bumpkinspice0

[bumpkinspice0]

i love when characters lie to themselves in the complete privacy of their own minds

[bumpkinspice0]

Reblog if you’re grateful for your commenters <3

[bumpkinspice0]

Okay I’m writing fan fiction to cope

Well I’m as emotionally distressed as I thought I would be after episode 2

Swell

[bumpkinspice0]

Well I’m as emotionally distressed as I thought I would be after episode 2

Swell

[bumpkinspice0]

Recovery Time Chapter 10: Storm Settling

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (Minors do not interact!!!!!!)

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: The storm rages on outside, but you an Joel have each other to find comfort in

Warnings: fluff, SMUT, oral (fem receiving), counter sex? praise kink? little body worship, so much naval gazing AN: Happy season 2 premier day (Hold me I'm so scared) Lets just enjoy some domestic fluff and smut Joel Miller, okay

Series Masterlist

Previous - Next

AO3

_______________

Chapter 10: Storm Settling

You never made it to the bed, both choosing to lounge in the warmth of the wood stove on the couch. Long comfortable silences and roaming hands. You’re not sure if you’re both just enjoying the bliss or too scared to say anything. 

It’s nightfall now and a few lanterns lit about the small space. Joel sits, still shirtless, on the floor leaning against your legs on the couch and lovingly plucking away on Art’s guitar.  A book was open on your lap, but truth be told, you’d barely read a page— Joel’s distracting that way. He hums low with a few melodies, only one you recognized from the night you spied on him. You’d wished he felt comfortable enough to sing in front of you. You wished for a lot of things.

In a way, the silence was stifling. You want to know what’s next. He’s stuck here longer now, but would he still leave? The romantic part of you hopes not, but the logical part of you knows he owes no loyalty to you just because you’ve slept together now. Still, the things he said, the new feelings shared. Maybe it was something.

Regardless, you take the coward's way and don’t mention it.

“You hungry?” you ask, gently running a hand over his shoulder. He pauses his playing, head leaning over to place a gentle kiss on your hand resting on his shoulder.

“I could eat.”

You stand off of the couch, wrapping a flannel blanket around you. You still hadn’t bothered to put any clothes back on.

Maybe you could just keep seducing him into staying?

Shaking the ridiculous thought from your head, you pull down a jar of bone broth and some jerky from the cupboard. You place the open jar on top of the hot stove to let it heat through a little. Something warm in this weather sounded comforting. 

The storm had only let up a little, the extreme winds dying down but snow pelting down just as heavy as before. A glance outside and you see almost all the vegetation of the messy forest ground was blanketed over by crisp white.

“How’s it look out there?” Joel asks.

“Like…winter.”

“Hmmm, descriptive,” he chuckles before focusing back on his guitar.

With some physical distance between the two of you, you take the chance to finally just admire him. He was beautiful, ruggedly handsome the way that only comes with age. But there was something about him here… like this. You’d seen Joel relax slowly over the months he’d been here, but now there was just something else. Joy? Contentment?

Most people call it afterglow, dumby.

You smile to yourself, unable to help the blush creeping into your cheeks. Is he thinking the same things you are, you wonder. Is he trying to hide his giddiness too? Again, a part of you hopes so and the other part of you doubts it.

You take the warm broth off the stove and bring it to the counter. You pour the hot, nourishing soup into two mugs. You’re about to pull down two plates when something stops you… the feeling of two heavy hands on your hips.

Joel’s standing behind you, his oppressive presence crowding you against the counter. His lips come down and kiss your exposed shoulder where the blanket has slipped down.

“Joel…”

“You haven’t gotten dressed,” he murmurs against your skin. 

“Don’t want to.”

“Good,” his lips trail up to your ear, “You shouldn’t.”

You say nothing as his hands snake around your waist and pull you into him. He rests his head on your shoulder gently, watching your hands work as you pull apart a few strips of jerky. The fact that you're able to focus on anything other than him is a miracle in and of itself.

“What do you miss most?” you find him asking. “About the world. About… everything before,” he clarifies. 

“Why do you ask?” You say as nonchalantly as you can manage.

“Just… thinkin’ about it more.” He places another lazy kiss on your shoulder, “Lot of time to think today.”

“Mmmm,” You mumble, trying not to dwell on the words unsaid, “Then I think you have to tell me first… since you’ve been thinking about it so much.”

He doesn’t respond right away, but he doesn’t pull away either. Just holding you there, starting to sway you both gently side to side. You stop your fiddling with the food and place your hands over his, hopefully an encouraging gesture. He obviously wanted to share something, and you wanted to listen. 

“Peace,” he finally says, “Peace and quiet…contentment.”

“There’s still plenty of that.”

“No. Not like this… Not for men like me.”

“Joel—”

“Tell me what you miss, darlin’...” He cuts you off before you can ask what he means. His hands trail up your torso, gently pulling the blanket further down your body.

“A warm bath.” You answer with a small snort, the chilled air pricking at your skin. 

“Mmm, does sound nice.” Those rough hands hold your now exposed breast, gently massaging the supple skin. He buries his nose into your hair before asking again, “But what else?”

Your breath catches when his thumb runs over your nipple, every hair standing on end as he gently plays with you. He’s barely done anything, and you're starting to fall apart at the seams.

“I… miss— I miss—” you attempt to answer the question, “I miss purpose.”

“Purpose?” he repeats.

“Having a purpose. A s–sense of purpose at least,” You try to clarify, not noticing your hips grinding back into his. “Living just to survive… that’s not what people are meant for.”

“Some might say that’s all we’re meant for.”

“N–not me… not most…”

“Surviving is living.” A hand trails up to cup your jaw, the other trailing down your stomach.

“Try telling that to an artist or a t-teacher…” his hand cups over your bare cunt, “...or a singer…”

You shudder as a finger runs through your slick folds, slowly dragging back and forth, gathering your wetness, before lazily circling your clit.

“There aren’t any artists anymore,” he murmurs against your skin. “No teachers, no singers.”

“T-there are…it’s just harder to see them…”

He only hums in contentment, one hand slowly stroking between your legs and the other gently massaging your breast. The blanket had completely fallen to the ground at this point, your bare body pushed against his. You felt the warmth of this chest against your back— the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing.

“I t-thought you said you were hungry?” you smile under his touch.

“I am…” his grip tightens, “I’m starving.”

He twists you around in an instant, cupping his hands under your ass and lifting you onto the counter.

“Joel!” you grip his shoulders as he balances you there just on the edge. His mouth finds yours, just for a moment. A quick but undoubtedly hungry kiss. A desperate kiss. His mouth leaves yours with a sigh, lips trailing down your torso as he comes to his knees before you. 

You don’t have time to say anything before his mouth envelopes your cunt, only able to let out a desperate scream in response. Your fingers dig into his mess of hair while his hands hold you open for him, wrapping around your thighs and fingers digging into the meaty flesh.

“Fuck!” You wail into the empty space above you.

His tongue laps over your greedily, almost no thought behind his movements. Frenzied and strong movements to claim you— to show you how much he wants this. Eventually he buries himself between your legs, tongue stroking up and down and nose nudging at your clit.

You teeter against the counter, one leg wrapping around his shoulders and the other attempting to find balance against the floor. It was useless. He had you pinned there, open and wanting for you. 

He looks directly at you, his tongue flattening as he trails a lazy stripe from your clit over to the apex of your thigh.

“I like the way you sound…” he murmured into the flesh there. “When you let me touch you.”

“Joel… please,” you tug at his hair. He hums in approval. 

“I like hearing you beg.” You catch the faintest glimpse of a smile before his mouth returns to where you need him most.

If you had your full wits about you, you’d be wondering how he became so open so quickly. So wanton and talkative. This is a new side to Joel Miller, a side you’d fantasize about but never thought you’d meet. 

You were so convinced he’d pull away after you both got back into the cabin. After the charged air settled and you both could just breathe for a second. You thought he’d tell you this was a mistake. Thought he’d say you should forget the kiss ever happened. Instead, you both laid lazily in each other's arms for hours in the din of comfortable silence. And now he has you pinned against him again. 

How happy you were to be proven wrong yet again.

You pull at his hair, murmuring his name like it's a sin. He looks up at you, eyes glossy and mouth drenched. You pull at him again, urging him to stand up to meet you. He does, slowly, dragging his tongue against your skin the whole way.

You’re finally able to settle both of your feet on the ground when he kisses you again, hungry and tasting of you. 

“You’re beautiful.” He murmurs against you, teeth nipping at your jaw.

“You’re… not what I expected.” You don’t notice your hands pulling at the buttons of his pants. “Not at all.”

“I hope that’s a compliment.” You can feel him smile against you. 

“It is,” you pull down his waistband, “It definitely is.”

He grinds his hard length against your bare stomach, huffed groans slipping between his parted lips.

“Let me show you exactly the kind of man I am, darlin’...”

He pulls away from you abruptly, grasping onto your hips and turning you around. He bends you over the counter, shoving his hips into yours. You feel his hard length pressing against your dripping cunt, heavy and pulsing. 

He rolls into you, agonizingly slow and deliberate. One hand on your hips and the other pressed into your back. An aching, deep moan drools from your lips as he claims you— As he takes control.

You fucking loved it.

His thrusts are slow at first. Purposeful and almost experimental. He’s letting you adjust to him and savoring the feeling at the same time. You’re still sore from just a few hours ago, but you still want more.

He comes down to lean over you as he finds a steady rhythm, lips peppering kisses across your back. A hand reaches around to find your clit as he continues to fuck you against the counter, clinging to you like his life depended on it. 

“So good, baby,” he murmurs behind you, “F-feel so good. So pretty… so good.”

These are not the actions of a man who would want to leave. Not the words of a man who doesn’t care.

You could dwell on the vast and complex implications of the recent changes Joel and your relationship has experienced in the last 6 hours. You could stir your anxieties about what on earth he could possibly be thinking rather than just asking him and risk ruining the mood. You could make him stop right now and tell him this isn’t a good idea. Yeah, you could do all that. 

Or you could just… enjoy. 

Enjoy him. Enjoy this gift you’ve both been given. Why think about tomorrow when you have everything right now? Constantly thinking about what’s next is all you’ve done since the world ended. When was the last time you just lived? The last time you enjoyed something without thinking you had to earn it? Everything was perfect right now, and that’s all that mattered.

Joel wants you and Joel is still here— and that’s all that mattered.

__________

He wants to scold himself for being a creep and watching you sleep, but he can’t help himself— you were like an antique painting. Magnificent and indescribable. 

 You’d opted to make a nest of blankets and pillows on the living room floor rather than sleep in your actual bed. The bedroom was too far from the stove anyway. You’re probably still chilled to the bone from running around in the cold with no jacket earlier. 

The yellow light of the fire from the open stove danced along the curves of your naked body. His eyes only linger for a moment on the scars on your lower abdomen, more prominent than the other small ones across your body. He wonders about their story but knows better than to ask. Someone did that to you. The thought makes his blood boil. He can’t seem to help himself from being possessive—it’s who he is. Something so delicate and beautiful, and you trusted him. He won’t abuse the privilege. 

This was all too good to be true, and it finally came when he was just about to leave. What an idiot he was for wanting to leave something like this behind.

Joel was never much of a believer in a higher power, at least not since the day Sarah was killed. If there was a God, he gave up on mankind a long time ago. Why believe in him if he did this to his world? But this… this all seemed like some divine act of coincidence. 

It felt so wrong and so right at the same time. Could this be possible while the world went to shit just beyond your door? But why should he care when everything he wanted was right here? What could he really do out there? He wasn’t like Tommy. He had no desire to try and save the world. He survived. He lived day by day. 

You’d asked him before what he did back in the QZ, and he didn’t really have an answer. He did a bit of everything. Aided and abetted, mostly. He was a bad man that did bad things—but he was the best one that did them. The muscle. The one you’d always go to. He hated it. God, he hated it.

 What was his role in the world, really? He’s not sure anymore, but he thinks he wants you to be part of it.

He could keep you safe— If he does one good thing in the world, it could be that. You talked about purpose earlier, maybe you could be part of his. The last bright burning candle in a raging storm, and he found it. Could violent hands like his care for something so delicate, or would they eventually snuff it out? He wishes he knew. 

Yes, the world was going on without him out there. There’s a thousand men like him still doing the same horrible things… but there was only one you. 

Here, he could be something for someone. Here, he could have something all his own. It was selfish, he knows, but so tempting. Did he deserve something like this? Is that how the world worked? No, of course it wasn’t. Joel didn’t deserve nice things, but you surely did. You deserved to have something, even if it was just him. The thought of leaving you here alone again made his heart ache. Could he sleep peacefully at night knowing you're out here alone, unprotected?

No. No, he’s sure he never could. 

And then, the decision was so easy. A new life was waiting for him. One with a more fulfilling purpose. One he could actually take pride in. Keep you safe. Keep you close. Keep you for himself. It was only a selfish act if you didn’t want him here, too.

Joel could be thick sometimes, but he wasn’t an idiot. This was never a one-sided attraction. He tried to deny it, tried to ignore it, and look where that got you both. This world was so ugly, why try to deny yourself something good. He's done with all that bull shit now. He has you. And dammit, he’ll do his best to repay that kindness. To earn that love. It’s the only way he knows how to be.

Joel never thought of himself as a kind man, but he knew how to love someone. 

He eventually comes down to lay beside you and pulls you in close

[bumpkinspice0]

Take a Bullet

Logan Howlett/ Wolverine x Mutant!FemReader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: “I’d raise hell. I’d tear down whatever took you away…but you’re still here. If the price of that is death, then I’ll pay it every goddamn time.” he lets the words linger. It almost stings when they start to sink in. Did he really think this was all he had to offer? Only his invulnerability, his strength? Of course it was. It’s all anyone ever told him he was worth. All anyone ever wanted from him. He did exactly what thought he should. What he was made for. Logan always thought he was anything except a man. An animal. Another expendable tool. OR Logan never told you he couldn't die, and it scares you how far he's willing to go to keep you safe.

AN: Just the briefest sprinkle of smut. Didn't feel right to go full feral in this one. This is another one that's vaguely tied to my first Logan fic HERE. Totally not required reading, reader just has the same powers and codename cause I'm lazy. She's an earthmover called Dozer. The GIF choice is incredibly unserious but I couldn't not

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, injury, shock, Hurt/comfort, angst (obvi), Logan has some low self worth guys, Confessions of love, Protective!Logan, Smut, Tender sex

AO3 if you prefer to read there

Logan Masterlist

_______

You weren’t new to fighting. Hell, you’d been doing it most of your life. You were an X-man after all— but this was getting ridiculous. 

