#I had to put in that brief logan mention

[karmicgalaxies]

NSFW Alphabet — Morph

18+ Content MDNI!

Morph (Aka Kevin Sydney) X Reader

Disclaimers: This is just what I think for the sake of fun and whimsy! Implied unprotected sex (Wrap it before you tap it!), mentions of a Threesome, Riding, Face-fucking, Face-sitting, Vibrators, Light Bondage, Body Worship, Blindfolds & Squirting. Poorly proofread, excuse any errors!

Reader referred to in a gender neutral sense, AFAB reader pictured when writing, however genitals aren’t specified!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Teasing and being a cheeky little shit aside, Morph is an absolute sweetheart. They already see sex as something highly intimate. A dance of not just passion and lust, but an act of trust with their partner’s body, and them with theirs. That being said, aftercare is a big deal to them.

No matter the intensity of the session, they’ll always make sure that you’re okay, always helping clean up the mess the two of you made, and give you some kisses paired with soft caress. And, who could forget the teasing about the sounds that escaped your pretty lips for them during the act? Even laid up together basking in the afterglow of your passions, you never know true peace. But, you’re more than okay with that.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

When It comes to their partner, Morph’s favorite body part would definitely have to be your hips. They’re just so grabable. They’re easy to wrap an arm or two around, grip onto while they grind themselves onto your ass from behind when you don’t expect it, and damn are they good handles for when you ride their cock. They just love the look of them and how easy it makes it to handle you.

Morph themself have some insecurities. They’ll transform into their more human looking form to try and appease you as they think that’d be what you want. However upon your further insistence of loving them and being attracted and aroused by them as they are in their true form, they learn to come to appreciate themselves a helluva lot more. Though they’d definitely say their face. It’s a perfect seat, nuff said.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Morph LOVES to watch you cum, seeing the mess that you make just turns them on tenfold, making their cock absolutely throb at the sight. Especially if you make a mess on them or in their mouth. They’ll lap that mess right up and come up to kiss you, just so you can taste yourself on their tongue.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

They constantly fantasize about a threesome between you and Logan. They wonder what it’d be like, though for that’d be wistful thinking for it to come to fruition. For now, it’s masturbation material to give that extra edge. ;)

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Morph isn’t the most experienced person if you’d compare them to someone like Scott or Logan, but they’ve garnered enough experience to know what they’re doing, and they never fall short of leaving you properly pleasured.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Anything that allows Morph a good look at your face, they simply adore. Being able to maintain eye contact, as well as having opportunities to kiss you absolutely senseless as their cock drives into you in one way or another is just absolute bliss. Not to mention the opportunity for teasing. Watching your face contort as you get fucked and seeing those pretty eyes roll back into your head give them absolute ammunition to tease you about it through and through. Some of the things they say are absolute filth, though it only betters the experience as they get to see your face react to their comments of your obscenely lewd sounds or their mention of how pathetic you sound.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

As serious and passionate as sex can be at times, Morph is pretty humorous throughout, their personality does not hesitate one bit to shine through. Best believe they’ll still crack their wise muses, making smart comment after smart comment. all in all, the occasional laughs will be had. Makes every experience more memorable.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Given the fact that Morph lacks eyebrows and hair atop their head, it’d be a safe, yet correct assumption that they have an overall lack of body hair. However in their human form, they have a little happy trail.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

They are very passionate during sex. Wether it be soft love making, or rough fucking, the passion is almost overwhelming. Amongst the eye contact, they’re muttering out praises for you, telling you how good you feel, how much of a good job you’re doing. Dependent on what type of session is going on, they can be sweeter or a bit more vulgar depending.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Usually, Morph is pretty good at maintaining their composure, though it can only be helped so much when you’re gone for an extended period of time. If they’re real desperate, they might just turn into you as they masturbate. Just so that they can imagine they’re getting a feel of you even though you aren’t present.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise kink. They live for your approval, being told their doing a good job, that they feel good, etc. They’re into face sitting and face fucking, as well as some light bondage and blindfold use. Morph enjoys occasionally having you to their mercy, makes things quite interesting and fun for you both! Also, body worship.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

The real question is where wouldn’t they wanna fuck you? Though traditionally, Morph’s favorite places are in the bedroom and the showers. (wink wink nudge nudge) They offer an intimate setting that include just the two of you, though they would be lying to themselves if they haven’t pictured taking you in other places of the mansion.. They’ll definitely have to talk to you about that.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Dirty talk and suggestive banter. Morph is chalk full of jokes and no doubt they make some suggestive comments here or there. When that teasing energy is reciprocated, it never fails to get them all worked up, hot and bothered with those words of scandalous promise falling from that pretty mouth that they’re totally not envisioning their cock stuffed inside of while you’re on your knees.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Nothing that plays with the bounds of consent or the possibility of bringing extreme pain or unsavory circumstance upon either you or them. Morph’s not a fan of anything that causes a threat to your security or comfort. They don’t get off on pain, wether it be feeling it or dealing it out. (Unless it’s a nice firm tap on your ass) If you’re gonna fuck, they want to make sure they have your consent, and to ensure you’re in good hands. No if’s and’s or but’s!

