—three minutes? Two?” He grinned, wicked. “Not that anyone’s counting.”

Sabretooth snarled—really snarled this time, shoulders bunching, claws arching forward like he meant to carve someone in half right then and there—

“Say that again, you little—!”

“Don’t,” Pietro snapped, venom sharp and sudden, his voice cracking like thunder across dry air. “We’re not doing this now.”

Gambit threw up a hand in warning, cool and casual but firm.

“Let it go, Victor.”

(Y/n) glanced at him, a ghost of a smirk tugging the corner of her mouth despite the pulse thudding behind her ribs.

“Thanks for the assist,” she murmured.

Pyro winked. “Anytime, birdie.”

Quicksilver made a strangled sound like he might actually implode. “Somebody shut him up” he hisses.

Gambit’s eyes slid to (Y/n) again, sharp and steady now. The flirtation had bled out of his expression, replaced by a sort of grim calm.

“You come now, chérie. Quiet-like. We walk, we talk. No one gets hurt.”

“And if I don’t?”

No one answered.

They didn’t have to.

Sabretooth’s claws flexed in the still air with a slow, deliberate snikt.

And the night held its breath once again.

A pin drop could’ve echoed like a gunshot in the stillness that followed.

It was that quiet.

like the world itself had gone silent, teetering on the knife’s edge of violence. (Y/n)’s heart thundered in her chest, a frantic drumbeat behind her ribs. Fear had its hands on her—tight around her lungs, threading through her limbs, trembling just beneath the surface. It was there in the way her shoulders stiffened, in the twitch of her fingers at her sides, in the shallowness of each breath that left her.

She knew it.

They knew it.

She would have gotten mauled in five seconds flat had Quicksilver and Gambit not stepped in.

And still, she was stubborn.

Stupid, reckless, gut-deep stubborn. The kind that burns out stars before it ever yields.

She moved before she thought.

Shoved Quicksilver back with both hands—palms pressed to the cold leather over his chest. The contact was brief, but unexpected, and he stumbled—not from force, but from shock. His silver brows lifted a fraction, mouth parting in disbelief.

“Get away from me!,” Her voice cracked like glass, and still she stood her ground “All of you.”

Son of a bitch. The whole damn lot of them.

She smashed the cigarette under her boot’s heel, twisting her toe into the gravel until the last ember died with deliberate finality, grinding it into the rocks like it was something she could control.

Then she straightened slowly, lifting her chin like a blade drawn from a sheath. Her voice rang out like something final—low and serious.

“I thought I made myself perfectly clear. Tell Magneto he can rot in whatever hole he crawled out of.”

Her gaze swept over them, unflinching now despite the way her pulse screamed behind her ears.

“And if you're all so eager to follow him to hell.” her eyes landed on each of them, one by one. “be my guest, but I'm not gonna roll over so easily.”

There it was.

The line.

For one raw moment, no one breathed.

Then—

“Oh, come on,” Pietro snapped, throwing his hands up. “Are you trying to die tonight?”

Gambit winced and muttered something in French under his breath, something that sounded a lot like a prayer—or a curse.

“Merde,” he muttered under his breath. “Girl really don’ know when to shut up.”

Pyro’s expression was hard to read now. The flame in his grin had gone out, replaced by something pensive, almost cold. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—not admiration, but maybe... regret. Maybe just the echo of it.

“You’re makin’ this harder than it needs to be, love,” he said, and for once, his voice wasn’t teasing. No lilt, no smirk hiding behind his words. Just truth. And something that could have almost been pity.

And Sabretooth?

Sabretooth laughed.

A low, guttural sound that crawled up his throat and slithered across the night air.

“Well, that settles it,” he growled, flexing his claws with audible delight. “We do this the fun way.”

A wind stirred through the train yard then, sharp and cold as an icicle pick in winter. It slid past (Y/n)’s cheeks like a warning.

The sound of Sabretooth’s laughter rooted her in place, that deep, lupine rumble clinging to the insides of her ears like cobwebs. He stepped forward again, slow and heavy—each movement a flex of coiled muscle and malevolent intent. The moonlight caught on his claws as they extended fully, glinting silver like the teeth of some ancient trap.

He stepped again—deliberate, savoring the moment, the way monsters do when they’re certain the end has already been written. His bulk loomed larger with each stride, shoulders rolling like tectonic plates, hands relaxed but twitching with promise.

And still—she didn’t move.

Didn’t dare to.

Every instinct screamed at her to run. But where would she go? There were four of them. Trained. Ruthless. Men who had bathed in battle since their bones were half-grown. She’d be tackled in seconds, ripped apart before she could so much as scream.

Still, she couldn’t stop her legs from tensing, couldn’t stop her fingers from curling, couldn’t stop her power from flaring just a little too bright behind her ribs.

She took one breath. Another. And then—

The air around her began to shimmer.

Faint, at first— like a flickering lightbulb.. Then stronger. A ripple of something soft and silver-blue, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. Her pupils shrank to pinpricks, the stars above catching in her eyes like pin-lights reflected in water.

Pietro saw it first.

“No—no, don’t,” he snapped, his voice slicing the air like a whip as he turned to her. His hand lifted, palm open, like he might physically push the power back into her chest. “(Y/n) stop!. Don’t make this worse—”

Sabretooth lunged.

Fast.

Too fast for anything but panic.

But Pietro was faster.

In a blur of black and silver and wind, he caught Sabertooth mid-leap—shoulder crashing into the older mutant’s side with the full force of a sonic boom. The impact sent both of them tumbling across the gravel in a burst of motion and fury, a cloud of dust exploding where they fell.

“Get her!” Pietro shouted mid-scuffle, his voice a gruff and a whip-crack of command as he fought to keep Sabretooth’s claws from his throat.

But (Y/n) was already turning—already moving—legs pushing off the earth like a raven. Her power bloomed behind her eyes now, lighting her skin in soft purple pulses. She moved with desperation, hands splayed, eyes scanning for the narrowest exit between rusted freight cars and stacked debris, and wooden carts.

And then Gambit stepped into her path.

He didn’t raise a hand. Had no cards visible. Didn’t reach for the bo staff strapped to his back. He just looked at her, red eyes almost glowing under the yellow streetlight

“Don’ do this, chère.”

She didn’t stop.

Didn’t even hesitate.

She ducked low and lunged past him—

—only to feel his arm loop around her waist mid-sprint, catching her momentum and spinning her hard into the wall of a derailed car. He was holding back, just wanting to use enough force to stop her. But it still hurt like a motherfucker.

She gasped, the air knocked clean out of her chest, her shoulder slamming into rusted metal with a sick clang.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” he said softly, arm tightening around her middle like a steel band. “Please.”

‘Too fucking late for that.’ She thinks bitterly in her head as her body continued to thrash, desperate and fierce.

A burst of shimmering energy flickered from her palms, reading herself to break free from his grip—only for Gambit to seize her wrists in his gloved hands and pin them to the wall beside her head.

‘Son of a bitch.’

“Enough, Nightingale,” Pietro barked from across the yard, his voice ragged with effort. Sabretooth had him pinned now, but not for long—the black blur of his limbs still jerking, struggling under the larger man’s weight. “Goddammit, get off Creed—”

“Let go of me,” she hissed, still writhing, her voice gone hoarse from panic and fury as she fought tooth and nail to break Gambit’s hold.

“LeBeau, I will kill you, I swear to god-!”

He pulls her restrained wrists away from the wall of the car, the movement forceful enough to peel her entire back from the surface just for him to slam it back in with a force that makes a grunt leave her lips, and she bites her lip to restrain the whimper that want to follow.

“Chère you need to calm the hell down-”

“Fuck you-!”

That’s when she sees him from her peripheral vision. Pyro approached slowly now, arms outstretched—not threatening, not mocking, almost placating, like trying to sooth a frightened animal. His brows were drawn tight, mouth a grim line.