They just kept coming.

You faced down the brotherhood countless times, fought gods and mad scientists— but a few dozen humans with guns was proving to be the most exhausting task you faced with the team. Their ranks were depleting, that much was true, but holy shit was this getting old.

“Dozer!” you hear Scott shout your codename from the left. “Barrier on the east entrance, quicksand for the ones approaching from the west!”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” you, a little less than enthusiastically, respond before plunging your fist into the dirt to change the very earth to your will.

As an earth-mover, you have the wonderful task of being both on defense and offense— well, mostly defense. A lot of defense. You could put up walls and literally stop people in their tracks. If all the firepower was focused outside, the job could be finished inside.

This was a prison break, after all. 

“The last of them are out!” Jean’s voice crackles in your ear. “Let’s get the hell out of here!”

The last of the MRD facilities is finally falling. It’d been over a year since they’d been defunded and mutant registration was banned. Still, hate always found a way to limp on.

And limp on with a few hundred guns at that.

A stray bullet whizzes past your ear as you move behind a newly erected stone wall. You’d been at this for hours. You're tired. You’re slower and it’s making all of this a hell of a lot more dangerous.

“We need some support over here!” Scott screams into his comm, sliding behind the shelter next to you.

“North gate is clear. I’m coming to you!” You almost sigh in relief at the sound of Ororo’s voice. She’d be tasked with taking care of all other possible exits while you and Scott got the main entrance. With the power of flight and hurricane-level winds at her fingertips… Well, you always thought Storm could take care of herself better than the rest of the team.

The barrage of bullets stops as soon as there’s a crack of thunder, all of the armed men looking up to the sky to see the goddess that brought their demise. In an instant, tyrannical winds start to sweep through their ranks.

“Almost out!” Jean announces in your ear.

“Dozer, give them a clear path!” Scott orders you, jumping out from behind your barrier to help Storm thin the herd of armed men that waited.

You call to the dirt beneath your feet, pulling up several jagged walls of rock to protect the entrance and path to the Blackbird. They’re sloppy and uneven, but they’ll do for cover. You catch just a glimpse of the team through the cracks in the rock. Somehow, Logan’s eyes find yours in the fraction of a second you have.

“Spare anyone you can. Let’s clear the last of these scumbags out before we evacuate.” Scott orders through the comm set. You want to argue back and groan in protest. The mission was complete. The prisoners were out and heading for safety, but you knew he was right— Time to cripple MRD once and for all. 

With any final strength you can muster, you send a shockwave through the battlefield, several agents falling in its wake. You quickly enclose whatever parts of their bodies in rock that you can. You just have to immobilize them and there are only a handful left. It’s almost over.

“Remind me never to piss you off, sweetheart.” a familiar gruff voice cheekily says behind you. In a flash, he’s at your side— Logan. If the situation were different, you’d have kissed him. Too bad there’s a task at hand.

“Oh, you should know never to piss me off by now.” you chuckled back, doing your best to multitask in the chaos of it all. 

Logan jumps in front of you defensively. He was against you being the outside offense since the beginning, likely just because he couldn’t be there if you needed him. In the handful of months since you’d been together, he’d proven to be a rather protective partner. The more you learned about him, the more you understood why. He’d only had a small handful of things happen to him that were actually good. You did your best to be one of them.

“Two dozen left at most,” Scott shouts in the dwindling chaos. 

Looking out at the jagged battlefield, Scott’s estimate seemed to be correct. This could be over in a matter of seconds, and your job would finally be done. You could take the last of them out with the same move you’d just done… that is if you had one more in you still.

You reach your weary hands out and call to the earth one final time. Cripple them. Immobilize them. The ground starts to rumble under your command. 

You're so focused on your finishing move that you don’t hear it. Storm warning you all reinforcements are coming up from the south, directly behind you.

“DOZE!” It’s Logan’s voice that pulls you out of your concentration. 

You only have a split second to turn your head to see him jumping for you. He pushes you to the ground, your body skidding a few feet away. There’s a deafening ring of new gunfire before it’s immediately silenced by a new jagged wall of rock you rip out of the ground. With a crack of lightning, Storm rushes over to Scott’s side, quickly followed by Rouge and Kurt. You scramble to your feet, ready to join them, but Logan doesn’t move. He just stands there, back to you, completely stone still. 

“L-Logan?” You dare to take a small step toward him, afraid of what you’ll see.

He starts to turn around, his movements jerky and stiff. It hurts him to move. 

You attempt to hide the horrified gasp that escapes your lips, covering your mouth with your hands at the sight of him. Your eyes immediately meet his and you can almost feel it through his gaze— the excruciating pain.

You weren’t fast enough to stop them.

Bullet holes peppered his entire body. God, even his face— the bullets still sat embedded in his metal skull. The blood pouring out of each new hole in his body was starting to stain his suit— painting over his skin with red. He choked out a pained sound that almost sounded like your name before collapsing to his knees and falling face-first at your feet.

“Logan!” You immediately drop down and pull him into your arms, the battle around you now completely forgotten. You erect three more small walls on your remaining sides. The team could handle the rest. They’d be fine. Logan would be fine. He just needed time to heal, and you’ll give it to him.

You cradle his head in your arms. All hope disappears when you look into his eyes. 

There was… nothing. 

Those warm, hazel eyes that were always so inviting are now cold and blank. Lifeless. Streams of blood marked his rugged face you adored so much, a bullet in his forehead and two through his left cheek. You’d seen death a handful of times in this rotten job. You’d just never seen it in someone you loved. 

You can’t help the wail that escapes when you pull him in. You clutch his lifeless body, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

Yes, Logan healed, he barely aged, but could he cure death? He’d never mentioned it. How could a mutation still possibly work after you died? It couldn’t. Logan was dead. He’s dead because of you. Because you weren’t fast enough to stop this.

You only faintly register the battle falling silent around you. The commanding voices of your friends at least tell you that you’ve won. There was no joy in this small victory for you. Not while you clung to the body of your now dead lover. 

You jump at the sound of several metallic pings within your space. Has someone breached your quickly constructed walls? You pull back and gasp at an entirely new sight. 

Logan was healing, newly formed tissue and bone pushing the bullets out of his body one by one. The final ones to leave are three that marked his face. As soon as they’re gone, there’s light in his eyes again.

His whole body arches in your arms as he heaves in his first gasping breath. His hands grasp onto you, finding anything to ground him. You can’t bring yourself to say anything comforting, shock grabbing hold of your vocal cords. 

He’d come back to life in your arms in a matter of seconds. 

He takes a few steadying breaths before his eyes finally find yours. 

“Are you okay?” His voice is shaken, almost ragged. 

You still can’t force yourself to speak. You only look at him, only able to see the blood that streaked across his face in every direction. His blood. He was still covered in his own blood. The hole in his forehead is still mending itself back together and he’s asking if you're okay?

He sits up from your lap, his hands gently resting on your arms. 

“Hey,” he tilts your chin up to look him in the eye. Warm and inviting again. Full of life, “Talk to me.”

You’re not sure how long it is before you can force words out of your throat, but eventually, you do.

“You died.” 

The silence that follows is haunting. Suddenly, it feels like there’s an ocean between the two of you. You should be the one comforting him through this, yet here he is, cradling your face in his hands, suddenly unable to make eye contact. He’d saved you, he was alive, you were alive, yet you feel like something in you changed. A small piece of you died with him just then. Unequivocally fear that you could never forget. He died. You just watched him die.

“But you didn’t.” He says it with no regret in his voice. No pain. 

He knew his actions would likely be fatal. He sacrificed himself to save you. But was it worth it? Was it worth it to watch him die in front of you?

And knowing Logan… he’d do it again without hesitation. 

“Hey, guys!” It’s Kurt's voice that pulls you out of your little world, calling for you just beyond the walls. You quickly lower them to see the rest of your fellow X-Men standing in wait. How long have you both been sitting here?

“Jesus, what happened?” Rouge exclaims, clearly referring to Logan still caked in blood. His blood. 

He was still fucking covered in his own blood. 

You quickly get up, not sparing Logan a single glance, and brush past your teammates as fast as you can. You board the Blackbird alone, hugging yourself in the corner. None of them come after you, and truthfully, you don’t want them to. 

Your face collapses into your hands, sobs racking your whole body.

______

The flight home was dead quiet. Even the rescued prisoners said almost nothing except a quick thank you once you dropped them off at a secure mutant-run location just past the border. Logan was smart enough not to sit directly next to you. You’re not sure if you're relieved or mortified by that fact. No, no, you needed space and he was giving it to you.

You still felt his eyes on you the whole time. 

He may not have sat right at your hip, but he was in eyeshot of you at all times. Logan’s emotions were always so palpable to you. You can always just feel him. He was worried. 

Ororo was the first to approach you with a quiet hello and a gentle hand on your knee.

“What happened out there?” she asked somewhat hesitantly.

You took your sweet time answering, shock still grabbing some part of your mind and urging you to just keep staring at your feet like you had been the entire time. 

“I saw him die, ‘Ro.” you eventually answered. 

You swear you felt her touch tense a little.

“But Logan can’t die.” Maybe she was holding back a laugh, you thought briefly. You’d been with this man for months, and you had no idea his healing factor was so advanced. You were a child pouting in the corner over seemingly nothing— but it was everything.

“But I didn’t know that, ‘Ro,” you spat back at her. “I didn’t know that.”

And, of course, she pulls you into a hug with a comforting warmth only Ororo Munroe seemed to have. It was stupid of you to think she’d mock you for something like this. 

You’re in your bedroom now, sitting on the bed with your knees curled into your chest, stripped out of your suit and freshly showered. Logan was in the bathroom just a few feet away, brushing his teeth. Just fucking brushing his teeth like nothing happened. Like his soul hadn’t left his body and you had to fucking watch. 

It wasn’t just that, though. It wasn’t the fact that he was brushing off the fact that he’d died and come back to life. 

You loved him. 

It’d been a good handful of months, and neither of you had said the big one yet.  People always said you and Logan were the same kind of stubborn, probably what drew you to each other in the first place. Both skittish and afraid to ruin something by going too far. But it’s gone past that point for both of you now, hasn’t it? What risks are there left to take? It took seeing the light draining from his eyes to realize you loved this man. God, why can’t anything in your life be easy?

You feel the mattress sink behind you, but still don’t turn to look at him. His body shifts with a heavy sigh.

“I can’t…we can’t go to bed like this.” There’s that gentle pleading in his voice you’d only heard a handful of times. When he woke up from nightmares, mostly.

A heavy hand comes to rest over yours and to your surprise, you don’t pull away. You finally turn to face him… and there he is. As rugged and beautiful as he always is. Not a speck of blood left. No holes in his body. The familiar hair of his bare chest already grown back in the same familiar patterns. The man you loved, as good as new.

With a deep breath, you ask your first question.

“Have you died before?”

He’s taken aback at first but eventually answers.

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

“I’ve lost count.”

“Logan—” you bury your face in your hands, not sure if you are willing away tears or an irritated groan. 

He reaches out for you, ready to pull you into him before he decides against it.

“I’m sorry,” he simply says. 

“Logan, it’s not—”

“I thought you knew,” He quickly cuts you off. “You knew how old I was… what I’d been through. I figured you knew.”

In retrospect, it seems obvious. He’d fought in wars, been ripped apart and put back together, he’s hundreds of years old, for God's sake. But what normal person would ever correlate that to complete and total resurrection? You knew Logan had suffered… but this…

“You’re okay and I’m okay. That’s all that matters.” He reaches out to you again. You stand up from the bed and start to pace before he can touch you.

“It’s not about that! It’s not about being okay now— it’s that I had to watch you. I saw you die. I saw you suffer because of me and I—” You cut yourself off before admitting to your newest and most terrifying secret. “You can’t do that again. I can’t watch you go through that again.”

He just sits there, looking up at you like a scolded puppy.

“I can’t promise that.” He says without an ounce of regret in his voice.

“Then you’re going to have to try.”

You see a flame flicker in his eyes then before he looks away. He sits there, hands squeezing into white knuckled fists on his lap before he releases them with a deep breath.

“You can’t just ask me not to protect you.” 

“I don’t need you to protect me.”

“You did tonight.”

You turn away again, trying to keep yourself from screaming. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t fucking get it.

You pause, facing the wall adjacent to the bed, and take a few deep breaths before daring to continue. 

“I don’t want you to just be a human shield for me.”

“I’m not…I will do anything as long as it means you stay alive.” He’d finally raised his voice, the tendons in his neck tensing from what little restraint he had. “You have no idea… No idea what I’d do.”

And finally, his nonchalant attitude toward this monumental thing started to make sense. What he’d done, sacrificing himself for you— it meant nothing to him. A blip in his long existence. What’s a little more pain to it all? Logan never gave a shit about himself, you already knew that— but the people he cared about…he’d move mountains for them.

“I’d raise hell. I’d tear down whatever took you away… but you’re still here. If the price of that is death, then I’ll pay it every goddamn time.” he lets the words linger. It almost stings when they start to sink in.

Did he really think this was all he had to offer? Only his invulnerability, his strength? Of course it was. It’s all anyone ever told him he was worth. All anyone ever wanted from him. He did exactly what thought he should. What he was made for. Logan always thought he was anything except a man. An animal. Another expendable tool. 

You have to show him he’s more than that. More than some blunt object. More than a weapon. He’s a man… the man you love.

You pull at his wrist, urging him to lean into you. He does, his arms circling around your shoulders and yours sneaking up around his back.

“Logan… you still don’t get it…but I guess I’m not getting it right either,” you start gently, running your hands soothingly up his back. “I’m not saying I’m not happy to be alive. That we’re both alive…but…I can’t be entirely grateful because…because I watched the man I love die tonight.”

You feel him tense around you. 

“Just for a moment, I thought I lost you. I lost you and it was my fault. You’re not just something that’s expendable. You’re a man. A man that I— And I’d never get to tell you…” You trail off, the thought of it is too unbearable. 

He doesn’t let you bury your face in his chest like you wanted, hiding yourself from his searing gaze. Instead, his hands come up to cradle your face, gently craning your neck back to look at him. You were right to want to hide away from him, his eyes are more desperately burning than you’d ever seen. 

He holds you there, unmoving, unspeaking. Just boring into your soul with a million words that his mouth could never say. You don’t need him to speak. Those deep pools of hazel and topaz say it all.

In a way, Logan took the first step. He took a few dozen bullets for you, endured unspeakable pain and the first thing he did when he could breathe again was ask if you were okay— what is that if not love?

You don’t recall the last time a kiss felt more natural. Kissing Logan always felt right, but this was different. Whatever words he couldn’t say, he was pouring into this kiss. An all-consuming embrace. A silent promise. His own way of saying he loved you back.

Logan was always a man of action rather than words. 

He pulls you into him, holding you flush against his body with a desperate moan and a need to have you impossibly closer. He cradles you like a treasure, tongue coming out to explore your own.

He pulls you down to the bed, hands starting to desperately paw at your whole body. You straddle his lap, cupping his jaw so tightly you fear hurting him. As if you ever could. Your shirt’s discarded in some blinding flurry of motion, his lips immediately trailing all over your chest as soon as you're exposed to him.

Logan was always a lustful and sometimes feral lover. It was always something that was intoxicating about him. This was more than that, though. There was a sense of desperation in his touch— a need. A need to have you closer. To touch you. To taste you. To have you just feel how much he needed you.

How much he loved you back.

He brings you down to the bed, pulling off your sleep shorts before you can even get a breath in. You rise to meet him once he’s discarded his own pants and straddle his lap again. He pulls you back into him as you sink down over him, your cunt stretching to his familiar girth.

“Don’t leave me again,” you plead as your hands reach up to cradle his face, tears pricking at your eyes. “Don’t ever, ever do that again.”

“Okay,” He says passively, dropping his mouth down to nip at your neck. “F-for you I’ll… Okay…Okay…”

It’s not a promise, not really. But it’s a start. 

You both find a rhythm here, pushing and pulling into each other in ways that were already familiar and somehow completely new at the same time. It’ll never be the same after tonight. Whatever you and Logan are, it’s something entirely new. Equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

Love always is.

It’s hours, it’s days, it’s… You don’t really fucking care. An eternity with Logan inside you would still not be enough, but eventually, you both find solace in your pillows, your bodies and hearts weary from… everything. 

You both lay there, finally still and the initial emotions quelled. There was still so much more to talk about, so much more to say… but not tonight. Not right now.

“Do you ever remember anything… when it happens?” you find yourself asking, your fingers lazily brushing through his facial hair.

He says nothing at first, hand reaching up to yours and bringing it down for a kiss.

“No. Never. But… waking up to you wasn’t half bad.” 

You flinch again at the memory of those empty eyes.

“I don’t want to see that happen to you again.”

“I can’t promise that, darlin’.” He reiterates from earlier.

“I’m not asking for a promise… I’m just asking you to try.”

He pulls you into him, resting his chin on top of your head and his hand gently stroking up and down your arm. It’ll take time, but you’ll show him. You’ll show Logan his life is worth something.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he says, placing a kiss on your head, “l’ll try. For you, I’ll try.”

[bumpkinspice0]

Rebloging the Masterlist because im finally giving babygirl some love again

Recovery Time Masterlist

Joel Miller X Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Ten years into the outbreak and you'd seen a lot. Through it all you'd managed to make a comfortable life for yourself in the end. A lonely life, but a comfortable one... then a bleeding man comes stumbling into it.

Warnings: Dude in distress, Slow Burn, Injury, Hurt/ Comfort, Angst, Forced Proximity, smut, masturbation, pining

All chapters marked with * contain explicit NSFW content (Minors do not interact!!!)

AO3

Chapters

Mystery Man

Recovery Time

The Grand Tour

Trust

Good Time Charlie's got the Blues

Happy birthday Joel Miller

Through the Window*

Storm Brewing

Storm Breaking*

Storm Settling

Just adding the chapters as I think of them. This story should end up being abooout 20 so far.

Taglist

[bumpkinspice0]

Recovery Time: Chapter 9

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (Minors do not interact!!!!!!)

Word Count: 3.9k

Summary: You and Joel prepare for a storm together

Warnings: SMUT! Oral (f receiving), sex, kinda rough sex? dirty talk, multiple orgasms, aftercare AN: I have no excuse for why this took so long to update and you all have permission to beat me up for it

Series Masterlist

Previous - Next

AO3

_______________

Chapter 9: Storm Breaking

The wind had picked up, and a thin blanket of snow already covered the ground in what felt like a matter of seconds. The brown dead vegetation was already being choked out by endless white. You were right to be concerned about this storm. It was going to be a bad one.

You rushed out the door while half-explaining what needed to be done to Joel. You’ll take care of the chickens and food, and he’ll take care of pumping the water. You’ll need to get the storage up in the tank. You’ll both take care of the wood. He runs up the hill where the well pump is, and you scurry to the chicken coop. With the potential of being snowed in, you had to be well-stocked. You had to be ready. Of course this all had to happen when you were finally having a moment.

The quicker this gets done, the quicker you get back to… everything else.

Well, that was half true. You’d been caught with your pants down—this time literally— by unexpected weather before, and it always ended poorly. Never underestimate Mother Nature. If you were prepared and ready every time, then you were safe. This time, you seemed to be justified in your anxieties. You didn’t even waste time putting on a jacket before leaving the cabin, and you were already regretting it. 

A cold burst of wind nearly knocks the Buck Shack’s door open. You hurry inside as Gus herds the precious poultry in behind. You start a small fire in the smokehouse just above the floor. 

“It’s not a heat lamp, ladies, but it’ll have to do. You know the drill.” You assure the hoard of hens.

Gus makes quick work of the herding, rushing them all inside in less than 2 minutes. A new record. If only there was time to congratulate him on such a feat. You’ll have to remember to give him an extra piece of jerky later as a thank you for helping you get laid slightly sooner. 

You toss in a few good handfuls of dead leaves for bedding. After double-checking the ventilation, you latch the new hen house door behind you. 

Now the cellar. 

You don’t even look at the jars as you shove them into the basket by the stairs. You’re not sure if it’s because of your actual worry for the storm or because of what’s waiting for you after. What you hope is waiting for you afterward. You can’t deny a small part of you is a little happy about this. 

He was about to leave. He was ready to step out the door, and now this happens. You’re not sure you believe in miracles, but you’ll take what you can get. If the almighty sent a freak blizzard to keep Joel in your life a little longer… Well, then you better start praying again.

On your third trip up from the cellar, you see Joel stumbling down from the water tank. 

“Should have a few extra hundred gallons now,” he’s shouting, but his voice is practically lost in the billowing wind. “What else is left?”

“Firewood.” You re-latch the cellar doors, your fingers already stiff and numb from the dwindling temperatures. You’ve lost track of how long you’ve been running back and forth to the front door. You consider rushing inside to dig out your gloves but decide to push through. 

The quicker you get this done, the quicker you get back…

Arm full after arm full of wood is unceremoniously dumped inside as you both rush to finish the final task before hunkering down through the storm. You wonder if he’s thinking the same things you are. If he’s eager to get back to you. You were trying to quell the stirring butterflies in your stomach at what was to come next— nervous about the possibilities. Now that he had time to think about it, would he reject you? In the heat of the moment, the actions were so clear, but now that you both have a moment to pause, maybe you should reconsider. 

He was leaving. Not anytime soon in this weather, most likely, but he was going to leave eventually. Getting attached would make it all the more difficult. At the same time, the thought of having to tiptoe around each other in your cramped little cabin sounded nauseating. Tensions were already so high between you both, and now this?

Is his mind racing the same way yours is? Does he have unfounded anxieties about made-up scenarios? He was such a straightforward man; you doubt it. Joel didn’t seem like one to just wonder about something— he would just take it. 

That would make this all so much easier if that’s how he started this. His confident, guiding hand to quell your anxieties. Would he do that? Take care of you in that way? Maybe. You’ll find out soon.

“That should do it!” 

You both toss a final bundle of logs through the door, a good pile towering in the corner of the living room. Enough to last a few days.

You stand at the door of the cabin, mulling over your mental checklist. Was that really it? No, something felt off. You were forgetting something, you’re absolutely sure of it. What else could there possibly be?

“What is it?” Joel’s gloved hand comes to grasp your freezing one. You try to ignore how his gentleness makes your stomach leap.

“It’s… I don’t know,” you bite your lip, “I feel like I’m forgetting something.”

“You got the chickens in? Wanna check the water level?”

“No, no, I—” A wet nose nudging your other hand is your first clue. You look down to see Gus whimpering at your side, eyes darting to the raging snow outside. Oh no. 

Lilly. 

You look down at the porch and see a set of quickly filling little paw prints in the snow that lead off to the east side of the house. She must have run out with you and Joel, and you didn’t even notice. With Gus acting this way, it was clear she wasn’t in the house.  She was still out there, cowering and scared. Oh that stupid fucking cat. It’d been so long since you’d viewed her as just a cat, though. She was your family. Some of your only family. You had to find her.  

You jump off the porch, calling her name. 

“Wait!” Joel calls out, his voice only landing on deaf ears.

You follow her tracks away from the house. They quickly disappear in the pelting snow, but there was just enough to tell she went toward the water reservoir, likely trying to follow Joel there. Of course, can’t let her new favorite person brave a crippling storm alone—stupid, stupid cat.

The snow was already ankle deep on you, and the wind was punishing. You were struggling just to walk; you can’t imagine how hard it might be for a ten-pound animal.

You made it to the water tank. A quick look behind your shoulder and you see no sign of Joel. He was likely taking his time to search the lower part of the hill. You circle the reservoir, calling out Lilly’s name and praying that dumb little animal can hear your voice over the wind. There was barely ten feet of visibility now, she’d likely gotten lost. 

You take a brief moment to check the water levels of the tank. Joel had pumped in another five hundred gallons, definitely enough to assure neither of you has to come back up here for a while. Unfortunately, you can’t bring yourself to be grateful just yet. 

“Lill–” you’re cut off as you round the tank a second time, slamming directly into a familiar board chest.

“I have her!” He shouts over the wind. He opens up his jacket ever so slightly, and a set of familiar green eyes peers back. You immediately sigh in relief, “Damn thing was just under the porch. Come on, let’s head back.”

He puts an arm around you, shielding you from the wind as you both carefully walk down the hill. Now, with a moment to breathe and every task completed, you can feel the cold start to creep in. Snow clung to every part of your clothes and froze into your hair. Yeah, you should have definitely grabbed a jacket.

You both burst into the cabin, quickly locking the door behind you. In the peek of gratefulness, Lilly scurries under the couch, quickly followed by Gus. Their own way of saying thank you for rescuing them from a certain frozen demise. 

You kick off your boots while Joel latches the door behind you. Limping over to the wood stove to thaw yourself out, you curse your practically frozen joints. Well, that’s what you get for running out blindly in a blizzard without sparing a second to even grab a damn coat. 

“Holy shit,” Joel grumbles as he adds a few more logs into the stove. Its warmth already filled the cabin. Still, that didn’t make you thaw out any faster. 

You jump in surprise when Joel grabs your hands. His own hands were rough and already warm. He always seemed so warm. 

“Silly woman, didn’t even think to put on a coat or gloves.” He scoffs, delicately running his fingers over yours. 

“I think my panic was justified,” You scoff through chattering teeth. A gust of wind shakes the cabin walls as if to agree with you. 

You stand there in silence for probably too long, both of you likely too dumbfounded on what to say next— or maybe too nervous. Really, what could you say? Can you just get right back to business? Did he want to talk it through? If he did, then this would be the perfect time for him to say something. 

He was stuck here in this little cabin with you at least until the storm passed. He wanted to leave. He’d been waiting to leave. You kissed him. He kissed you back— And he wanted to kiss you back. 

This wasn’t one-sided. That’d become obvious. Even still, with the rush of adrenaline and too much time to ponder your own desperate actions, you started to doubt it all. All the courage you had earlier depleted. 

You’re cold, you’re tired, and now your whole body is sopping wet to top it all off. 

The snow sticking to your hair and clothes was finally melting, the fabric awkwardly clinging to your skin. You realize you must look like an absolute wreck at this point.

You pull your hands away from his and turn away. You start to unbutton your top flannel before you take a step towards the hallway. A hand on your elbow stops you. 

He silently turns you back towards him— that same fiery look in his eyes before the storm came. You gulp as he reaches for your flannel. His hands replace your own frozen ones. Slowly, he starts to unbutton the shirt, one by one.

“Let me help,” He murmured, his gaze transfixed on your peaked nipples. 

“Joel—”

“You do too much, you know that? Too busy takin’ care of someone else.” He rolls the sleeves off your shoulders, and the soaked garment falls to the floor with a wet plop. Only your white undershirt remains, equally as drenched and clinging to your skin. 

His fingers hook under the hem of your shirt. The final layer of fabric that separates him from your bare breasts underneath. You’re positive the shirt is drenched to the point of being see-through. His eyes dart to yours, asking permission to continue. Your breath hitches as you give a small nod. 

He savors the moment, slowly gliding his rough palms up your torso as he rolls the shirt over your head. You gasp at the chill the air sends over your bare skin. Your T-shirt joins the flannel on the floor. 

His eyes don’t leave yours, even though his hands roam up and down your bare skin. He pulls you into him. He’s warm. He’s so fucking warm.

“Who’s takin’ care of you, darlin’?” That raspy baritone sends shivers down your spine like it never had before. He knew exactly what he was doing.

His lips crash into yours with the same urgency as before. The frenzied roughness is all the permission you need to rip at his clothes. You feel his breathing jump when your hands reach the bare flesh of his stomach. He pulls you closer into him, your bare chests crushed into each other. His warmth against your peaked breasts makes you mew in delight. 

He brings you both down to the floor, pushing you down and crawling on top of you. He breaks the kiss for a moment, those deep whisky eyes setting you even more on edge— if that was even possible. His breath is heavy with lust, yours is too. 

An impatient whine escapes your lips as you reach for his belt buckle again. His hands instantly grab your wrists, a dangerous warning flashing in his eyes. 

“I told you,” his voice has nearly dropped a full octave, “You do too much.”

He gently returns your hands back to your sides before reaching for your pants. The graze of his knuckles against the soft flesh of your stomach sends jolts down your legs as he runs them across the hem. He slowly unbuttons them, his eyes never leaving your own. If he keeps this shit up you doubt you’re gonna last long.

You worry for a moment that his touch may linger on your scars there. A sporadic pattern of jagged, ugly lines on your lower abdomen. He’d never seen this part of you. Luckily, he’s a gentleman, or at least doesn’t seem to care.