“You’re not gonna win this fight, love,” he said, gently now. “Not here. Not tonight.”

Her lips parted, breath catching on a sob she didn’t let out. Her wrists ached in Gambit’s grip. Her heart ached worse.

Pietro finally shoved Sabretooth off with a surge of speed and landed, panting, one arm cradling his ribs.

“Let her go,” he said, voice gravel-rough. “I’ve got her.”

Gambit hesitated.

Then slowly, he stepped back.

(Y/n) staggered forward—but not far. Pietro caught her by the elbow, not unkindly, just firm. Like a leash. Like gravity. An unstoppable force.

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t look at any of them.

Her eyes stayed fixed on the tracks ahead—long, endless steel rails stretching toward darkness.

And the night felt colder than before.

She felt a ringing in her ear.

Sharp, high, incessant.

She didn’t know if it was from the panic attack crawling up her throat like a hand around her windpipe, or if it was from Gambit bashing her damn head—twice—into cold, unyielding steel. Probably both. Either way, it wouldn't stop.

There was an unabating throbbing at the back of her head as well. One she was desperately trying to ignore.

Her knees threatened to give out, breath rattling, but she didn’t fall. Wouldn’t give them that.

She hated this.

Hated the stifling heat of her own skin, hated the pounding of her blood in her ears, hated the hands that had touched her, gripped her, held her down.

She hated the freight yard, the scent of rust and ash, the cold press of gravel under her boots. She hated them—every last one of them. Why couldn’t they have just left her alone?

She hated the way Pietro’s hand still gripped her elbow like he was the only thing keeping her from shattering.

But most of all—

She hated herself.

For letting it happen. For not being faster. For not being stronger.

She was supposed to be better than this. She had promised herself she would never be this helpless again.

She was an X-Man, dammit.

And yet—here she was.

Surrounded. Dragged from the only sense of control she’d managed to carve out for herself in this brutal, unforgiving world. Caged like a bird with clipped wings and too much pride.

(Y/n) sucked in a breath that caught in her chest like broken glass, blinking against the pressure behind her eyes.

She was not going to cry. She doesn’t think she’d be able to survive the humiliation that would come with her breaking down into tears right now.

“Get off,” she muttered. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was steady—knife-steady. “Don’t touch me.”

Pietro didn’t move for a beat too long.

Then—slowly—he released her.

She stepped away from him like his touch burned. Like she could scrub it from her skin if she just moved fast enough.

Pyro watched her with a strange stillness now, all the fire in him dimmed to embers.

Gambit’s mouth was tight, eyes unreadable beneath the glint of shadowed red.

And Sabretooth… Sabretooth looked pleased.

Pietro’s voice came again, quiet, but with a thread of command under the weariness.

“We're leaving.”

(Y/n) didn’t answer.

Just stood there, staring at the ground. Her jaw clenched so hard it ached.

“You can walk,” Pietro said, voice a bit softer, “or someone’s going to carry you. But we’re going.”

Her fingers curled at her sides.

And after a long breath, she moved.

28 notes · View notes

eternal-pie · 2 months ago

Note

Do you do requests?? If so I’d love to hear your opinion on pyro (from x-men evolution) the way you did quicksilver! I love that iteration of him, idk why. If not please ignore this!

Omg I do now!!

———————

Pyro/John Allerdyce (X-men: Evolution) Head cannons

———————————

So sorry this took so long, I wrote my pietro head cannons YEARS ago and haven’t watched evolution for quite some time so I’ve been rediscovering a lot of characters and writing more in general :)

——————

I can see Pyro starting off a relationship with COMMITMENT ISSUES

He associates relationships with “settling down” and to him that means giving up the things he enjoys

I feel like for a good while he would insist your relationship is just casual, nothing serious

He might even be a little scared of being in love

But over time he’d realize how happy he was with you

And even as he gets closer with you he sees that his life isn’t over just different

With that in mind you would have to be ok with the things he does

Pyro is all about freedom and if you try to stifle that he’ll dip no matter how much he cares

He doesn’t need you to be a part of the brotherhood by any means

Tho I think he’d like that

If your not he’d be very open about his involvement

I do think he’d be drawn to a person who’s more serious than him

Still with a sense of humor maybe sarcastic or witty

He seems the type to enjoy a little “hard to get” type situation

Cuz at first he’s just playfully flirting with a hot person, he doesn’t want you to take him seriously

He’d def talk a big game and then panic when you agree for the first time

Mans is sweating, flustered and shocked

He’ll kinda just stand there, trying to construct a proper sentence, stuck between his fear of commitment and his desire to go out with you

It’s best to just give him a time and place, preferably a night of drinks so he can lie to himself about the nature of the outing

I feel like Pyro wants to live without judgement

He hates when someone tries to make him feel bad for being authenticity himself

That’s why he’s working with Magneto

If he wasn’t in a kids show he would swear

Smells like smoke and propane

Not naturally but for other obvious reasons

I’m so sorry to say but he would use 3 in 1 shampoo

I do think he could be reformed, in my mind he does it more out of habit and convenience than actual preference.

Honestly I’m pretty sure you could get him in a lot of self care stuff

Like at first he’d poke fun at it

“HAH, ya look like some sorta crypted!”

But if you explain what your doing and offer to let him try it too, he will

He’ll play it off as a joke and complain

But it’s kinda empty when he tries to sit as still as possible to make things easier

And for him that’s crazy

HE CANNOT SIT STILL AT ALL

That and you’ll see him next morning admiring himself in the mirror

After that whenever you start doing self care he’ll sorta linger

If you’ve ever seen the videos of pets wanting owners to put makeup on them too

That’s the sort of energy he brings

He’s not gonna ask you so he’s hoping you’ll offer

He will never do it himself

Honestly he’s mostly doing it cuz he likes you touching him and taking care of him

DON'T mention if he leans into your touch he’ll get defensive

He’s also defensive of his clothes

You can steal hoodies BUT you will receive side eye and insistence that you “take good care of his threads”

That and he might make ‘who wore it better’ jokes

Incapable of taking anything seriously

He’ll be on death's door after a fight, body held together with hopes, dreams and scotch tape as you try to fix him up.

It’s hard for you to see him like this. Maybe you cry a little as he’s unconscious, diligently and tirelessly feeding and carrying for him.

The moment he’s able to speak, his voice is still weak. He’ll take your hand gently

“Babes come closer, I need you to do something for me.”

Of course you lean in, you're eager to do anything for him in anyway if it’ll help him get better

And John will whisper the stupidest request you’ve ever heard into your ear like it’s his dying wish

He will laugh so hard it hurts, and you will probably want to smother him with a pillow

I image that pretty common for someone dating him though

I feel like he’d be very different in private

He becomes less showboaty and allows himself to be more natural

Don’t get me wrong he’s excessively affectionate with you in public

But in private his affection is subtler

He’ll show you a funny video he found

When he goes to grab food he’ll bring some back for you

If your the kind of person to say you don’t want food and than steal some anyway he’ll start buying extra

(he will complain tho)

Being alone makes him feel like he can be more intimate and genuinely romantic.

In his own way

Like I said he’d be very publicly affectionate.

Always touching you, calling you affectionate nicknames, using horrible horrible pickup lines

It really sucks sometimes cuz I would bet money he runs unbearably hot both from working around fire and running around in his suite

Idk why but I feel like a lot of the nicknames he’d give you would be weird variations of your name.

Like they’d start off sorta normal, shortening your name or calling you by the first letter of your name.

But as time goes on he might miss speak and find he likes that version more or realize your name sounds like something else or turn it into some kind of pun or rhyme

Either way your nickname will barely resemble your actual name, if at all

Would 100% yell “HEY BABES, WATCH THIS!” And then eat total shit

As his partner you have the honorary privilege to laugh at him a little bit when this happens

He will absolutely blame his failure on the wind or something

He adores showing off, Especially to his partner

But he wants to look cool in general

You think he needs to do all that fancy stuff with his fire?