You raise your hips, and he pulls your final garments down in one yank, both underwear and pants quickly discarded across the room. You lay underneath him fully bare and waiting— eagerly waiting.

You have to will your legs not to shake as his hands run up them, his mouth placing stubbled kisses along your inner thigh. Each contact of his lips sends a new jolt of wetness straight between your legs. Despite your efforts, a few moans escape you. You swear you catch the hint of a smile on his lips as he trails closer to your pussy. He likes this, you think. Seeing you start to crumble from so little.

 He hovers there for a moment, his warm breath caressing your eager cunt. “Let me take care of you, darlin’.”

He rips a scream from you as he engulfs you, hot tongue delving through your folds and dragging up to your bud. His fingers dig into your squirming hips, nailings leaving crescent indents in the supple flesh. He could break skin and leave you bleeding for all you cared, just as long as he didn’t stop. 

 Christ, when was the last time someone did this to you? And was it ever this good? No, no, you doubt it was. 

Your hands find his lushious curls, holding onto him for dear life. He laps at you greedily— furiously. His skilled tongue moved with a precision you’d never known. Somehow, you're not surprised he’s an expert at this. You’re not sure why. 

His deep moans as he works send shockwaves through your whole body. They tell you something that sends your head swimming. He’s enjoying this just as much as you. 

The previous freezing cold is now completely forgotten in the warm embrace of Joel Miller— and it’s everything you imagined it would be. 

“Christ,” You hear him murmur against you, “S-so fucking wet, sweet girl. So wet.”

“Just for you,” you mew in a voice you thought you’d forgotten. “All for you.”

“So good,” He runs his flat tongue over the length of your slit before sucking in your clit. 

“Fuck!” you scream, your thighs closing around his head. The orgasm hits you unexpectedly. Liquid fire rushes through your veins in an instant— and entirely too soon. Still, Joel doesn’t seem to mind, his mouth still eagerly consuming you as you attempt to crush his skull. 

You knew you wouldn’t last.

The tight coils of your muscles slowly unwind as you come down, sweat pricking at your brow already. And it was… embarrassing. You came so fast and it was fucking embarrassing. You groan and cover your face with your hands.

“Hey? Sweetheart?” You feel Joel crawl over you again, your dripping cunt already missing his perfect mouth. “I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“No! No, not that! You were— That was—” you stammer over yourself as usual. He hovers over you, patiently waiting for an explanation. You feel your cheeks heating even more, if that was even possible, “I… I came too fast.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that.” 

“No, it’s not— I just—” you sigh, brushing your hands up his chest. You feel his muscles tense in the wake of your touch. “I just wanted to enjoy that a little longer.”

He smiles, leaning down to kiss you. You sigh at the taste of yourself on his lips. He moves down to your neck, nipping small marks down to your shoulder.

“I don’t know what I did to make you think I was stoppin’ there,” He murmurs against you, his voice painted over with lust once more. He’s a far more attentive lover than you’d thought he would be— not that you’re really complaining, of course.

You finally manage to rip off his belt. He pulls down the waistband of his pants and finally pulls his hard cock free. He sits there for a moment, slowly stroking himself above you. Your mouth waters at the sight of him. Massive cock already throbbing hard and dripping. You’re absolutely delighted to keep finding out that no part of Joel Miller is how you’d imagined he would be— not at all.

He finally completely abandons his pants and comes back down to you. You’re both here, completely bare. The barriers are finally broken down and neither of you have to hide anymore— you don’t have to resist anymore.

Nothing is ever going to be the same.

You feel the blunt head of his cock jump as it comes into contact with your sopping entrance. He sighs, dropping his head back to your neck. He rolls his hips gently, not to enter you but to coat himself in your release. The gentle yet so purposeful soft contact makes another moan escape from your lips— his velvet hard cock stroking through your weeping folds. It was heaven.

“I—” His gravel voice drips with desperation, “I don’t know how gentle I c-can be, sweet girl.”

Whoever said you wanted things gentle? Clearly, you’ve given him the wrong impression as well. You place several sloppy kisses along his shoulder as you wrap your legs around his waist. You lick a stripe from his neck up to his ear before you whisper— 

“Then don’t be.”

He growls, a filthy but exciting sound, before he pulls back and slams into you. You arch in a silent cry, your nerves screaming from the sudden fullness you hadn’t known for far too long. He waits for you to adjust, only for a moment. You can see the tendons tensing in his neck, heavy ragged breaths blown into your hair. 

“Sweet little t-thing,” he groans as he slowly draws back.

He slams into you again, the force far more pleasurable this time now that you know what to expect. Christ, you were so full. If you’d known he would feel this good, you would have cornered him on the couch weeks ago.

“Joel…” You can’t help but moan his name as he sets a pace, his heavy breath against your neck sending chills down your spine. His grip on your hips tightens, each thrust becoming harder than the last— more punishing. He needed this as much as you did. Is it selfish to think that? You don’t really care at the moment.

He shifts you both, coming up to his knees and raising your hips to meet him. His first thrust at the new angle hits something inside you, something that makes you gasp and the edges of your vision blur. He took notice, a small grin pulling at the edges of his lips. With crippling precision, he hits it again, and again, and again…

“S-so busy takin’ care of everyone else,” he grunts through his efforts. “When’s the last time someone took care of you, darlin’?”

He holds you against him, grinding his pelvis into yours. His hand comes up, his thumb pressing against your clit. You can’t help the scream that practically drools out of your lips.

“Tell me,” you almost don’t hear him say it, “When— when was y–your last time…”

So it wasn’t rhetorical. You muster up all the brain strength you can to answer.

“T–too long… years,” you manage to squeak out between gasps. His hand still hasn’t left you, “T–too f–fucking… long…”

“Shame… fucking s-shame…” he finally pulls out again, resuming his same brutal pace, “Woman like you… out here all alone… fucking shame…”

Joel Miller is a dirty talker; who knew? You don’t have the capacity to register his words while he's holding you on the cusp of another orgasm, though. Those rough hands working you like he already knew every part of you— or maybe any amount of intimacy is good enough for you now. Though, you highly doubt that. 

He releases your hips and you both fall back down to the floor together. He doesn’t slip out as you do, his movements becoming more sporadic as you both chase the same high.

It catches you by surprise again, a crashing orgasm that shakes your whole body. You arch into him, your mind numbing for precious split seconds. 

“Oh god— that’s it. That’s—” He hastily pulls out of you, spilling his release over your stomach with a final sinful moan. 

He holds himself over you while you both come down from the same high, his head hanging low between his shoulders. You see his back rising and falling with his breath as he gathers himself. You reach up and grab his hanging head, placing a soft kiss in the messy mop of his hair. He immediately looks up, capturing your lips for another kiss. You both hold it longer than expected. 

The room is so quiet now— Only the sound of crackling fire to cut through the dense, sex charged air. Wordlessly, Joel rises and steps into the kitchen. You gasp at the loss of him. He comes back with a damp washcloth. He kneels at your side and silently runs it over your stomach and between your legs, cleaning up the mess you both made. You wonder if he’ll bring up the scars now. He doesn’t. 

He discards the washcloth, throwing it across the room. He puts his pants back on and you just wrap a blanket around your naked body, the warm air more comforting against your bare skin than any sweater would be.

He pulls you onto the couch and you curl into him without hesitation. You both sit there silently, listening to the raging storm outside.

“Guess you might be stuck here for a while longer,” you eventually say. His hand gently strokes over your bare shoulder.

“Yeah… guess I am.”

[bumpkinspice0]

Hey I was wondering if you could tag your Logan x f!reader as x f!reader tumblr is being dumb and showing it in the already kinda sparse xm!reader tag. I’m sure your work is great but it’s just being shown to the wrong audience, and can’t be filtered out. I hope you have a good day

Thanks for letting me know!

Just a little clarification because I’m a dumby and probably over thinking it… I should take out the “Logan” part of the tag or clarify the “f!” Part of the tag? Not sure if my fics are showing up for another Logan character or for folks that don’t want to read f!reader fics

Sorry I still don’t fully understand tumblr tagging. I’ll go back and fix things accordingly tho

[bumpkinspice0]

not now kitten, daddy has to write strange self indulgent fan fiction.

[bumpkinspice0]

The truth of it 🤣

[bumpkinspice0]

[bumpkinspice0]

Logan Fics Masterlist

All fics here are rated Explicit. Minors DNI!

•••••••••

Warnings are listed in in each fics link

••••••••••

• No One Knows the Trouble, Honey... (Complete)(3 part series) You’er Back home at X Mansion after 10 years. Charles asked you back to help rebuild from the latest attack. It stirs up a lot of emotions in you, and the newest X-Man isn't helping. • Office Hours (One Shot) A few months back into being an X-Man... and Logan still can't keep his hands off you • Take a Bullet (One Shot) It terrifies you how far Logan is willing to go to save you

••••••••••

Read on AO3

[bumpkinspice0]

Apex Predator

Sabertooth/ Victor Creed x FemReader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8.4k (like how? How did that happen?)

Summary: You hear two animals fighting in the woods one night. You find one of them the next day and bring him into your home. The red flags stack up, yet you can't help but find yourself drawn to him. A/N: don't ask me what possessed me to write a Victor fic I dont know I don’t know and I'm not gonna think about it too hard. Just enjoy. Liev Schreiber is fine as hell with a voice that should be studied Warnings: Injury and wound descriptions, blood, S M U T, Porn with Plot, hurt/ comfort, feral/ animalistic behavior (duh), rough sex, oral sex, cum eating (out of pussy... hell yeah), biting, licking, I wrote the word tongue too many times, why have none of you put me down yet?

AO3 if you prefer to read there

_______

There are monsters in the woods tonight. 

You hear them roaring just past the tree line— massive animals battling for dominance. Not a completely uncommon thing in your part of the world, but definitely an unwelcome one. You grip the shotgun tighter as you dare to step out onto the front porch of your modest cabin. The late fall air would send a chill up your spine if the fear hadn’t done that already. You see nothing. You turn the yard light on, thinking it might scare whatever is out there away, but the blind roaring doesn’t stop. 

Whatever was out there, it wasn’t afraid of man.

You’d lived out here long enough to identify almost any critter by sound. But this wasn’t like any animals you’d ever heard before. Grunting and snarling accompanied by snapping branches, sometimes almost sounding borderline human. You lived too far out for the police to be any help and the only self-defence you had was already in your hands. You immediately retreat back into the house, lock the doors, and turn out all the lights. If whatever was out there couldn’t be scared away, then you’d have to do your best to hide and stay safe. 

You turn your armchair to face the door, shotgun resting at the ready on your lap. A sleepless night was nothing if it meant your life. You’d only done this once before. A mother grizzly bear had stalked your cabin for 2 days. She almost broke down the door on the last night. Somehow… This seemed worse. 

The turbulent unforeseen violence outside continued as the night crawled on, but it never came close to your door. Regardless, you sat at the ready as the clock ticked on and you forced your eyes to stay open.

Eventually, the roaring faded. When the woods were tranquil again, you were already asleep.

______________

You wake up to the blinding morning light. The shotgun was still resting on your lap, and you silently scolded yourself for falling asleep with it still on your person before setting it to the side. You recline the chair, stretching out as the evening events come flooding back to you in an instant. 

Something horrible happened last night just outside your door. If you were younger you’d be absolutely petrified right now, and maybe a small part of you was. You can never fully train fear out of you. But you’d been out here a while. You’re part of the ecosystem like anything else. This was your territory. That was challenged last night. You needed to establish you’re not afraid. 

With heavy feet, you walk to the front door. You step onto the porch, shotgun still in hand. Your first steps onto the ground are cautious. The woods are quiet this morning, creatures hidden away in fear of whatever they witnessed last night. It makes your hair stand on end, but still, you press on. 

The only sound that can be heard is the crunch of leaves under your feet as you stalk towards the edge of your property line— closer to where the sounds came from last night. You stop when the treeline gets denser and the ground gets steep. The sound of the river just down the hill is comforting. 

Panic grips you when you spot it. 

A man— beaten and blooded, half submerged on the shore. 

You scramble down the hill without thinking. It wasn’t a fight between two predators. It was a fight between an animal and a man. He was fighting for his life and you just sat there all night.

He’s worse when you get up close. There are gashes on nearly every part of his body— claw marks in sets of three. There’s a massive one across his entire face. He’d likely lost his right eye. 

You crouch down beside him, getting a better look at his features beneath the gore. His hair was short and dark. You can make out some thick stubble caked with blood. You cautiously hover your hand over his mouth. It was faint but it was there— breath. God, he’d been bleeding out all night, how is he still alive?

There’s no time to think about it now, you have to help him. You had to try at least. 

You drop your gun, hook your arms under his shoulders and heave. He’s heavy as hell but you still manage to walk, one step after the other. You’re amazed you managed to get back up the hill to the cabin. Adrenalin is a hell of a thing. 

You put him on the couch in the living room. His skin was ice cold, so your first priority is to light a fire before you do anything else. Dressing his wounds wouldn’t mean anything if hypothermia set in. 

You had a modest stockpile of medical supplies, it was a necessity when someone lived the way you did. The nearest hospital was over 50 miles away and the only road to town had been washed over by a mudslide last week. His only hope was you— and your modest medical knowledge.

You pile up a few rolls of gauze and bowls of clean water next to him on the coffee table. All you had to do was clean and cover the wounds— maybe stitch a few. You take a deep breath and get to work.

__________

Hours. It took hours but you did it. He more resembled a mummy than a man by the time you were done. The cabin was finally warm and his skin was slowly heating up… well, what little of it you could see under the bandages. 

You’d tossed his shirt immediately, it was practically scraps anyway. You let him keep his pants, only with a few holes in the knees and a stray tear or two. He didn’t have shoes, which, now that you’re thinking about it, was a little odd. How do you manage to lose your shoes in a fight for your life? You’ll have to ask him when he wakes up. If he wakes up.

You sit across from him in your armchair, just looking. Though he was asleep he seemed… rough. Mean almost. His haircut made you think he’s a military man but the rest of him said otherwise. Massive sideburns and spotty stubble. Long unkempt nails. You’d never seen hands like his before. They looked… unnatural. This man survived an hours-long fight with some kind of predator, everything about him was unnatural. There’s a name for people like that— you try not to think about it. 

It’s hours later before anything happens. 

You’re in the kitchen when you hear a gasping breath. You immediately run over. 

He’s awake, grasping at the bandages on his chest. He’s breathing rapidly.