Not even a little, sure looks cool tho

He has like 3 lighters on him at all times

He will forget they’re there and rediscover them later

I can see him collecting lighters actually

For some reason I can see him calling them his “girls”

Cue jokes that they could never replace you

Or that they’re coming for your spot

He doesn’t mean any of it, it’s just such an easy joke to make

He’d definitely need a person who can take a joke air some teasing

Most of what he says shouldn’t be taken at face value

He’d really enjoy if you could dish it out to, he’d enjoy bantering with you

he does enjoy “over reacting” and dramatically resigning himself to the couch or something similar

Hand pressed against his forehead as he peaks over to see if your watching

Only to get a little insulted if you don’t come and console him

(The dramatics are just so he can leverage a kiss out of you)

———————

I hope I did pyro justice, and that this was what you had in mind

I’m so excited to have received my first request :)

#pyro #xmen evolution x reader #xmen evolution #x men #pyro x reader #john allerdyce #john allerdyce x reader

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evanpetersmood · 10 months ago

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I need more John Allerdyce/Pyro fics man 😭😭

#john allerdyce x reader #pyro x reader #x men movies #x men #aaron stanford #there aren’t enough AHHHH

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madamemachikonew · 2 years ago

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Neyooomin drew a fanart of my Enjou. Sobbing. He looks so soft and vulnerable. [pins it on my fridge]

Original tweet source

My Enjou x Fem!Reader fic: The Lies of Handsome Men (R18)

#the lies of handsome men #enjou #genshin enjou #pyro abyss lector #enjou x reader #enjou my beloved #the thing calling itself enjou #enjou x fem reader #enjou x you #enjou x y/n

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writingoddess1125 · 4 months ago

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Hii,i love ur fics so much, i was wondering if you could do a john allerdyce/pyro x reader? Whatever ur comfortable with👍🏻I never see people make fics about him,😭 i cannot find any at all😀

Long Forgotten Favorite Characters from Past Movies and Media?!

This is my Bread and Butter-

Flaming Cinnamons

Pyro John Allerdyce x GNReader

I did try! Hope you like it lol

No Real Warnings

You knock on the metal door- Arms folded over yourself to avoid the cold air as it lightly snowed. The slider snapping open quickly.

"What's the Password?"

"Absinthe"

You say softly, before the large doors open up and you walk into the loud hidden club. People of all kinds dancing together as the loud music blared out over the crowd.

Your eyes scanning over the crowd as you see mutants of all appearances dancing together- some using their unique gifts to their advantage on the dance floor.

Though it was expected of a Mutant only club- a modern speakeasy really.

You'd decided on a whim to come here- and honestly already starting to regret it.

Sticking close to the walls you make your way over to the bar, also actively avoiding the little rooms with curtains covering them- you didn't want to see that shit..

Taking a seat fast you are quick to order something- a vodka cranberry just to get started, looking back at the dance floor occasionally trying to figure out if you wanted to jump into that crowd of bodies.

'Way I'm way too sober to join that mess..'

Downing as much of your drink as you could in a sitting you didn't notice the figure taking a seat way too close to you- smiling at you brightly.

"Now what is a sexy little thing like you doing sitting alone?"

Looking up quickly you see a fairly attractive blonde man, dresses in a dark leather jacket which almost looked worn in spots, Seemingly having taken a liking to you by the way he stared- you couldnt help but be a bit surprised by how strong he was coming on too.

"Very Original- and Bold"

You chime, Rolling your eyes as you set the now half finished drink down- taking in the blonde as he smiled at you, You trying to keep up a admittedly fake indifferent look to him.

"Well if I said you were Hot-"

He snapped his fingers as dancing flames graced over his finger tips- Like someone moving a coin through there knuckles before disappearing.

"I'd be Lying~"

God damn he was good..

"Smooth I give you that" You can't help but chuckle, It was a cool little trick afterall- He held his hand out to you calmly.

"John, Though I prefer to go by Pyro"

You hesitate for only a second as you shake his hand in return. Feeling like you just shook hands with the damn devil at how he smiled at you.

"(Y/N)-... So Pyro hm? Little on the nose don't ya think?"

He shrugged, pulling his hand back gently to lean his cheek on his palm as he stared you up and down practically undressing you with his eyes.

"Maybe- But it's easy to remember, Besides I doubt you'll forget it Hm?"

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. "I guess not- However shouldn't you be off dancing somewhere? You don't seem like the type to hug the bar"

“Oh, I will,” he said with a wide grin “But first, I think you need a proper drink first.”

Pyro sliding your drink off like it was somehow offensive to him. Before you could protest, he flagged down the bartender. “Two Flaming Cinnamons.”

The bartender nodded, fixing the drinks easily and giving them to him. There two shot glasses stood with large blue flames dancing on top, your eyes a bit wide in worry at them in truth-

“Flaming Cinnamons,” he said, sliding one of the glasses toward you. “Guaranteed to warm you up.”

“Isn’t this your thing? Fire, I mean.” You mumble softly, picking it up. Pyro seemingly liking how that fake confidence you had displayed had already crumbled by a little flame-

“Exactly,”

He said with a cocky grin.

“Call it a appetizer of whats to come.”

You narrow your eyes catching the obvious innuendo, but the way he was looking at you- It was.. Corny as it was, sexy as fuck. You smile softly and hold up the glass.

“Bottoms up,” he said, clinking his glass against yours.

You both downed the shots. The mild heat hit you first, before very sweet cinnamon kicked in. Your face lighting up in delight.

"It's good, It's like candy?" You hum softly to yourself- not catching the way Pyro grinned at you.

"There we go~ See wasn't too bad right?"

You nod in agreement with him, as he ordered another few rounds for the two of you.

It took two more shots before you started to really really feel it- Your face starting to flush as cinnamon candy seemed to overwhelm your senses. Pyro even doing a few little tricks to you, if you had been in a been a sober it would have reminded you of a peacock showing off to get a mate as fast as possible.

Giggles left the both of you as you told stupid stories and jokes there at the bar- Finishing the latest shot as you swayed a little. Seeing how the lights went dark suddently and black lights and lazers fell over the crowd as the music picked up, the crowd of people cheering loudly at this as the base picked up.

"Wanna go dance?" You manage to say over the loud music, The idea of being in that crowd of bodies now seeing way more appealing if you were with him.

"Thought you'd never ask~"

Just like that he took your hand fast and pulled you to the dance floor managing to part through the people as he damn near had you in the center of the floor. People seemingly surrounding the two of you instantly as the music blared overhead.

It was, overwhelming-

Almost turning back to flee when a firm hand settled on your lowerback.

"Don't worry~ Ive got you" Pyro purred in your ear- as he pulled you flush against him, feeling damn near everything with how close you two were- You couldnt tell if it was from the alcohol or the feeling of being pressed against him.

But damn did you feel like you were on fire-

And it felt good

#x reader #john allerdyce #pyro #xmen #xmen x reader #xmen fanfiction #pyro x reader #john allerdyce x reader #x men imagine

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jamgoesart · 11 months ago

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Firework

Here on Wattpad

The earth rotates.

But we cannot feel its movement.

And then, one night, we look up.

A spark blazes its way and the sky is on fire.

.・゜-: ✧ :- epigraph

Fairy tales are not to be underestimated.

There is always an element of truth in them.

.・゜-: ✧ :- firework

The past can always come back to haunt you, but you never know where it will take you. All you can do is hope it's a place you like.

＊*-̩̩͙✩-̩̩͙*˚˚*-̩̩͙✩-̩̩͙*˚＊

Devon Poole

『 Shift 』

John Allerdyce

『 Pyro 』

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The earth rotates.