“Where am I?!” he croaks out. 

“Don’t do that,” You grab at his hands to stop him from pulling the gauze off, “You’ll open your—”

“Get the hell away from me!” he shoves you down in a flurry of movement. He attempts to get off the couch, collapsing under his own weight instantly. He barks out a pained grunt, grasping at his leg. You’re sure there was at least a severed tendon or two.

“You’re safe!” you assure him as you scramble to his side, keeping a safe distance this time, “You’re in my home. I found you by the river and—”

“Where is he?” the stranger growls through gritted teeth.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” You dare to touch him again, urging him back to the couch. To your surprise, he doesn’t flinch away, “Please, get back in bed.”

He finally looks at you now, and the rage in his eyes— well, eye–- sends a shiver down your spine. Your first assumptions were right, this man was angry. Maybe it was a mistake to bring him back here. You brought a stranger into your home— an angry stranger.

You notice his nose twitch. Is he… smelling you?

“You scared?” he asks bluntly.

He doesn’t take his eye off of you. You’re not sure how to navigate this situation. He was clearly dangerous, but he also couldn’t walk at the moment. Was he really a threat or just panicked? He did just wake up in a stranger's home after probably the worst night of his life after all. 

“Are you going to hurt me?” you ask. 

He scoffs, shaking his head with a faint smile.

“No, I don’t think so, frail,” he rolls on his back with a pained groan. He looks at the bandages snaking up his arms. He brings his grizzled hand down to touch the patch over his eye, “Christ, you went through a lot of trouble for nothin’.”

“Should I have left you there to die?” you ask cautiously, reestablishing some distance between the two of you.

“Probably would have been best,” he mumbles, hand still over where his right eye should have been, “Never had it this bad before.”

“Before?” you scoff, “You go wrestling bears in the woods often, stranger?”

“Didn’t fight a damn bear,” he grunts, sitting up and inching his way back to the couch. 

“Oh yeah?” You loop your arm through his and help him the rest of the way onto the couch. “What did you fight?”

He lays back with a heavy sigh. He lets out another small chuckle and you see a flash of pearly white pointed teeth.

“A wolverine.”

_________

You hide away in the other parts of the house until evening. You tried to talk to him a little more after he initially woke up, but he didn’t reciprocate much and honestly, you can’t blame him. You wouldn’t want to be berated with 20 questions after you survived a wolverine attack either. Still, you got a little out of him. 

Victor. He said his name was Victor. 

As the hours rolled on your anxieties stewed more and more about the situation you’d put yourself in. He’s already sitting up and talking. He was conscious less than a day after heavy trauma. He surely had to be in excruciating pain but didn’t say anything. Didn’t even touch the painkillers you set on the table for him. He just sat there, waiting almost. He said he wouldn’t hurt you but you don’t know him. You don’t know what he’s capable of.

He has clawed hands and pointed teeth… and he’s just sitting in your living room. You don’t want to dwell on it. You don’t want to judge. You keep your shotgun within reach just in case. 

You’re in the laundry room when you hear booming footsteps down the hall. 

You rush out to the kitchen and there he is, standing tall and straight.

“What are you— You’re—”

“I was thirsty,” he grits through your stammering, reaching into the cupboard to pull out a glass. 

“You’re walking.” 

He makes a small show of looking down and wiggling his toes, then looking back at you with faux shock on his face. 

“Well, would ya look at that,” he drawls, “It’s a goddamn miracle.” 

He brushes you off and fills his glass in the sink, downing the entire thing in one gulp before immediately filling it up again. 

“You’re still scared.” he gruffs without even looking at you. 

“Why shouldn’t I be?” you stand your ground, glancing to the hallway where your gun was mounted. 

“I said I wouldn’t hurt you,” he reiterates in an almost annoyed tone. He turns to face you now, leaning back against the counter with a new glass of water. 

“How do I know I can trust you?”

He raises his hand and you can’t help but notice his long nails peeking out from behind his fingers. “Scouts honor.”

“I need more than that.” you take a step closer, quelling the anxiety bubbling in your stomach. “If you’re going to stay I need more.”

“More?” He scoffs before taking a swig of his water. “What could you possibly—”

You don’t let him finish, slapping the glass out of his hand. It clamors to the floor without breaking, water splashing at your feet. He seemed like the type of man that would only respond to aggression. He was a guest in this house. This was your territory and you couldn’t let him think he was in charge. He couldn’t walk all over you. Sometimes showing dominance is the best way to stay safe. Show no fear.

You were going to get answers one way or another. 

“I want honesty,” You stand directly in front of him. You see the seething rage in his almost gleaming eye and match it, “I find you mauled half to death and drag you in here. You wake up without so much as a thank you. You couldn’t even walk a few hours ago and now here you are standing in my kitchen thinking you own the place. You give me a little honesty, and I’ll give you a little trust.”

You stand there in bloated silence, both of you refusing to back down. Christ, he’s big. He looks down at you with contempt almost, until his expression melts back into something more neutral. You flinch when he reaches up, but he doesn’t lay his hand on you. His clawed fingers grip the bandages around his chest and rip them off in one fluid motion. 

You almost scream at him to stop before you notice it. The deep gashes that were so prominent on his skin just a few hours ago… were almost completely gone. Only small cuts on fresh pink skin littered his chest. Christ, even the hair was growing back. 

“You— what does… how is this possible?” you ask, almost dumbfounded. But you knew. Deep down you knew. 

“Aw, and here I thought you might be smart,” he tuts, turning to retrieve another glass. 

“You’re a mutant.” You finally say it out loud. There was no denying it now. 

“Told ya you went through a lot of trouble for nothing,” he grunts almost dismissively. He turns to face you again and his expression is almost… soft. He’s relaxed. He’s trying to make you comfortable. That or he was finally relieved everything was out in the open now. Either way, the air was lighter.

“You still scared?” He asks. 

Are you? You’re not sure. He promised he wouldn’t hurt you. And, he gave you what you asked for. He gave you honestly. Now you have to keep up your end of the bargain. 

Unsure of how to continue, you simply reach out your hand. It hovers there in front of him for a moment. He stares at it almost dumbfounded, before he takes it. Your hand feels so small in his. 

“Welcome to my home, Victor,” you offer him a small smile. “I hope you’ll behave or you’ll have led in your ass to worry about next."

His sharp smile could almost be considered kind, “Thanks a million, kitten.”

__________________

By the next morning he’s taken off almost all of the bandages, say for the one over his eye. He said it would take longer for his eye since it was fully regrowing something instead of mending skin. You’re still in awe of it all. You never knew much about mutants, but you're sure he had to be something special. He’d practically come back from the dead. 

You worked up the courage to ask him about the claws last night.

Don’t you know an animal when you see one? Was his only answer. You could make your own assumptions off of that.

He stands just outside of the cabin right now. You’d found an old grey henley shirt for him to wear. He didn’t seem to mind having no shoes. You assume it’s all part of the whole ‘beast’ thing he has going on.

He said he wanted to exercise before he left the house, mumbling about still being sore. His walk has the slightest limp in it you think he’s trying to hide. He stretches his arms over his head and cracks his neck a few times before bounding off into the woods with the agility of a tiger. He really did move like an animal. 

You’re still not sure what to make of him. You didn’t care that he was a mutant, but you can’t shake the feeling that he’s someone dangerous. You could just see it in him. A quiet rage about everything. A cocky smirk that sets you on edge in a way you can’t quite place. And in its own way… a carefully curated image.

On top of all of his red flags, something about him was just so… alluring. You just can’t seem to stop your thoughts from drifting to the more lustful side when you think about him. 

He comes back an hour later. You’re standing at the kitchen window when you see him bound down from the trees. He has two dead pheasants in hand. He takes a seat on the porch and begins plucking them, his back still facing you. You watch his shoulders rise and drop with his ragged breaths, his wide back almost mesmerizing. He was strong, you knew that from the moment you saw him. Vicious too. 

 An animal. He called himself an animal. You wonder just exactly what that meant.

You feel the arousal stir in your belly, a wet ache growing between your legs. You notice his demeanor shift outside, and his head turns slightly. You jump out of view of the window, ashamed to have been spying on his personal time. You’re not sure, but you think you hear a small chuckle outside. 

He comes back in about ten minutes later, with two freshly plucked and gutted birds to offer. Birds he hunted down with his bare hands. 

“Brought dinner,” he announces, placing them in the sink. “Noticed you were almost out of meat.”

You stand on the opposite side of the kitchen, back towards him. You're not sure why, but you're embarrassed. 

“Thank you,” you say, fiddling with whatever books were on the table.

You feel him come up behind you, standing just inches away.  

“Sure thing, kitten,” his lips faintly brush your ear before pulling away. “Gonna shower.”

_______

He was going to track down Logan and finish what he started. He wasn’t going to come back to this fucking place. No reason to. He barely made it 3 miles before the exhaustion started overtaking him, his still cracked ribs and torn tendons aching in protest. It was taking too damn long this time. The runt had done a number on him. He hoped he’d at least returned the favor in equal measure. 

It didn’t matter anymore. He lost Logan’s scent in the river, the water erasing whatever trail that was left. He’d find him eventually and they’d do it all over again. Same old song and dance forever. 

So he scurries back to this shithole cabin to lick his wounds.

He hates it. He hates it here. He hates that he’s apparently so goddamn weak he needed help from a human. He hates the way this fucking cabin smells. He hates you. 

His cock’s painfully hard in his hands. Victor stands hunched over himself in the shower, hoping the rushing water is loud enough to drown out any lewd sounds you might hear. He honestly didn’t know how good human hearing was anymore. 

Truth be told this was probably his favorite way to relieve some stress after getting his ass handed to him— though he’d rather be cumming in someone pretty. You would do nicely, but for some reason, he held back. You wanted him, he could smell it, and Victor Creed held back. Instead giving himself a sad quick jerk in the shower. 

He chalks it up to having some kind of respect for you, whatever little he’s capable of. You dragged his ass up here, kept him in your home, did your best to put him in his place. Usually, he’d call all that stupidity, but being on the receiving end of your kindness was…nice.

 No one was nice to Victor. No one gave a shit, and he was fine with that. You didn’t seem to care he was what he was. Seemed like you just wanted him to be nice. Fine, he can be nice. The Victor Creed version of nice at least. 

Christ, you wanted him— and he smelled it. 

He cums with a groan hissed through clenched teeth. It was empty. Not the release he wanted and it just serves to piss him off more. He wouldn’t stick around here much longer. Wait for his eye to be back in its socket again and bones to snap back into place— then he’d go and do what he’d always done. He’d forget about all of this. 

He already smells the pheasants roasting in the oven. You came with perks, he won’t deny that. 

He doesn’t bother putting a shirt on once his pants are buttoned, walking out of the bathroom dragging a towel across his damp hair. It smelled even better out here. He sits by the kitchen where you scurry around doing god knows what. 

“When’s the bird ready?” he asks. 

“A few hours. We should—” You finally turn to face him, pausing as soon as your eyes land on his face, “You… showered with your bandages on.”

“So?”

“So, you’re gonna get an infection,” you sigh, reaching into a cupboard next to the sink and pulling what he’s pretty sure is your last roll of gauze.

“I don’t get infections,” His words do nothing to stop you as you somehow just materialize in front of him. “You don’t need to—”

“Hush, these things are filthy anyway,” you touch him without hesitation, unwrapping the damp bandages around his head, “Don’t want your eyeball to grow back wrong, do we.”

“You’re unbearable, woman.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before,” You brush his words off with a faint smile. When you take the final patch off his eye, he can’t resist.

“Boo!” he snarls, popping his claws up for dramatic effect. You jump, fear only taking your senses for a brief moment before you smile and smack him playfully on the chest. 

“Asshole,” you mutter, taking his face in her hands. He can’t help but chuckle… just a little. your expression drops while you observe the surely hideous gash on his face. Something is growing in his eye socket, he can feel it. It’s almost fully there, but if it’s functional yet is a totally different story. He can barely open it, faint blurry images throwing off his vision and making him dizzy. Maybe it was best to keep the damn thing covered after all.

“How bad is it, doc?” He breaks the silence. 

“Well,” you run a thumb across his cheekbone. He pushes down whatever foreign feeling it stirs in his stomach. “It’s better than it was.”

You grab the gauze. 

“Just a patch this time. Don’t need ta wrap half my head.” He insists.

“Fine, fine,” you absent-mindedly agree while cutting off a few strips of tape. He feels his muscles tense when you touch him again. “It’s amazing your body can do this, you know.”

“Yeah, I’ll count my blessings,” He huffs, almost annoyed. You don't know a goddamn thing. 

“You think your eye will come back a different color?” you continue on absentmindedly, taking your sweet time to position the patch just right.

“What?” he scoffs in amusement. 

“Like you’ll get a blue or purple eye instead. Does that happen?”

“No. No, that doesn’t happen.” He can’t tell if you’re just being naive or trying to make small talk. You don't smell afraid anymore. You smell… relaxed. He liked it. The smell was almost…inviting.

“Mm, probably for the best. You’ve got nice eyes— well, eye.” You honest to god laugh at yourself.

“Oh, do I?” He’d bounce his eyebrows sarcastically if you weren’t finally putting the tape on. 

“Yeah, you do.” you smooth out the final strip of tape across his forehead. “They almost glow. Like a wild cat’s.”

“Honey… you have no idea.”

Your hands still haven’t left his face. When was the last time someone touched him without the intent to hurt him? When was the last time someone paid him an honest compliment? When’s the last time he talked to a pretty girl without the express purpose of getting information out of her? A girl that wasn’t afraid of him… He can’t remember.

Victor didn’t have quite nice moments like this with people. Never let anyone get close enough to try. He wasn’t someone nice things happened to… so of course the moment was ruined almost immediately.

He hears it before he smells it, stalking footprints in the distance. A large predator coming for the cabin. He takes a deep inhale and closes in on it immediately. A cougar, one he’d met earlier today when he was out. He’d encroached on a mother's territory and she’d tracked him here. Now he’d have to defend yours. 

“What is it?” you’d noticed him go stiff, his attention darting to the open door. He grabs your arms as gently as he can and pushes you back.

“Stay inside…please,” He stalks to the door, instincts immediately overtaking his senses. Protect. Defend. Fight if you have to.

He stands on the dirt just in front of the cabin, pacing back and forth— an open challenge. The cougar does the same just beyond the treeline, staying hidden. It doesn’t matter, Victor may be down an eye but he can smell her just fine. This could go on for hours if he didn’t try something. May as well just kill the thing and get it over with. 

“Victor?” your meek voice almost pulls him from his predatory focus— almost. 

“I said stay inside,” it comes out as more of a growl than he intended, but he doesn’t particularly care at the moment, “Back up and lock the door.”

“Please… don’t kill it. Whatever it is.” You beg him for reasons he can’t fully comprehend at the moment.

“Go inside. Now.”

You said nothing and followed his command, locking the door behind you. 

His attention is back on the silent predator just beyond the treeline. This was a territorial dispute, a display of dominance— something Victor was always good at. 

He plants his feet, standing parallel to your front door. He squares his shoulders and roars. A challenge. An invitation, really. 

Just try it, it won’t go well, Victor thinks as he readies his stance, prepared to pounce. 

An eerie silence follows in his voice's echo. The type of silence when there’s about to be trouble. 

The mother reveals herself, only slightly, peeking her head through the brush. Her gaze is locked on to him and teeth bared with quivering cheeks. He should pounce now, take her out in one strike. It would be so easy. Killing was always so easy… but you’d asked him not to. And for some reason, that was harder. Restraint wasn’t something Victor ever practiced, so why now?

Because you asked him to. 

The two predators both remain unmoving. Both pushed to the edge. Victor pushed her to the edge. She didn’t want to fight, she was just protecting what was hers. So was he… in a way. So Victor does something he’s never done before.

He takes a step back. 

He stands at the bottom step of the porch, crouching even lower. He bares the full length of his claws before he roars again— the primal message clear to his fellow predator. 

This is mine. Stay away. 

There’s a beat of heavy silence between the two, a bit longer than he’d like, before he sees the mother’s posture relax. She steps out of the brush, head hung low— a sign of respect. A promise not to come back. They share one final look before she bounds away into the woods once more. 

But it’s not good enough for Victor. He desperately wants to go after her. He wants assurance that you’d be safe. He wants revenge on something for having the audacity to cross him. He wants to march back into the cabin and claim what he’s now marked as his. 

Instead, he paces. He walks the perimeter of the cabin praying something else challenges him so he can kill it. 

__________

He stayed outside until nightfall that day, just walking around the tree line. You didn’t dare stop him. Something about the way he moved, the way he carried himself, it frightened you. And in a way you’re not ready to admit to, it excites you. This massive lumbering man ready to fight a full-grown cougar stalking around your property like an animal… it did something to you. You try not to think about it, busying yourself with whatever unimportant work you can find. 

You ate by yourself that night, leaving out a plate for him. The next morning you woke up to him asleep on the couch with a full pheasant carcass completely cleaned off on the plate next to him. You find two more plucked and gutted birds in the sink too. Well… at least he liked your cooking.

When he woke up he immediately took the bandage over his eye off. You almost slapped him for being too hasty before you saw two perfectly matching topaz eyes looking back at you, the previous gash now thinned to a faint sliver over skin around it.

He left the cabin before you could do anything else, mumbling something about testing it out.

He’s been gone for hours now while you nervously scurry about your humble home, willing your thoughts not to drift to him. It’s useless, he encompassed every thought you had. Those strong clawed hands, his deadly swift movements. His—

You almost yelp when you hear the cabin door slam. You don’t turn around to face him, but you hear his heavy steps lumber back to the living room and collapse on the couch. There’s a heavy sigh as the couch creaks in protest. He’s relaxing. And, somehow, the air is so much lighter now. 

“Dinners ready,” you dare to speak up, pulling the probably overdone pheasants out of the oven. 

“Good,” he grunts before strolling into the kitchen. He takes an entire bird for himself again, not giving the accompanied roasted vegetables a second glance. You can’t say you're surprised, but it makes you smile a little. You join him in the living room once your plate is filled, sitting kitty-corner from the couch on your armchair. 

He didn’t even bother to grab a fork, pulling apart the bird and eating it down to the bone piece by piece. He really was an animal. You chose not to comment on it, quietly eating your own meal on the side. 

“What was that?” you finally speak up after a few bites, “Out there the other day. A cougars never come close to here.”

“My fault,” he simply answers, breaking one of the striped bird bones in his hand, “Territory dispute, should be fine now.”

“Okay,” You simply answer despite all of the swirling questions in your head. How can he act so casual after stalking your property like a goddamn tiger for an entire day? Because this was normal to him. This is just part of who Victor was.  

Don’t you know an animal when you see one?

You both finish the meal in silence, choosing to stare at the dancing fire instead of each other. The air felt charged. Heavy with something you’re not ready to admit to yourself. You take your plate to the kitchen before you say something stupid.

You almost scream when you turn around to find him directly behind you at the sink, too close for comfort. Christ, you didn’t even hear him walk up. He stands there, staring down at you with those glowing predatory eyes that are so mesmerizing. He reaches out and rests his hands on the counter on either side of you, caging you in. His massive body crowds you against the counter. You can feel your heartbeat start to quicken. 

“You think I don’t know what you’re thinking, little girl?” he all but growls out, “You think I can’t smell you? You’ve been driving me crazy.”

One of his hands comes up to your face, the backside of his claws running down your cheek. He was dangerous, a killer. You’re so close to it and it thrilled you. 

“What do you want?” his face is hovering closer to yours now.

“I—” You try desperately to hold yourself together, but you just can’t. Not with him, “I don’t know…”

He scoffs slightly, clawed hand coming down to rest on your neck. There’s no pressure in his grasp, but there’s the lingering feeling of control. You should be afraid, you should be absolutely terrified. 

“I know what you want,” his head drops to your neck, taking a deep inhale. You swear you feel the faint brush of his fangs against the delicate skin of your shoulder. “You wanna be fucked like an animal. Taken by a beast. Claimed… That what you want?”

The grip on your neck tightens ever so slightly as his body pushes into yours. You’re trembling now, but there’s no fear. 

“Yes.”

His mouth envelopes yours with a growl and you finally surrender to him, your previously stiff body melting into his. It’s not gentle. It's not sweet and loving. It’s possessive and a little terrifying— and it’s exactly what you want. 

He’s strong, you knew that the moment you saw him, but those rough hands are on you now and it gives his strength a whole new meaning. The steel grip of two clawed paws on your hips almost makes you wince in pain. His body is rigid against yours, a massive unmovable pillar. He’s in full control here. You still have almost no reason to trust him with your body like this, but for some reason you do. 

He shoves one of his massive thighs between your legs to the point of being forced to stand on your tiptoes. Admittedly, the pressure against your clothed pussy was delicious. His leg remains steady when you give an experimental roll of your hips. There’s a rumble of approval that stirs in his chest and reverberates straight down to your cunt. 

His lips break from yours with heated breath, taking a moment to pierce you with those damned glowing eyes before attacking your neck with his mouth. One of his hand's claws into your hair, pulling your head back to a near uncomfortable angle. The flat of his tongue drags slowly across your pulse before biting down. He doesn’t break skin, but that doesn’t stop you from wailing. 

At his mercy— you’re at his full mercy. 

You find a rhythm against his thigh, searching for some kind of relief from the building pressure at your core. You’re so wet already, you can feel it through your pants. The built-up desire. The almost all-consuming need for this man. You’d never felt this way for anyone, but again… there was just something about Victor that drew you in. A moth to a flame—or maybe a mouse in the mouth of a tiger.

“Filthy little thing,” He growls against you, “Jesus, you’re already so—”

All at once his intense presence leaves you, just for a moment. His knee drops and he releases your hair. He flips you around against the counter so quickly you almost lose all the air in your lungs. Even from behind his presence is still all-consuming— feverish almost. 

One hand still squeezes your hip while the other snakes around to the front hem of your pants. He paws at your clothed cunt, his middle two fingers lingering right over your clit. You can feel the pressure of his claws through your jeans. He holds his hand there, just for a moment. 

“Take them off,” His voice is hot and low against your ear. You do as he says, unbuttoning your pants and shimmying them down your hips along with your panties. 

His rough hands massage into the plush flesh of your hips while he lingers there, his reach eventually sneaks up your shirt, cupping your bare breasts underneath. He has you completely pressed against him, playing with you like a cat plays with their food. 

Every touch of his calloused hands is pure electricity. Somehow gentle and rough at the same time. He was an expert at this, you’re sure of it. You will your knees from shaking. 

One of his hands finally trails back down to your waiting pussy, slowly dragging his fingers through your drenched folds. He holds there, pulsing his finger ever so gently on top of your aching clit— that’s when your knees start to shake. 

“Needy little thing,” he almost praises into your hair, “Never thought you’d smell this— be this—”

He breaks, suddenly forcing you over the counter. You have just enough time to brace yourself with your hands. You’re on full display for him now, bent over completely with his hands on your hips. You hear the rustling of fabric and the heavy thunk of a belt dropping to the floor.

You moan so sinfully when you feel his velvet cock running through your folds. The wet, sloppy sound is practically pornographic. 

“Oh, Christ. Oh fucking Christ,” You hear him rumble as he lines himself up, “You ready for me, darlin’?”

You nod vigorously, bracing yourself for him to just slam in. To your surprise, he doesn’t. Instead, it's slow… agonizingly slow. You whine as inch by inch he takes you, savoring the feeling. You feel his grip tighten the deeper and deeper he goes. You squeeze your fists to ground yourself, being pushed to your absolute limit. He’s big. He’s fucking big.

“Relax,” He grits out, “You can take me, sweet thing. You can—” He cuts himself off with a moan, finally bottoming out. He pauses there, pelvis grinding into your ass ever so slightly. You hear his breathing grow heavy, and he draws out of you. 

He slams back in with force and you scream. You hadn’t adjusted to his size yet and there was a good deal of pain mixing with the pleasure. You’d never had anyone this big. You’d never had anyone like Victor, period. A few steady and purposeful thrusts later the pain wasn’t even a factor anymore. 

He finds a pace, pulling your hips back to meet him harder and harder. It feels good, god it feels heavenly, but you can’t help but feel like this isn’t what you wanted. You want to fuck him, but you don’t want him to just use you. To not be just some bent-over whore just taking it. Maybe you’re lonelier than you realize, or maybe you're just a romantic, but either way, you need connection. 

“W-wait,” you manage to gasp out. He stops immediately, buried to the hilt and pressing you almost painfully into the counter. 

“Fucking hell— what?” you can tell he spits it through gritted teeth. 

You crane your neck around, only able to see him out of the corner of your eye. He was like a black shadow behind you, completely silhouetted by the moonlight from the window. 

“Wanna— I wanna see you.” It feels so pathetic coming from your mouth. 

You see his posture shift. He hesitates a moment before pulling out of you. You whine at the sudden loss. You stand up straight with shaky knees and turn to face the black mass with glowing eyes. 

“I want to see you,” You repeat, running your hands under his shirt and over his bare torso. You feel his muscles tense in your touch's wake. “I want to look at you when you fuck me.”

Something rumbles in his chest before he grabs you again. He hooks his hands under your ass and lifts you onto the counter. He hovers there, his nose tracing over your face but never fully touching you. Your hands haven’t left him still, he lets you roll off his shirt completely. He stands before you now completely bare and waiting. You loop your arms around his neck. 

“Take me to bed, Victor.” 

He consumes your mouth again when he pulls you into him, lifting you off the counter like you’re nothing. He carries you down the hall and you somehow manage to finally shed your shirt in the fever of it all. It catches you completely by surprise when he drops you onto your bed, you hadn’t even noticed him walk through your bedroom’s threshold. 

You lay there, chest heaving while you gather yourself. He stands there, a faceless black mass again just barely highlighted by the light from the window— piercing eyes a blaze in the darkness. You swear you can feel their burning gaze running over your body.

Your legs hang open at the edge of the bed and he stands directly between them. His upper body crawls over yours, his movements are agile and fluid like a panther. You hook your legs around him, pulling him in closer and he hums in approval.

“Frail wants to watch me fuck her, hmm?” his hands run over your thighs, those claws so dangerously close to breaking skin. 

“S-stop calling me that.” you weakly protest, “I’m not frail.”

He simply chuckles in response, a deep throaty thing that puts your hair on end. 

“Sure ya aren’t.”

He comes down on one of your breasts, rough tongue dragging over your peaked nipple before taking it into his mouth. Your hands claw down his back and up into his hair. He’s so heavy on top of you. So warm. His tongue greedily rolls around your nipple and over your chest to the other side. His chest rumbles with lust against your stomach as he devours you alive. 

He slowly comes off you, those predatory eyes glossed over with need. He crawls down your body until he’s standing on the floor again. He grabs your thighs, yanking you further to the edge of the bed. He rests his cock on top of the mound of your cunt, lazily rolling it back and forth right over your clit. Tiny gasps escape you with every velvet hard stroke. 

“Big t-tough girl wants to watch me fuck her,” he purrs. You swear you catch his eyes rolling back from the sensation, “Okay, pretty girl… you can watch.”

In one fluid motion, he slams himself back into your dripping pussy. Your entire back arches off the bed, muscles tensing with your silent scream. You didn’t expect him to be gentle, you didn’t want him to be. 

He holds there a moment, savoring the stretch around him. He barely pulls out before rolling back, grinding his pelvis against yours. He grips your legs tightly around the thigh, claws completely retracted so his fingers can dig into the pillowy flesh— he holds you for dear life while he finds his rhythm. 

“J-Jesus, you’re so damn tight,” he grits out, “Pretty thing like y-you all alone out here not getting fucked good on the d-daily… it’s a damn shame.”

You think it’s the closest thing he can give to a compliment, but you're not complaining at the moment— he’s not calling you frail anymore. 

Tiny little gasps escape you with each thrust, your knuckles going white from gripping the sheets. He looms over you, this massive beast of man drilling into you like it’s the deepest primal urge— and it’s exactly what you wanted.

Looking up at him you feel so close to danger, so close to absolute demise, and yet you’ve never felt safer. Never felt more desired than you do when he looks at you with those glowing eyes. He might be a beast, an animal as he called himself, but he is yours. Right now he’s yours and he’s giving you everything. 

“Touch yourself,” he urges through gritted teeth, his movements getting rougher, “Wanna…. See you touch yourself.”

You immediately oblige, having been so lost in the sauce that you completely forgot your own hands were an option. You release a throaty whine as soon as your middle finger circles your clit. The contrast of your gentle strokes mixed with his rough thrusts was an incredible combination you’d never experienced before. You apply a little more pressure, gasping out at the new heat building in your stomach.