But we cannot feel its movement.

Then one night we look up.

A spark bursts forth and the sky is on fire.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The past is like a torch that lights our way.

Our ancestors have shown us the way so that we can follow it. Faith is the weapon our enemies fear the most.

For it gives our people the strength to rise up against all those who would destroy us.

＊*-̩̩͙✩-̩̩͙*˚˚*-̩̩͙✩-̩̩͙*˚＊

We are who we are because of our past.

Our past choices make us who we are.

.・゜-: ✧ :- sparkle

What has happened?

What has become of us?

As if we were strangers.

Without shared memories.

＊*-̩̩͙✩-̩̩͙*˚˚*-̩̩͙✩-̩̩͙*˚*

Team Punisher

Frank Castle

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Team Kingpin

Wilson Fisk

＊*-̩̩͙✩-̩̩͙*˚˚*-̩̩͙✩-̩̩͙*˚＊

This is our story.

This is who we are.

The sum of our choices.

prologue

The alarm clock rang until it suddenly stopped. There was no one there. There was suddenly a glass of water where the annoying little device had been on the nightstand.

Devon had barely pressed the alarm button to stop the annoying morning noise when her fingers were wet. Startled, she jerked her hand back, knocking something over and making a splash.

As quickly as Devon sat upright in her bed, no one could see. For a split second, she sat staring at the small wooden cabinet next to her bed. No alarm clock, just an overturned glass spilling its contents onto the floor.

What? .... This couldn't be. The alarm clock had gone off, Devon was sure of it, but there was only the glass. Another thing that couldn't be right. When she put something to drink by her bed at night, it was a bottle, a closed bottle, and it was on the floor. Nowhere else.

★

Bored, Devon drummed her finger on the edge of the table and watched her law class. Was she going to take this class? No. Why had she taken it anyway? Parents. One day you'll thank us for telling you to take this class. You are learning for life, not for school.

So Devon sat here now. Week after week, day after day. And he just couldn't take any more of Mr. Porter's talk. The subject itself might not be bad, but a different teacher would have been nice.

While Porter talked about criminal law and the class half-heartedly listened to the fifty-year-old, a shrill scream interrupted the lesson.

Devon automatically lifted her head and looked at the girl sitting in the second row to her left who was staring at her in utter horror.

At first, all the students and Mr. Porter looked at Claire, wanting to know why the redhead had let out a scream. But when nothing came out and the girl just looked at Devon, the heads turned to her. Cluelessness turned to confusion.

The frame of the table Devon was sitting at was no longer metal but neon green and the wooden top was a skateboard.

Yes, he loved to be stared at. Especially when you had no idea what was going on.

Until now, Devon hadn't thought about the incident with the radio a good month ago, but now she couldn't take it lightly. There was something very wrong with her.

》 The "full" story will be only on Wattpad 《

#wattpad #fanfiction #fanfic #deadpool x reader #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool & wolverine #deadpool #john allerdyce x reader #john allerdyce #pyro #bobby drake #iceman #xmen #x men #x-men #x2 #wolverine #logan howlett

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fanfic-stories-and-plots · 8 months ago

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I was hoping for some Pyro fanfics after Deadpool and Wolverine came out and was shocked that there wasn’t a lot. It is only two chapters right now, but I hope to post more eventually. This is a Pyro / Reader pairing.

#fanfiction #deadpool and wolverine #john allerdyce #john allerdyce x reader #reader insert #x reader #fem reader #iron man #the avengers #Pyro #x men movies

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lemon-boy-stan · 2 years ago

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Genshin men NSFW headcanons

Smut. Headcanons. FEATURING: diluc, kaeya, childe, dottore, xiao, wriothesley, neuvillette x reader. WARNINGS: breeding (diluc, zhongli, wriothesley), size kink (diluc, childe) CNC (kaeya), exhibitionsim (kaeya), knife/sword play (kaeya), monsterfucking (childe, zhongli), sex films (kaeya), corruption (dottore), dumbification (childe, dottore), dollification (dottore), objectification (dottore), torture (dottore), cum play (xiao), size kink (diluc, wriothesley), face riding (xiao), thigh riding (xiao, wriothesley), cock riding (xiao, wriothesley), handcuffs (wriothesley), toys (neuvillette), oral (neuvillette)

MINORS DON'T INTERACT ISTG.

DILUC

Ever since you've been in a relationship with Diluc, he's always been a service top.

Diluc also fucks to make love. Sex is meaningful to him, unless, of course, when he's angry or jealous.

He's a dom, and enjoys being in control, but also enjoys worshipping you.

Diluc only wants to make you feel good

Although he is a Pyro character, so sometimes he might get out of control

When he's really angry or really turned on, his eyes flash dark red.

Diluc is often vocal in sex. He groans alot, sometimes moans, and is always praising how well you're doing for him.

He's always had a breeding kink, but since your marriage, he can't get the idea of kids out of his head.

Diluc also adores the fact that you're so much smaller than him.

Every time he stretches you open you still squeal because he's too big.

He's drunk with how you make him feel, and he knows no one else would ever make him feel this good.

KAEYA

Switch but mostly Dom.

A mean one at that.

He enjoys things like CNC, knife play.

Seeing you squirm beneath him just gets him harder.

He does enjoy to sub sometimes, but you're never completely in control.

Kaeya is also an exhibitionist.

If he gets jealous, he'll fuck you infront of whoever made him jealous; maybe his brother or another knight.

In a modern au, he'd defineltey enjoy making sex films. He'd just love having videos of you all fucked out on his phone, cockdrunk.

CHILDE

Childe is a top, even more cruel than Kaeya.

Unlike Diluc, Tartaglia fucks to fuck.

He has alot of pent-up stress from his job, and he needs to let it out somehow.

What better way than his pretty little traveller?

Tartaglia loves seeing the fear in your eyes when he backs you up against a wall.

He loves how you suck his cock in so well, taking it every time even if it hurts.

Childe is often scared that one day he may hurt you in his foul legacy form.

He disagrees with the idea at first, and it takes a lot of convincing.

But one day, when he's turned, he can't resist you

He is ten feet tall, and his cock is fifteen inches.

He's a bit like a dragon in where the idea what's his is his.

In his foul legacy form, Childe's voice has you under a spell where you do anything he says.

DOTTORE

Dottore is a sadist.

You're just so innocent, and you just love him so much, he can't help but use you.

He loves your pretty blonde hair, and how lost and dumb you are for him.

You're such a good little doll, better than any of his creations.

He'd only ever fucked his creations before, but when you joined the fatui, he knew he felt something strong for you, something warm and different.

While he enjoys torturing you, in his own way, he's showing how much he loves you.

There's only the best for you, the best treatment, the best gifts.

Dottore loves how you're still not used to his fingers, his kisses, his touches.

He loves corrupting you, making you even more obsessed with him, almost brainwashed from his cock.

Maybe one day he'll put a concoction on you, give it to you to drink.

XIAO

Xiao is a major switch who loves to worship you.

He loves being inside you. He gets antsy alot when he isn't.

He's got a high sex drive, so you can count on alot of sex.

He also has the prettiest, sexiest moans.

Xiao loves making a mess of his cum, covering your body in it.

Xiao loves when you ride his face, his cock, his thighs. He can't get enough of it.

He loves you cumming on him, not being able to stop yourself.

Sometimes he'll have his hand wrapped around your throat if you talk back too much.

He also likes somnophilia. Once, Xiao saw you sleeping, and he just couldn't help yourself. And when he heard you moaning in your sleep, it became his new obsession.

WRIOTHESLEY

Wriothesley is a big believer in handcuffs and punishment.

He has many rules, and many repurcussions.

He likes having you helpless, being obsessed with him.