“You keep… you keep making those s-sounds and I’m not gonna last.” Victor’s hands trail up your legs, moving your ankles to his shoulders. You’d forgotten you were this flexible. His fanged mouth nips at the flesh of your calves, an attempt to drown all his senses in you. 

“Trying—” He moans against your skin, “Trying not to bite you.”

“T-then just do it,” You barely manage to gasp out. You're not so sure why you were so fast to reply to something so insane. 

Those gem-like eyes immediately shoot to yours. His teeth bare down on the flesh of your calf, but not enough to break skin. The sharp pain mixed with the all-consuming pleasure makes you squeal. His tongue comes out to soothe over the freshly raw area. 

“Not yet, sweet thing—shit— N-not yet.” You have absolutely no idea what he means.

Your whole body bounces up and down against the bed, his thrusts powerful enough to make your headboard slam against the wall. The coil was tightening now, the heat building to that amazing mind-numbing climax you were both so desperately searching for.

“V-Victor– I— I—” is all you manage to squeak out before it overtakes you with a thunderous snap. The massive man collapses on top of you, pulling you into his rough body as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. 

“That’s it— t-that’s— give it to me,” He growls in your ear like a prayer, his hips starting to spasm out of rhythm. He sinks his teeth into your neck with a deep moan as his own bliss overtakes him. Again, he does not break skin. 

He still you both there, the wet slaps of skin against skin now replaced with breathy gasps and muffled moans. You feel him spill into you as you pulse around him. His body pins yours down like a weighted blanket until both of your pleasures are spent. 

His tongue laps over the indent his teeth have made just like he did with your calf. You think it’s his own primal way of saying sorry. Still, he refused to break the skin, and you wonder why. 

“Victor…” you whisper against his ear, running soothing hands down his massive back. A growl rumbles in his chest and reverberates into your own, rattling your heart between your ribs. 

“Not done.” you think he mummers against your neck.

“What?” You pause your hands at his waist. 

He sits up from you, those predatory eyes still just as hungry as before. 

“I’m not done with you yet.” he declares before dropping to his knees on the floor, dragging your lower half with him. You grasp at the sheets for dear life while he holds you balanced there, your leaking pussy right in his face. 

“Victor, what are you— ohhhh!” You’re cut off by the overwhelming sensation of his rough tongue dragging through your folds. He laps at you as you squirm in his grasp. 

“Taste so good together, darlin’,” he mumbles against you in between the ungodly wet sounds. His tongue delves into you selfishly, the wet muscle pumping in and out while his nose nudges against your clit. Your nerves are so overwhelmed you're not sure you even register everything he’s doing. He moans into you so aggressively you start to wonder if he’s doing this for him or you.

Surely feeling this good must be illegal, you think. Surely this man isn’t actually real.

You writhe against the overstimulation, but his strong hands hold you anchored there against him so impossibly close. His entire mouth closes over your cunt, that agile tongue narrowing in to dance circles around your clit. It’s too much. It’s not enough. 

“Pretty pussy like this needs to be licked every night,” He moans between laps of his tongue, “Every goddamn night.” 

“V-Victor— P-please— I can’t—” You attempt to plead before he interrupts you.

“Yes you can,” he says it like a demand, “You got one more for me. Please… need one more.” He’s begging for it. Begging for you to come. 

Yes, he’s definitely not real. You’re sure of it now.

His attention is back entirely on your clit now, closing his lips around and sucking— it’s your undoing. 

You grasp at the edge of the mattress, your entire body arching off the sheets as your second orgasm rips through you. Victor is unforgiving, his mouth and tongue drinking you in greedily and you uselessly squirm against him.

He holds you there for what feels like hours, enveloping himself in the mess you’d both made between your thighs. He can’t enjoy this, you think. There’s no way on Earth he can be enjoying this. Yet he holds you there until your muscles finally relax again, reveling in the mess you’ve both made together. 

He guides you down to his lap and you drag the sheets off the bed with you, burying yourself in his hairy chest. He pulls you into him without hesitation, his nose burrowing into your hair and his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head— A sharp contrast to how he was previously handling you. It's…. nice. Soothing away the pain of the numerous sins you’d surely just committed. 

You both lay back on the floor, bodies effortlessly curling in around each other. The bed seemed too far away now anyway. He brings the blanket up around you both, but it feels like a useless gesture. His body is all the warmth you need. 

You both lay there in silence for possibly eons, letting the electricity in the air settle until you can think clearly— though you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to again. You can’t help but feel like this absolute beast of man has changed everything now. This stranger that you’d rescued and brought into your home has left an eternal mark on your soul. This man you know almost nothing about.

Only a single question comes to mind.

“Who the hell are you, Victor Creed?”

His chest jumps under you with a small huff of a laugh. He lets the question settle in the air for a moment.

“Sweetie, you don’t wanna know.”

[bumpkinspice0]

Parallels Chapter 19: The Choice

Miguel O'Hara x Spider!FemReader

No use of y/n

Rating: Maure

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Miguel does his best to make you feel more comfortable in your new living situation and you finally tell some friends the truth

Warnings: Just like... so much angst I guess

A/N: Sooo sorry this took a bit. Finding it hard to write these transition chapters BUT this should be the last one

Previous

Series Masterlist

AO3

_______

It feels wrong to be in your space without you there. Or maybe it’s just the fact that you can’t be here that makes Miguel's stomach churn. Still, he’s here. He came here because you asked him to.

Jack’s not back yet. That’s fine, Miguel can wait. He grabs a long abandoned box that should have been recycled ages ago and starts to fill it with whatever he can find. Clothes, books, pictures, whatever he thinks you’d find comfort in.

As he makes his way through your apartment, he sees how different it’s become. A makeshift photography studio takes up half the space, more boxes cluttering the increasingly cramped room. Yet, it’s still so you. You’d told him you’d practically already given the place to Jack, and based on looks alone that seems to be true, yet your presence still lingers. You're sent. The little things that made this your home— your life. And he’s taken it away. 

It feels dirty, like he’s stolen you. He supposes he has, in a way. He’d ripped you away from all of this without your consent. It’s your life, you should have had a say, but then again who would choose their own death?

He wonders if he would have let you go through with it if he’d warned you what was to come. Would you have done it if you knew what the canon was destined to be? Yes, of course you would have. Because he would have done the same. 

Being Spider-Man is a sacrifice. 

He’s a hypocrite, he’s a liar, a fraud. He’s— he’ll think about it all later. Right now, he’ll just focus on the task at hand. He’s good at that. 

Miguel’s upstairs when he hears the door click open, quickly followed by the kitchen lights. He hears one set of footsteps. Jack’s back and he’s alone, so he can finally do what he came here to do. What you asked him to do. 

Miguel jumps from the loft, landing directly in front of the kitchen bar. Jack stands in front of the tea kettle waiting for it to boil, his posture limp and tired. He looks awful. It only takes him a split second to notice Miguel. 

“Jesus Christ!” Jack stumbles back clutching his chest. He takes a moment to gather himself, his face sorting through nearly every emotion. Miguel watches and his expression slowly changes from shock to anger. Jack expected you, instead, he gets Miguel. 

Jack marches around the kitchen counter to stand directly in front of Miguel. He’s a rather short and stout man, but somehow that doesn’t make him any less intimidating. 

“Where is she?!” Jack pushes Miguel’s chest. 

“She’s safe.” He answers blankly. 

This only seems to add to Jack’s understandable frustrations, “Is she alive?”

“Safe would imply alive.” 

“Then where. Is. she!” Jack pushes him again, a little harder this time. Miguel doesn’t move. “They all think she’s dead, you know! It’s all over the news. An explosion in some nowhere warehouse in Queens. They say they saw her swinging there. Just a few blurry pictures as proof.”

Jack starts pacing. It’d been at least 24 hours since the accident. He’s probably been running this all through his head without anyone to tell it to. Now that he has Miguel he can let it all out. He has a chance for answers, but first, he needs to finish panicking. 

“That wasn’t her. I know what her suit looks like. I know what—” Jack pauses, realization dawning on him, “It was you, wasn’t it? You were there?”

Miguel simply nods. 

Jack sighed, running his hand through his wavy dark hair, “Miguel… please, where’s my friend?”

Miguel hates this. He hates that he has to do this. Sighing, he takes a seat on the couch, placing the box of your memorabilia next to him. 

“Jack… sit down, and I’ll explain everything.” 

Your friend hesitates for a moment. He doesn’t trust Miguel yet, not completely. That’s fair, Miguel’s taken you away from him. Jack sits away. 

Miguel explains it all— The canon, the consequences, the goal of spider society. Everything. He needs to know everything just so he can understand the gravity of the situation. What could be at stake here if they’re not very, very careful. 

He explains why he did what he did the best he can… and why he’s the one here explaining all of this instead of you. 

Jack’s expression remains stagnant for the most part. Miguel’s not sure if it’s the shock of it all or just because he’s trying so desperately to understand. Probably a healthy mix of both. This is your best friend. You’re brother. He deserves to know everything until Miguel can fix it. 

When he finished, they both sat in complete silence.

Miguel doesn’t expect it when Jack grabs his hand and buries his face in the other. His shoulders shake with muffled sobs he’s desperately trying to control. 

“But she’s alive,” He hears Jack mumble to himself. Miguel just sits there awkwardly. He’s bad at this, he’s so fucking bad at this. He’d explained the whole situation as clinically as possible to avoid something like this. He’s had enough tears that he’s caused.

Jack’s sharing his pain with him. He’s showing him trust, just a little. 

There’s no getting around it. This is a unique tragedy. Sure, you’re still alive but you might as well be dead to him. He may never see you again. Your best friend may never see you again and it’s all Miguel’s fault.

Jack eventually lets go of Miguel’s hand, wiping away the remaining stray tears. 

“I’m going to fix this, Jack,” Miguel finally says. 

“Yeah, you fucking better,” Jack huffs an attempted smile to cut through all the other raging emotions, “You really fucking better.”

“She… she says the apartment’s totally yours until further notice,” God, Miguel is so fucking bad at this. 

“Not that she was here much to begin with,” Jack huffs again. His voice is back to normal. Emotions are settling, thank god. 

Another bloated silence stirs between the two men. There just simply wasn’t anything else that could be said. The only thing they had in common was you, and Miguel had stolen you completely. What is it like to have a friend like Jack, Miguel wonders. Someone so unabashedly loyal. Someone who chooses to be your brother despite everything. 

Gabe was pulled into this life practically kicking and screaming. That’s all Miguel did, drag people down with him. And now he’d done it not only to you, but the people you loved. 

He’ll fix this. He has to. 

“Um, I was grabbing a few things for her before you came,” Miguel grabs the half-filled box, “Anything else you think she’d need? For now at least.”

Jack glances through the box for a moment, giving his eyes one final wipe each, “Yeah. Yeah, of course, follow me.”

Miguel silently follows him up the stairs. Silently sits there as he picks out all of your favorite clothes from the dresser. Silently watches as he sorts through your toiletries. Silently observes this man who knows you better than he does. 

What did Miguel really know about you in comparison? He’d read your file but what were the things that made you you? Your favorite movie, color, book? What did he know besides your body?

He’s suddenly filled with shame as he watches Jack effortlessly sort out your life when he’d just grabbed whatever he could see. That’s what you deserved, someone who knew you in the small ways. The ways that mattered. Not whatever Miguel had sucked you into. You’d both tried so hard to escape, pushed each other away… and now look where it's gotten you. This is a mess. 

He’ll try, Miguel decides. He’ll try to get to know you on a closer level. You deserved at least that. He didn’t have to keep you at arm's length anymore. He wanted to dive into your mind now. Learn everything there was to know about what made up this woman that he loved so much.

“She loves you, you know,” Jack breaks the silence, sorting through your dresser one final time in a desperate attempt to find a shirt that isn’t a graphic tee. 

Miguel says nothing. Do you love him back? Could you after all of this?

“She hasn’t told me, but she does,” Jack continues, “She won’t say it first, you can count on that.”

“Why…why are you telling me this?”

“Because she’ll find every reason not to tell you. She puts herself through hell, she suffers alone because some fucked up part of her thinks she needs to. That she has to go it alone. She’s scared, though. She’s always scared for everyone else. Hell, she sent you here to check up on me when she’s probably having the literal worst day of her life. Is that how you all are? You… spider people?”

Miguel hates to admit it, “Yes, in a way.”

“Makes sense.” Miguel swears Jack almost chuckles, “You’ve shown her how much she matters to you now. She’s going to overthink everything. She’s gonna find reasons that don’t exist. She’s gonna be scared. Be patient with her.” 

Jack places his final assortment of clothes into the box with a heavy sigh. He gathers himself for a moment before looking Miguel in the eye.

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Do you love her? This all wasn’t some hero's guilty conscious thing, right? You saved her, you broke the rules, you possibly ruined your life and job…because you love her.”

He so desperately wants to deny it, but when else is he going to have the opportunity to admit it? Not to you. Not yet.

“I do.” 

Jack scoffs with a smile, his own small way of saying I knew it. Miguel decides he likes Jack. You picked a good friend.

“Weird way to get the best friend stamp of approval but… I suppose you have it.” Jack extends his hand to Miguel. 

Miguel stands, hesitantly accepting your brother's hand. Jack shakes it, almost exaggeratedly before he pauses, squeezing Miguel's palm.

“Please… take care of our girl, Miguel.”

_________

Jess and Peter sit on the couch almost motionless, Mayday being absentmindedly bounced on Peter's knee. You stand in front of them almost like a scolded child just admitting to taking the cookies from the jar. You wanted them here. You needed support, and you knew that, Miguel knew it too— still, that didn’t make this shit any easier. 

You confessed. Told them everything. Told them what had been going on with you these last few months, where Miguel was right now… that you couldn’t leave. Anomaly— you're an anomaly now. You still couldn’t bring yourself to say it.

And your confidantes, the people you trusted with this big secret… are just sitting there. You’re not sure what you want them to say or do but something would be nice. 

Jess’s face remained stern and almost unreadable as it usually did, but you could just feel the disappointed mom energy rolling off of her. Peters's expression changed from its usual chillness to basically shock. Even now he sat wide-eyed and thin-lipped, his brain running on autopilot to entertain his daughter.

“I uhh…” you break the suffocating silence. “I’ll be staying here until we, umm, until we figure things out.”

“Figure things out?” Jess sneers. While at least she was talking now.

“Jess—” Peter attempts.

“Figure things out?!” Jess stands off the couch, “What—what like this is a breakup? Like your in-between apartments or something?!” 