He's a former boxer, so he's very strong

He often manhandles you unintentionally, and his grip is so tight it often leaves marks.

If you're bad, he will cuff your hands behind your back. No exceptions.

He loves how tiny you are, how big his cock is compared to you.

He loves fucking you in the ass, it's his favourite thing to fill you up from behind.

He loves seeing you bounce on his abnormally large cock and his thighs.

Most importantly, he's obsessed when you shove your head into his neck, mewling at how good he feels.

NEUVILLETTE

Neuvillette is a switch who mostly enjoys subbing, and when he doms he likes being on bottom too.

Neuvillette loves when your mouth is around his cock. He'd never had any kind of sex before, and as soon as he felt you around him, he was obsessed.

He loves when his nipples are in your mouth. They're so sensitive, that he's squirming and gripping the bedsheets.

He loves being overstimulated, even if he's on top. When he cums so much that he can't anymore, his voice always breaks and he always starts crying because of how good it feels.

He loves when you use toys on him, he's a pillow princess. Vibrators, plugs, strap-ons, you name it.

He loves to shake of orgasms, and making messes all over you.

ZHONGLI

Zhongli has never had sex with a human before

But with you, he just couldn't resist.

He had to mate with you, make you his.

Don't you know dragons don't share their belongings?

Your scent was just... Different to him than anyone else. Special, perfect.

When he gets jealous, he half-turns into his form, his arms turning black and golden, horns growing on his head, tail forming behind him.

He uses his tail to keep you in place.

Sometimes, he makes you drink the ichor he bleeds, coaxing you into it, purring how much he wouldn't be able to live a lifetime without you.

He's obsessed with breeding you, as dragons mate for life.

Zhongli sees sex as something necessary, and is able to track your cycle by scent. He knows if you're on your period, when to fuck you, when to make love with you, and he knows if you're carrying his children.

GENSHIN IMPACT MASTERLIST

NAVIGATION

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nxuvillette · 7 months ago

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FORBIDDEN LUST — CAPITANO

synopsis : you were assigned to guard the fatui’s best. you knew the bounds of your relationship was strictly professional, but when your conversation one night becomes personal, those lines begin to blur.

❥- pairings : the captain (capitano) x fem!reader

❥- a/n : this post is for my criminal event ! i decided to do the captain, because well, he fits the bill in some aspect. i hope you guys enjoy and feedback + reblogs are appreciated :).

content warnings : nsfw [18+], fem!reader, minors + ageless + blank blogs dni, fatui!reader, spoilers to the 5.0 archon quest, power dynamic, mentions of crime, porn w plot, age gap, finger sucking, use of pet names (baby , darling , my love), some fluff, possessive!capitano, fingering, dirty talk, creampie, biting, outside sex, rough sex, choking, nipple sucking, corruption kink, dacryphilia.

The moon’s bright rays cast themselves over the meadows and mountains over the nation of Natlan. The beautiful plethora of colors that were painted on the various rock walls were shown brightly due to this light. It was a very calm evening in the nation of war. The air was warm with a bit of humidity clinging along with it, but despite the weather, you still had to keep your main focus alive and that was the duty of protecting the fatui’s number one.

Your introduction to the powerful organization wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary. You found yourself seeking out solace within because of your disdain for the heavenly principles that cursed Teyvat. Like many of the fellow members, you believed that the cryo archon had the right approach when it came to dealing with them, so you joined her in the fight to gain every gnosis that belonged to the six other archons. Along with your passion, your abilities were another piece of the puzzle that led you into obtaining the position you had today, and that was becoming somewhat of a guard to one of the harbingers.

The Captain.

Not many members were lucky enough to interact with the harbingers themselves. A lot of them were never seen outside of Snezchnaya or in the public eye at all. However, when the Captain was made aware of the crisis that was occurring in a nation he protected all those years ago, he wasted no time making his way there to understand the pyro archon’s approach to the impending disaster that threatened Natlan. Since you were tasked with being by him, you were immediately told to tag along with him. You hadn’t ever gone to Natlan before, but you wished you had a lot sooner. The land of pyro was full of so much color and life. There was a happiness that bubbled in your stomach when your eyes scanned over the beautiful horizons that were buzzing with different animals or people who were happily playing with their saurian pals. You knew being a part of the fatui meant being a cold hearted individual who, on the outside, had to assert their dominance over others, but there was still a side of you that enjoyed the good things about Teyvat.

While you did bask in the beauty of Natlan, you knew you still had a job to do.

Being around the Captain for as long as you had, you had to learn to become accustomed to his reserved nature. He often didn’t speak to you for long periods of time, and he always kept any personal details to himself. You knew that was understandable, especially given his ranking in the fatui. He was one of the most feared men in all of Teyvat. Some of the other fatui members would shake in their shorts at the mere thought of his name being uttered. You were intimidated by him at times. He was strong. There was a reason he was number one, but you still had many questions about him as a person.

The fire before you crackled every few seconds. There were a few embers that snapped into the atmosphere and disappeared as quickly as they developed. You were stationed out in a campsite that wasn’t too far from the stadium that you were planning to invade the next morning with the Captain. The man sat across from you. He was as quiet as he typically was. If you had to be honest, you disliked awkward silence more than anything. You were a talkative person with the right people, but with him? You were afraid to make too much noise with your feet. He had kicked some serious ass in front of you before, and you did not want to become a human popsicle because of him. You simply followed his orders, no questions asked. He could be mysterious at times. He was a man who was always somehow several steps ahead of everybody else and you learned over the months you’ve worked alongside him that he was very clever. You often yearned to know more about him. All you had was baseless rumors made up by random people.

Tiredness began to creep onto your body a lot quicker than you had anticipated. You forgot that you had spent several days travelling through different areas to get to Natlan. This was one of the first times you had gotten the chance to sleep in a few days. You’re trained to not get lazy or tired, but this was the one time you were about to give in to those ideals.

“Getting exhausted already, hm?”

Your hazy thoughts were interrupted when the Captain’s voice rang in your ears. It always managed to catch you off guard because of how deep it was. There was also so much silence around you both, so it was unexpected to hear him speak so suddenly. “Heh..” you laughed, softly. “You caught me, Captain, my apologies.”

The man before you shook his head, dismissing your apology. “No need, we’ve been travelling for days. I can’t expect you to be wide awake while we’re in front of a fire..” he said. “If you need to rest, don’t worry. I can keep an eye on our camp, and I doubt anyone passing by will attempt to start a fight this late.”

There was a sudden spike in your heart rate at his words. You found it quite surprising that the Captain himself was showing leniency towards you. You were used to him being quite strict at times with the other fatui members who traveled alongside him with you, so this sudden shift made you wonder why he was being so.. Nice? It seemed out of character, and curiosity began to reign in your mind. Could this be a test? The harbingers were a group of individuals who were unpredictable in all forms. He could easily be testing you, so if you did fall asleep, he could scold you for letting your guard down and making him have to protect you. It was your job to save his life in any scenario, after all.

Your eyes flickered from the man to the fire that was still burning. Although you had been around him several times, his presence alone did make you nervous. “No, it’s alright. I have to make sure you don’t get hurt.. Especially with the abyss lurking around here. I can stay up!” you smiled, nervously.

For a moment, the Captain didn’t speak, making that anxious feeling return all over again. Was he going to get angry? Were you supposed to go to sleep? It could’ve been an order hidden in his words. Silence was the most deafening thing to exist.

“I know what you’re thinking, (Y/N), you don’t have to push yourself for my odds.” he broke that silence that was killing you. “As much as I appreciate it, your wellbeing is important. You can’t fight properly if your body is at its limit.”

You swallowed thickly at his words. It was almost like he was somewhat worried about you? It sounded unrealistic. The fatui are known for their selfish motives, so why would the number one member show any ounce of care in his guard? “N-No! It’s quite alright, sir, really! I can handle it.” you tried to sound reassuring, but he could see through your facade like glass.

He shifted in his seat, making you freeze up again. You really disliked how you could never properly understand what he was thinking or what he was planning to do next. You also couldn’t read his emotions because of the mask that hid his features. He never took it off once, and even during combat it remained on his head. “Alright.. If you insist, but if you’re planning on staying awake, then I am too. I would rather not waste the night sitting in silence, so let’s talk.” he said, bluntly.

You stared at him like he said something psychotic. He wanted to talk? What was there to discuss? You honestly didn’t know much about one another besides the basics when it came to your ranking among the fatui, and his obvious spot in the harbingers. You also never took the Captain to be somebody who liked small talk. He kept his words often short and straight to the point, so that’s why it made it all the more difficult when it came to conversing with him in an unprofessional manner. “Sure.. um, forgive me, but I’m not exactly sure what we should talk about..” you could feel your palms becoming clammy from how nervous you were.

He suddenly chuckled, leaving you speechless because you didn’t think he was capable of sharing a laugh with you, let alone a smile. “You’re quite chatty, I’m a little surprised, but that’s just fine..” he paused, shifting his gaze onto you. “Tell me.. Why did someone like you decide to become a part of the fatui?”

You didn’t think he would ask such a personal question right off the bat. He usually could care less about those who were beneath him, but nonetheless, he was a bold man. He had no problem asking uncomfortable questions whenever he wanted. You weren’t sure how to respond. There were so many reasons. “Hm, well, I want the best for Teyvat! I think it’s an unfair world and there should be something done to those who harmed others in a negative manner.” you explained, crossing your legs together. “I dunno.. I just want to see change. Even if it’s something small, it’s the thought and effort that matters most.”

The Captain seemed somewhat unfazed by what you told him, but beneath his mask he was actually impressed by your words. He had heard many people discuss their reasonings and motives for joining such an organization. Some were ridiculous, like suggesting they enjoyed the power they had over others, or that they were able to use delusions to obtain what they wanted. Others had selfish desires for money or the thrills, but you seemed to be somebody who had passion. You didn’t care for the power or the other bullshit that came with being in the fatui. All you wanted was for others to be okay. He admired that, truthfully. He also struggled to process it at the same time. He found it somewhat hard to believe. He had been surrounded by self centered values and desires for so long that he almost forgot that there were people like you still out there. There was still good existing in this cruel universe.

“Hm, I see. You seem to be quite the driven person, and I respect you for that.” he replied. “I think you’ll end up somewhere great in life, and maybe you’ll have the opportunity to experience true peace in this life.”

His words brought comfort to you like a warm blanket being wrapped around you on a cold morning. You were glad to hear he felt optimistic about the future, but his praises made you feel even better, Earning the respect of the Captain wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. You’d have to destroy him in battle to get him to bat an eye at you, so it came as a big shock to hear he respected you. Despite that, you appreciated it. “Thank you, sir. It means a lot to me.. And I hope someday that there will be peace too.” you smiled.

The Captain then stood up, shaking off the large jacket that rested on his broad shoulders. You watched him place it onto the grass that was just a couple inches away from him. He then sat down once again, facing you.

You never saw much of his body. It was always hidden by his clothes and he hardly ever removed it unless he was by himself. Snezchnaya was also frequently cold, so it was understandable that he wore it all of the time since he spent a majority of his time in the land of cryo. However, through the fabric of his shirt, you could see his muscles that outlined through it. There was a side of your brain that was screaming for you to look away, but your eyes couldn’t move away from how nice he looked. You knew he had been through many fights and training throughout the years, but seeing it this close was making your body heat up. You had seen plenty of muscular men in your life, but this was different. He was also your boss, technically. It was wrong to think of him in such a manner. You could possibly face many punishments if your wild thoughts were able to surface to reality.

He seemed to catch on to your staring, because he turned his head in your direction. You couldn’t physically see it, but you could feel his eyes watching you. “Something the matter? I only took off my coat because the fire was making me feel warm.” he explained, raising a brow underneath his mask.

Immediately, you felt embarrassed that he had caught you. You weren’t doing it to be rude or anything, but now you just seemed like a fool in the eyes of your superior. You hoped he didn’t think of you negatively now. It was honestly quite easy to get on the Captain’s bad side these days. “N-No! I’ve never seen you without your jacket, that’s all. My apologies, sir, I shouldn’t-”

“You were just curious, nothing wrong with that.” he interrupted. “And, please, drop the formalities. Call me Capitano, you’ve earned that.”

Your eyes practically bulged out of their sockets from how wide they had become. You were probably the most professional person to ever walk the earth. You didn’t think you would ever have the chance to use the Captain’s other name. It was a rare occasion. You didn’t think any of the other harbingers muttered it either, so what made you so special? All you did was work beside him and protect his life. It was as simple as it sounded, but nonetheless, you weren’t going to protest.

You cleared your throat, trying to ignore the burning sensation that had appeared on your cheeks from his words. “R-Right! I’m sorry, sir- I mean, Capitano! I will use your name instead!” you stumbled over your words like a kid. “I’m not used to this kind of formality..”

The Captain nodded his head. He could understand from your perspective that a sudden change of professionalism could make you feel somewhat uneasy. He never gave out his real name on purpose. He’d much rather be known as the Captain, because, really, who deserved to know anything else about him? It wasn’t like he was an everyday citizen. “I understand, but you will get used to it. There’s no need to feel rushed or embarrassed, (Y/N).” he said. “I actually want to know more about you, because I hardly have any knowledge of your personal life. Don’t feel obligated to tell me anything, but I figured that’s how we could pass the time.”

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to react to his request. This man had to be sick or something because this was the first time he had ever asked to know things about you. Neither of you were friends and your relationship was simple enough. Then again, he was trying to pass the time, so he probably could care less about the little stories you had from childhood. You figured it’d be fine. “Sure! I can tell you anything.” you smiled.

The next hour was full of you talking and the Captain mostly listening.

You shared many stories from your childhood. You talked about your parents and how you missed the meals they would cook for you, or the memories you had of watching the snowfall for the first time in your hometown. To an outsider, you seemed like one of those older people who were telling stories to the children, but to the Captain, you were so much more than that. There were so many interesting things he learned about you within those sixty minutes. You disliked a lot of tart foods, your favorite drink was the fonta that came from Fontaine, and you had a habit of drooling in your sleep from time to time. They were so basic, but he genuinely enjoyed hearing you talk. Your voice was soft and not overwhelming. It’s one of the reasons why he liked having you around him. Unlike some, you were tolerable to be around. Some people talked too much or annoyed him to no end, but you? He could never get tired of you, and that scared him.

He struggled internally at the thought of you. He thought it was fine for a while. He only saw you as one of his subordinates who had to maintain his safety, but slowly that started to change. The Captain didn’t know how to approach these dizzying feelings that were developing for you. He felt comfortable. Like, he didn’t have to put on a brave facade and hide who he truly was when he was in your presence. He wished he could protect you from this world that had become so cruel.

“(Y/N), do you mind if I were to show you something?” he asked, abruptly.

You blinked for a moment, pausing in your words. You had no idea what he was going to do, but you did trust him. “No, what is it?” you inquired, nodding your head to the side like a dog that was curious.

The Captain seemed to hesitate for a moment. He wondered if doing this was going to be a good idea, but he believed that doing so would establish some sort of trust between the two of you. He took a deep breath, then moved to take the mask that had been covering his face for several years.

At that moment, your heart ceased in its movements. You had never seen the Captain’s identity before in the few months that you had been working under him. The mask he wore was a constant symbol of who he was and the unknown often scared many people, but you weren’t afraid of him in the slightest. His face was far from anything like the rumors people had made up about him. His eyes were the color of ice, piercing and bold. His skin was somewhat tan with several scars that were etched onto multiple places on his face. He had somewhat of a mature face, showing his age was evident to what you had originally assumed. He was so handsome and cunning. It made your body feel weak from the mere sight of his features.