“I mean… I technically am.” you faintly attempt to joke, praying it will break the tension. It doesn’t.

“Oh my God!” Jess’s face goes flat, “Oh my God! This is— this is absolutely insane! I would have expected this from one of the kids, but you?! You just thought this would—”

“Jess!” Peter grabs her arm. You swear it takes everything in her not to just real back and punch him out of pure reflex. They both pause there, sharing a silent look. You don’t think you’d ever seen Peter look so serious. 

Eventually, Jess deflates with a shaky sigh, running a hand over her face. In two massive steps, she comes over to you and wraps you in a tight hug, squeezing all of the shame and mortification out of you in the only way a friendly embrace can.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She murmurs into your ear. You think you’d start crying if you had any tears left to give. There’d been too much crying. You’re done with tears, the time for them has come and passed. Now you want to solve the problem. Now is the time for action. 

Jess pulls back, her hands trailing down your arms and coming to a stop at your wrist. She lifts up your right hand, where your new bulky watch clings. 

“Pretty snazzy, huh?” you roll your wrist over in her hands. Gabe had Layla deliver new attachments to it— something to monitor you at all times. The thing was now easily double its original size. If you were becoming unstable, if your existence became a threat, they’d be alerted. What happens after that, you don’t really know. You don’t want to think about it.

“What do you need from us?” Peter asks, snagging MayDay off the couch.

“I, uhh, I don’t know yet,” You pull your arm back from Jess’s grasp, clutching your wrist to your chest. You’re not used to the weight yet. “I just wanted someone to know. Figured it was best to just tell you two. The kids don’t need to get involved.”

“How long has this been going on again?” Jess asks.

“A few… months.” You admit again. Jess says nothing back but you can see that look in her eyes. “Just… could you be there…when I need you? I don’t know what that means yet, but I’d really like to stop doing things alone.”

Neither of them hesitated, answering at the same time.

“Of course.”

“You got it.”

And the room falls silent again, dozens of questions surely being left unanswered. This was fucked. This was so fucked and still, selfishly, you’re glad someone else finally knows. 

Peter finally steps up.

“I’m not an expert in this kind of stuff, but I’ve found in times like these, this little thing seems to help me feel better.” He holds out the squirming little ball that is Mayday Parker. She reaches out for you without hesitation. You gently take her from Peter’s grasp, unable to stop the smile that spreads on your face at the sight of something so innocent. She coos, immediately grabbing for your face, hair, anything really. 

“I’m surprised you haven’t made her web-shooters yet.” You laugh as she starts to crawl over your entire torso. Oh, what it must be like to have a spider-powered baby at home— absolute hell, probably. 

“Oh trust me, I’m working on it,” Peter already has his phone out, likely already having taken a good dozen pictures. 

Jess, thank god, finally smiles.

“So… what’s the plan for now, babe?” she asks, crossing her arms as indefensibly as she can.

“I stay here and let the science boys do their thing,” you pull May off of your leg, nuzzling her into your chest. “No dimensional travel, no telling anyone else.”

“And what about Miguel?” Her tone shifts, just a little. 

“What about him?” you hear your own voice creep very close to bitchy territory.

Jess rolls her eyes, “What are you two—”

All of your attentions are grabbed by a now familiar crackling of the dimensional space-time continuum being ripped open. A portal forms on the other side of the couch, Miguel walking through with a box of your belongings in hand.

“Hey, buddy!” Peter greets him with a wave. Always the positive one, bless his heart. 

Miguel ignores him completely, turning his gaze to you.

“They know?” he simply asks. 

“They know.”

“Good,” He walks to the kitchen, the portal closing behind him. He sets your box on the counter with a heavy thunk.  

You look over and see Jess contemplating. Like whether she's gonna blow up at him or slap him. To your relief, she does neither. Instead, she gently places a hand on your shoulder.

“You want us to stay? Need anything else?”

Do you? You have no idea. Truth be told, you just want to pass out in a dark room alone. The only task you had for the day was to tell them— and that bandaid had already been ripped off. No, some alone time would be good— and maybe, finally, some sleep.

“No, it’s okay you guys can go,” you, a little reluctantly, hand May back to Peter. He was right, she did make everything feel a little better. “But um… will you be in the tower tomorrow?”

They both share a brief glance at one another. Peter is the one to answer. 

“We’ll make sure of it.”

Separate portals spring to life behind both of them. They each give you a small pat on the shoulder before stepping through, disappearing in the blink of an eye. You always felt like it was a special kind of silence that followed after a portal closed. Something eerie and cold. 

That or you could just feel Miguel's eyes burning a hole in the back of your head. You take a deep breath and walk over to the kitchen.

You’d mourned, you found comfort in friends, and now… now you don’t fucking know. Everything felt so weird, so tense. Like every movement you made was wrong. In a way, you supposed it was wrong, you're not even supposed to be here. 

Stop it. 

You rummage around the box, trying your best to avoid Miguel’s gaze. It was a hodgepodge of your belongings, clothes and books and toiletries. Hell, even your favorite tea made it into the mix. 

“Did you talk to Jack?” you finally say something.

“I did.” His voice is always so damn steady. How does he do that?

“How did he take it?”

“As well as you could expect,” you hear a heavy sigh. “He’s happy, though. Happy you're alive.”

“That’s something.” you run your thumbs over a worn tee shirt you’ve had since college, staring at it like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. What are you supposed to do now? The sight just makes all of this feel more real like there was some kind of finality to it all. He brought your things. You can’t go back— maybe ever. Why can’t you look at him? 

“Hey.”

His voice is right next to you and it makes you jump. You finally look at him, if only out of sheer force of habit. Those piercing red eyes are waiting for you— only they’re not piercing. There’s no hint of regret or pain like you were so used to over the last day and a half. There’s only kindness. His face was so soft and caring. 

He brought your things and talked to your best friend because you asked him to… because he wanted you to be comfortable in this horrible clusterfuck. Miguel cared. Amid hell on earth, he always cared. Of course he did— he saved your life after all.

You collapse into his chest, squeezing him as tightly as you can manage. His massive arms close in around you immediately. To your surprise, you don’t burst into tears. Like you said, too much crying had been done. You’re sick of it. 

“I, uh, I really like this tea,” you half laugh into his chest.

“Ah, the tea. Of course.” you can hear the smile in his voice. “Jack, um, helped pack. I can go back if you—”

“No, no this should be fine for now,” you turn your head, looking at the lowly little box that contained your whole life. “Do you want some… of the tea? It’s vanilla chai.”

“I, uh…yeah, sure.” his grip loosens. 

You fish the half-empty box out and glance around the kitchen before you realize you're still a stranger here. 

You turn to Miguel. “Uh, do you have a—”

“Oh, yeah.” He steps in front of you, opening a corner cupboard to pull down a tea kettle. He hands it to you and reaches into the neighboring cupboard to grab two mugs. The whole kitchen was so sleek white and cold, even the damn kettle.

“Thanks,” you say passively as you fill it up at the sink. You come back to the hot pad and notice there's no chord. Maybe it had the retractable kind. You pick it up and turn it over in your hands.

“There’s no plug-in,” Miguel answers, seemingly reading your mind, “Things haven’t been made with extension cords for almost thirty years. Nearly every table is a power conductor. Just put it on and hit start, it’ll boil.”

You’re in the future… right. You put the kettle on its plate and kick down the boil lever. And, like magic, it lights up. 

Alien. It all felt alien, but you’re the only one out of place here.

“Wow, no more plug-ins. Lucky me,” you say bitterly.

You see Miguel shift next to you, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“No! No, I’m sorry,” you press your palms to your eyes, fingers clawing down your forehead to ground yourself, “Just… getting used to it all.”

You hear Miguel click his tongue before he steps up behind you. He pulls you into him again, your back to his chest. You lean into it and his chin comes down to rest on your head. Despite it all, you still loved the way it felt when he held you. It grounded you. He still made you feel safe. In the midst of it all, it felt nice to be doing something so… boring. So domestic.

It also felt ridiculous. 

“What are we doing, Miguel?” you sigh.

“Making tea.”

“No, I mean— why aren’t we doing anything right now,” you lean your head into the crook of his arm, “We should be solving this.”

“We will solve this.”

“With tea?”

“I mean… it might help.” he places a gentle kiss into your hair, “We rest, we get grounded first, then we’ll solve this. We’ll solve everything… I promise.”

You want to believe him. You so desperately do, but you can’t manage to bring yourself to that level of delusion yet. You’d always thought of yourself as an optimistic person, as most spiders are, but you’d never felt so utterly helpless. Miguel was right, you needed to ground yourself before you can move forward— but how do you want to move forward? What did you really want? What was this all for?

“What about us?” you find yourself asking as soon as you have the thought.

He pauses longer than you’d like. “What about us?”

“What are we going to do after? I know what we should do, but… well, let's face it, we’ve never been very good at that.” Despite everything, you find yourself smiling. 

“No. No, we haven’t.” You think you hear him smiling too. He sways you both, ever so gently as you stare down at the now boiling kettle. “I’ve made my choice, but what do you want, añarita?”

“What’s your choice?”

“I asked you first.” 

Typical, always baiting you into talking first, but you did the exact same thing. It was easier that way, safer. If you already know what the other person is thinking, you know exactly what to say. Manipulation some might call it, but that’s not what either of you is doing here. This is shaky territory. Your sanity is being held by a thread, every decision, every choice you make from now on has to be purposeful. You needed to stop ignoring the long-term effects of your and his actions. 

What’s your choice, he asked. He really means what do you want? Oh, if only it were that simple. 

You want your home back. You want to talk to Jack. You want everything to be normal again. You want Miguel in every way someone could imagine. You wished you’d never met him. You want a single ounce of stability in your life. 

And of course, none of that is in the cards. Here you are again, asking for the impossible amid an impossible situation. 

You must have been catatonically silent longer than you thought because Miguel releases you with a heavy sigh. 

“Sorry, that was an unfair question,” He steps back and you turn to face him.

“No— it’s just— I don’t know, Miguel. I don’t know about anything anymore.”

He nods and turns his gaze away from you. He bites at his lip, his features drooping to look almost sad. You’ve hurt his feelings, you think. 

“I told you I made my choice,” he turns around, pulling out a drawer of the kitchen island, “I can’t justify my actions, but I can’t bring myself to fully regret them either. But I made them, and we all have to live with that. I know what I want after all of this, but I only want it if you want it too.”

He turns around, and your tunnel vision focuses on it instantly, spider sense pinging an alarm in the back of your head. In his hand is that evil little pale green tube—the spider-sense cure. Your first instinct is to scream, but you say nothing.

He holds the dreaded tiny vial heavy in his hand, looking down at it with a blank expression. Did he suffer as much as you did, you wonder. Did the sight of that horrible little thing make his stomach churn too? But now he’s holding it in front of you. What on earth is he trying to say?

He squeezes the little vial in his fist. It almost scares you when he throws the thing on the floor. It cracks, the offensive liquid slowly leaking out— but that’s not good enough. He drives his heel into it, shattering it completely. God, you almost want to cheer at the sight.

Before you have time to react, he takes one massive step back over to you, reaching to cradle your head in his hands. His touch is still so gentle. 

“My choice is you. It was you before, and it will be you after—if you’ll have me.”

And he kisses you. 

There are things you’d seen in this job, things you’d done that no other single human could possibly experience in one lifetime. You’d traveled the world and multi-verse alike. You’d seen space and time itself. You’d seen the unparalleled joy on a parent's face when you’d returned their child safe and sound from certain death. You’d seen the fear in pure evil’s eyes. You’d felt pain like no other, but at the same time, there was so much joy to ease it away. 

Somehow… This kiss puts all that to shame. 

Twice now he’s declared his loyalty to you. Twice he’s broken every rule he lives by just to save you. He told you before you were worth everything— maybe now you’ll finally believe him.

It doesn’t fix things, but it’s a salve on the pain that was brewing. If anything it brings more questions you don’t have the answers to into this whole damned circus, but you can’t bring yourself to care. In a way, this is exactly what you wanted to hear. You’re not a burden. You’re not unwanted. No matter what it took to save your life and your reality, he still wanted you. At the end of this, you’d still have him. 

And you wanted him too.

________

We're gonna have a bunch of smut and domestic fluff in the next one, just to make for the pain I've put you all through haha

________

Taglist:

@ineedgarlicbread @pinkiemme @thesilenthill @bontensbabygirl @fallenangelsongwolf @raerorigel @littlefreakymunson @viriexo

@w33ni3 @del-ightfulling @radiantlyfemme @5sosuperntaural

Taglist post here!!!

[bumpkinspice0]

I… I’m just gonna kiss you on the mouth ok

No One Knows the Trouble, Honey, That We've Been Through: Masterlist

Logan Howlett/ Wolverine x Mutant!FemReader

Rating: Explicit 18+ (Minors DNI!!!)

Total Word Count: 19.5k

Summary: You're an X-Man... well, you used to be. You left years ago, and in the aftermath of an attack on X-Mansion, Charles has asked you back to help repair the damage to the estate. An easy job for an earthmover like yourself. Still, after years away from your old home, you feel like a stranger again. So much has changed and you're not sure where you fit in anymore. The newest X-Men member isn't helping your mood either. You're not sure where they found Logan, and you're still trying to figure out what to think of him. The mans barely said anything to you. He's not the typical stray Charles would take in, but then again, neither were you when he brought you here.

Completed!

Warnings listed in each chapter

All Chapters marked with * indicate explicit content

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3*

__________

READ ON AO3

[bumpkinspice0]

Thank you for battling the afterlife to come back and say so, my love ❤️ Rest in peace

No One Knows the Trouble, Honey, That We've Been Through: Masterlist

Logan Howlett/ Wolverine x Mutant!FemReader

Rating: Explicit 18+ (Minors DNI!!!)

Total Word Count: 19.5k

Summary: You're an X-Man... well, you used to be. You left years ago, and in the aftermath of an attack on X-Mansion, Charles has asked you back to help repair the damage to the estate. An easy job for an earthmover like yourself. Still, after years away from your old home, you feel like a stranger again. So much has changed and you're not sure where you fit in anymore. The newest X-Men member isn't helping your mood either. You're not sure where they found Logan, and you're still trying to figure out what to think of him. The mans barely said anything to you. He's not the typical stray Charles would take in, but then again, neither were you when he brought you here.

Completed!

Warnings listed in each chapter

All Chapters marked with * indicate explicit content

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3*

__________

READ ON AO3