Your silence made him somewhat uneasy. He wondered if revealing his face was a good idea. Were you disgusted? Scared? He couldn’t read your emotions on your face, and it was eating him alive.

“My apologies I-”

“No, don’t apologize! Really!” you cut him off, taking him off guard. “I.. I think you look.. Lovely.”

His face completely dropped the moment your words slipped past your tongue. Nobody had ever said such a thing to him before. All of the people he had interacted with had described him as a terrifying person. He was somebody that was a part of an organization that committed crimes on a daily basis. How could someone as beautiful as you say he was lovely? There was so much beauty in the horrible world you both existed in, and he was one of the dark corners that you wouldn’t look at. “You think I’m.. lovely?” he questioned, sounding serious and taken back at the same time.

Oddly enough, you didn’t feel weird about saying it at all. It was almost like there was a sense of comfort that had built itself around the two of you as you talked with each other. “Yes! I admire you, a lot. That will never change.” you replied in a joyous tone.

A burst of warmth suddenly enveloped his stomach. He wasn’t sure what this feeling was or why it was happening. The Captain was becoming even more confused over his emotions. He hadn’t felt something like this before, especially towards you. He didn’t want to admit it, but he actually liked what he was feeling. He wanted to experiment and see if you could stir even more out of the ordinary emotions inside him. You had complete control over him. The Captain couldn’t believe that, for the first time in decades, another woman had captivated him.

He was stunned when you randomly stood up without warning and joined the empty space beside him. The Captain looked at you with somewhat wide eyes. It was an expression you had never seen written on his face before. It made you giggle. “There’s no need to be stiff.. I just wanted you to know that you shouldn’t hide your beauty all of the time. At the very least, you don’t ever have to fear doing it around me.” you made eye contact with him, making his tummy do flips once again.

He remained unmoved for a brief moment, then he made his move.

The Captain suddenly smashed his lips onto yours. His hands tossed away the mask that he had been holding to place them on your waist that he had been dying to touch for several months now. He was shocked to feel that you were kissing him back. After a few seconds, reality hit him like a wave, and he quickly realized what he was actually doing. He pulled away and was quick to feel flustered from his actions. “I am deeply sorry.. I shouldn’t have done such a thing without your-” he was instantly cut off the second you kissed him again, pushing your body on top of his.

“I want this..” you whispered, settling yourself onto his lap.

He wasted no time and pulled you against him. He had often fantasized about what it would be like to have you just like this. Your bodies touching one another, his lips on yours, your hands touching his long tresses of hair. You were a fucking dream. The Captain himself often wondered why someone as beautiful as you were alone in this world. There was so much to like about you. You were too good for a life in the fatui. You should’ve been in your hometown, fighting for your people. It sounded selfish of him, but he thought about taking you away from all of this. Keeping you safe from danger and living a quiet life.

It would be perfect.

The Captain’s hands moved to squeeze the plush of your hips. He swallowed the soft moan that had escaped your lips as a result of his contact on your skin. You sounded just as erotic as he imagined. There wasn’t a single flaw about you.

Your exchanges then started to grow more intense. His tongue dove itself into your mouth, exploring every inch of it. You could feel his painfully hard boner as you ground yourself against him. Each time your clothed cunt brushed on it, the Captain grunted or made some type of noise that was turning you on. There was so much built up chemistry between you both and you couldn’t see yourself pulling away. He was addictive and dangerous. This could get you terminated or into trouble with other members of the fatui. However, you found it hard to show any care at the moment.

There was a brief pause. The Captain pulled away to press his forehead against yours, panting heavily from the lengthy makeout you just had. His pupils were blown with lust and there was a look in his eye that you had never seen before. It made this sudden thrill shoot up your spine at the thought of what was going to happen next. “Before we continue.. I want to warn you that I’m no longer going to hold back. If you wish to withdraw consent at any time, that’s alright, but I’m not going to be easy on you..” he stated, seduction dripping in his voice.

Excitement coursed through your veins at the images being created in your head from his words. You truly wanted to know what the Captain was capable of in terms of intimacy, so you weren’t about to let the moment waste. “That’s fine..” you replied. “I like it rough.. Especially if you’re going to be the one to wreck me in the end..”

That was all it took for him.

The man before you then pushed you onto the ground, hovering over you in the process. His eyes studied the different areas of your body. He couldn’t stop himself anymore. The Captain then pulled your top down, revealing your breasts that were so fucking cute. Your nipples perked as the air blew against them, making you shiver from the exposed contact. He tore your top in half so your upper half was now completely on display for him. His cock practically throbbed at the thought of what your cunt must have looked like, but this was already enough for him to lose it.

He immediately attacked your neck, kissing and nibbling at the most sensitive areas of your skin. He could care less if someone were to see the marks he left on you. He thought it would be cute to watch you try and cover them up.

Once your neck had multiple bites, he quickly moved to your chest. You whined the second his tongue made contact with your nipple. He swirled his tongue around it, making that familiar butterfly feeling appear in your belly once again. His other hand went to play with your other breast, squeezing and using his fingers to massage your other nipple. He could feel how warm your body had become from his gestures. You were so turned on. He had done so little to you.

Your eyes connected with his icy ones. You were a complete mess like this. All you wanted was for him to do more to you. “C-Captain, please, more! Ah!” you moaned out when his teeth scraped around your sensitive nipple.

He removed his mouth from your boob with a ‘pop’ sound. He couldn’t help but smirk at your desire for more pleasure. He didn’t think someone like you could be so erotic. There were so many things he wanted to do to you. The Captain wanted to push you to your limits and break you so all you could think about was him fucking your brains out. “Patience, darling. Let me show you how someone is supposed to make you feel..” he whispered, dragging the pads of his fingers towards your pants.

It didn’t take long for him to yank your pants off, exposing your panties. His cock twitched when he noticed the large damp spot on your underwear. You had practically soaked through them. He took his thumb and pressed your clit, making you jolt at the electricity he sent along your body. You were practically screaming inside your head for him to do something to you. You hadn’t experienced a feeling like this before with anyone else. Sure, you’ve slept with random men you met while traveling, but they were nothing like him.

Maybe it was the taboo of it all. You were his subordinate. You weren’t supposed to be doing something like this with a man who was in a much higher position than you. Who knows what kind of punishment or reaction might come from this getting out. He’s too powerful, so you doubted that he would lose his position in the harbingers, but that turned you on even more. The idea that you weren’t supposed to be doing this. Yet, you showed no signs of caring. It was like he had casted a spell on you and there was no way you’d be able to escape it. Not when he had that hungry look in his eye.

The Captain pulled your panties down your thighs and eventually tossed them away somewhere else. He almost came on the spot from your sticky pussy that was dripping with arousal. He craved nothing more than to have you around him. He took one of his fingers and dragged it along your cunt, making you cry out briefly from the pleasure. He gathered some of your slick and stuck his finger into his mouth, savoring the taste of your sweetness on his tongue. You were just as delicious as you appeared. He then pushed one of his digits into your hole, earning a moan from your lips. You felt so tight around his finger. He knew he had to prep you beforehand, but he wasn’t so sure if you’d be able to take him.

You gripped your breasts as he fingered you at a slow pace. It felt so good. He was taking his time and he was making sure you were enjoying yourself. He had so much knowledge on those spots inside you that made your stomach twist with excitement. “Right there, yes, right there..” you whimpered, looking at him with desperation in your hues.

He grinned at the little responses he was getting from you. You were so damn cute. He wondered what else he could do, but it seemed like what he was doing was enough for you. “Yeah? Talk to me, baby, I wanna hear you.” he started circling your clit, sending double the pleasure along your body.

You were practically humping his hand, coating it with your juices in the process. You couldn’t control the various moans and whines that kept coming from your mouth. You were slowly becoming lost in the bliss, and he fucking loved it. “Please, sir, more! I want you inside me!” you cried.

His eyes grew wide. Who knew you could be such a dirty girl? This surprised him, but nonetheless, who was he to deny you of your pleasure? You had been so obedient to him over the months. It was the right thing to do. “As you wish, darling.” he replied, removing his fingers from your aching cunt.

You shuddered when you heard his belt being unbuckled. You sat up slightly to gain a view of his cock that was fully erect. It was roughly around seven inches with a lot of girth that made you wonder how you were supposed to take it all. The tip was already leaking lots of precum. You could feel this euphoria going throughout your body. He probably had so much pent up stress that he had been waiting to take out on somebody, and that was you.

The man then took your thighs in his hands, pushing them apart so he had full access to your pretty pussy. His breath hitched when his tip made contact with your clit. It had been far too long for him. “I’m not going to hold back..” he whispered. “I want to make you an absolute slut for my cock, got it?”

You nodded, taking your fingers and spreading your lips apart. He took that as his sign to continue. He then pushed his cock into your cunt, making you gasp with pleasure as well as some pain from the stretch.

As soon as he entered you, the Captain let out the sexiest groan you had ever heard. Your walls were hugging his cock so nicely. He continued to push forward, so he was now completely bottomed out inside of you. He looked below at the sight before him. Your pussy was wrapped around his cock like a vice. The sensation of your warm cunt inviting him in was like ecstasy to him. He mentally complained to himself for not taking you much sooner. Now, he wasn’t going to let that moment slip through his fingers. There was so much he wanted to do, and the night was still young.

The air was practically knocked out of your lungs the second he started moving. You felt so full. You were surprised that he was able to make himself fit, but you had assumed that was what the foreplay was for.

It didn’t take him long to increase his thrusts. Once he noticed your desperate eyes silently begging him for more, he took that as his sign to let go. The Captain couldn’t stop drinking in the sight of your gorgeous body. Your pussy squelched and cried whenever he moved, your pretty tits bounced, and that sweet voice of yours continued calling his name like it was a prayer. That self restraint he had was quickly dwindling, but you seemed to not care. If anything, you wanted him to destroy you.

He used his hands to take hold of your thighs, gripping them firmly. You pinched your nipples to feel some extra stimulation while he fucked you. Due to the humidity of Natlan, the both of you were already becoming quite overheated. You could see the sweat glistening on the Captain’s body. It outlined his well defined muscles and the scars that were scattered over his skin. “Captain! Please, don’t stop..” you whined. “Feels so good..”

His right hand went to cup your cheek. He used his thumb to press onto your puffy lips, placing it into your mouth. You obediently sucked on his thumb, swirling your tongue around it. Fuck, you were so fucking dirty. He didn’t need to ask for a single thing. “You’re such a good girl. You drive me crazy..” he then removed his thumb, moving it to your swollen clit. “Don’t you worry about a single thing, okay? The Captain will take care of you, darling.”

You let out a cry when he began playing with your clit. The pleasure he had been giving you was now becoming overwhelming. His dick was practically breaking you apart. The tip abused that button inside you that made stars appear in your vision. He knew exactly what to do to make you fall apart in his hands.

There was this sudden protectiveness that creeped up on the Captain. Looking down at you, he could feel that urge to want to save you from a place like this. This world and the organization you were both involved in was terrifying and cruel. The idea of possibly losing you to somebody else made anger course through his body. He knew it sounded selfish. It was likely that your ideals differentiated from each other, but he didn’t care. He wanted to keep you safe. That idea of living a quiet life with one another sounded wonderful. For the first time in so long, he could actually imagine such a life with somebody else that didn’t seem temporary.

His thrusts suddenly slowed to a more tender pace. You looked at him with curious eyes, wondering where the sudden shift came from. “I’m gonna keep you safe..” he grunted. “Do you understand me..? I’m gonna make sure your beautiful heart is never broken again.. You won’t have to live in fear with me beside you.”

Your cheeks felt hot at his words. It almost sounded like the Captain was confessing to you at that very second. You weren’t sure what to say or how to react. It honestly made you feel some sort of comfort. Someone like him being able to take care of you without having to worry about the enemies that could potentially harm you. His words sounded sincere. It made your heart leap out of your chest. “R-Really..? You want that?” you blinked, placing your hands onto his broad shoulders. “Please don’t lie to me, Capitano..”

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. The lengthy strands of his hair drooped over the sides of his head. The expression on his features was serious. You could feel his eyes studying you. “I could never lie to you. Not when you’ve done so much for me.. I crave nothing more than to be with you, and only you. I will devote my entire life to keeping you alive..” he replied. “The choice is yours, my dear.”

You said nothing. Instead of using your words, you kissed him. This time, your kisses felt passionate and loving, unlike the ones you shared prior. These were real. You couldn’t find any deception in his tongue and the way he spoke.

He read your mind and resumed with those harsh ruts. He swallowed down any noises that you made and smirked to himself at the way you struggled to kiss him back whenever his tip kissed your g-spot. He decided to go deeper and angle his hips a different way. He was practically fucking up into you, and you were loving it. The kiss you were sharing was now broken apart because you couldn’t control what was coming from your throat. He thought it was cute to see you in such a state. It was almost like you had forgotten the two of you were both outside.

“Capitano! Fuck, yes! P-Please, ruin me..” you begged. “I’m so close.. Ah! Please, please! I need you”

He gritted his teeth at your words. He noticed that your walls were becoming much tighter than they were before, implying that your orgasm was just ahead of you. Your desperation turned him on. He wasn’t about to make you wait.

The Captain grabbed your hips. He had you practically bouncing on his cock from the force at which he was pulling you towards him. Your belly was tightening up with the erratic thrusts he was unleashing on your body. You could feel that climax inching closer. It was making you lose control, and all you could think about was his cock completely ripping you apart. You wanted him to be the only one who made you cum. He was the only man alive who was capable of making you feel such euphoria.

Those were the exact thoughts the Captain wanted you to have.

With one final thrust, your orgasm completely crashed over you. Your pussy clamped around his cock, leaving a sticky creamy white ring to circle around the base. Your thighs were trembling and you could feel tears developing on your lash line from how amazing your climax felt on your body. “Ahhh.. oh my god.” you cried, panting heavily from how intense it was.

The Captain pushed your thighs towards you so your knees were now nearing your chest from the way he had you bent. Your hazy eyes grew wide when you realized that his thrusts weren’t ceasing, and he was continuing that rough pace against your cunt. “I’m not done yet..” he said. “This pussy is gonna be dripping when I’m done..”

It didn’t take long for him to drag another orgasm out of you. The overstimulation was sending waves of pleasure all along your tired body, but you didn’t want it to stop. Your pussy was aching and spasming around his dick, drawing the Captain closer to his own high. Those disgusting thoughts of him filling you to the brim with his cum were clouding his mind heavily. It was all he could think about.

He grabbed onto your throat, firmly gripping it so he could properly fuck you. He could feel his cock twitching and that familiar feeling of an orgasm hurtling towards him with every rut of his hips. He practically growled the moment his balls tightened, finally releasing his cum into your cunt. Warm thick spurts of his seed leaked into your womb, making you shiver from the warmth spreading across your lower abdomen.

He removed his hand from around your throat, remaining inside of you so none of his cum would slip out of your hole. His fingers brushed along your cheek. Your face was so gorgeous to him. Your eyes were glassy and there was a lazy smile resting on your lips. “Like what you see..?” you questioned, giggling slightly from his stare.

The Captain came to your level and pecked your lips. He couldn’t hide his smile when being so close to you. “Absolutely..” he replied.

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