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Morph’s an even mix of loving to give as well as receive, But oh what fun it is to see you absolutely crumble under the ministrations of his mouth and tongue. They’re pretty good at giving head, it doesn’t take a genius to know their way around. Though even then, Morph takes the extra mile to be a very attentive lover. Oral sex can be a delicate ordeal, so they find themselves paying attention to what makes you react in all the right ways. Finding out what are your sensitive spots, and knowing just how to work that mouth to get your back arching and toes curling in absolutely ecstasy. They’re a generous partner all throughout.

But oh how they love to receive as well. A warm mouth just wrapping itself around their cock, leaving them a mess of moans and whines, resisting the temptation to just buck their hips and just fuck the ever loving shit out of your face.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

They can be a mix of both, depending on the occasion! If it’s a more sensual love making night, they’ll settle for slow and sensual. However if it’s more of a passionate fuck, then the fast and rough will be more prominent. Though their pace ultimately is determined by what you beg him for! Less, their being a tease and Morph’s thrusts are achingly slow.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Absolutely! Despite loving the long drawn out sessions, They’ll never pass up on a quickie, taking you in a secluded corner or place. The risk factor of it all adding to the thrill and overall arousal. They’re not common, but when they do happen, they’re worth the while!

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Morph isn’t too big on big risks, though despite quickies, they aren’t opposed to getting a bit…frisky. They can get pretty touchy feely, even being as bold to slide a hand down your pants if the occasion allows.

They’re also open to experimentation in the bedroom, so long it’s something the two of you agree can be pleasurable to you both, They’re more than willing to try out any positions, kinks, and ideas!

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Their stamina is pretty average, it isn’t anything super humanly excessive, however they can go for quite a few rounds, longer with adequate breaks. In terms of how long they can last, they’ve got pretty good endurance of a few minutes, though that can decrease if Morph is being reduced to an absolute mess.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

They definitely own one or two vibrators. Mostly with intent on using them on you, however they sure won’t be opposed to having them used on themself!

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

One of the biggest teases on the goddamn planet. Leaving lingering touches everywhere except for where you really need them, slowing down a pace if they feel like being cocky. Hell, Morph will even tease with their words, adding further insult to injury at a denial of the pleasures you so seek.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

They are NOT quiet by any stretch of the woods. Chances are, Morph is whining and moaning right along with you. They are very vocal, and don’t shy away from that fact. They are a whiny little bitch, god forbid if you ride them, their soul is just snatched up at that point. If they feel good, you will know.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

They absolutely love when they make you squirt. (If applicable) It’s such an addicting sight and feel, they can’t get enough of it. They’re hard as a goddamn diamond at the sight of you soaking the sheets, the floor beneath you, through your intimates and your bottoms, etc. they just love to see and feel it. As well as occasionally have a taste of it. (This is more of a thing for AFAB readers but I really do think they’d have a thing for their partner squirting, I just feel it in my nuggets man-)

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

They’re about average size more or less! 5.5 to 6 inches long, and a comfortable girth, perfect size. Their cock is long enough to please, and thick enough to stretch you and make you cum. No leaving you dissatisfied that’s for sure!

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Morph’s sex drive isn’t anything crazy, something else that’s pretty average. Though it’s pretty easy to deliberately rile them up and get them extremely hot and bothered . Continue at your discretion ;)

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Morph doesn’t let themself fall asleep until they know you’ve been cleaned up and cared for properly after sex. Though even then, they’ll stay up with you, embrace you as they listen to you speak about whatever your heart desires. Though if you want to sleep, they’re fine with that too, and will follow suit.

[dollfacefantasy]

MAKE HIM DO WHAT I SAY ♡

pairing: older bf!!logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: you and logan make a little bet. who can last longer without sex? as much as he wants to deny it, he's starting to think the answer might be you.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, brief daddy kink (one mention)

a/n: a commission for my sweet @sleepyluxe who i love so very much <33 this fic takes place after the events of dofp when things are fixed.

Seven days. One week. A quarter of a month. That's how long it had been since Logan and you had fucked.

It was brutal. Some may say he's being dramatic, but that's because they've never had the luxury of you. They couldn't understand losing a paradise they've never experienced. The past several days he's felt like a man wandering through a barren desert, the oasis in sight but never close enough to drink from. Absolute torture

Unfortunately, this situation came about because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

You'd been getting some work done late last Sunday evening. Just a few plans for the upcoming school week. Your fingers punched away at your computer while Logan lay on the bed twirling a stray cigar between his fingers.

"How many more pages you got?" he asked, boosting his head up to glance at you.

At the sound of his voice, you spun your chair around to face him. "Not that many. Just finalizing a few details for the field trip they're taking the kids on next weekend," you said.

"You're not even going. Why're they making you do that?"

The fat stick of tobacco continued to glide between his digits. One of your legs crossed over the other as you watched him.

"I'm not going because I offered to do all the planning," you reminded him. 

Your eyes stayed on the tantalizing movements of his fingers.

"You know you can't smoke in here, so don't even think about it," you said.

He rolled his eyes and puffed air through his pursed lips as if that was an outrageous warning. Sitting up, he put the cigar back in the drawer on his side of the bed. He rose to his feet and began to cross the room in your direction.

"Maybe you should give me something else to do with my mouth then," he teased, his voice lowering to the octave that reverberated with want for you.

Then it was your turn to roll your eyes. You turned your chair back toward the desk and continued grazing your fingertips over the raised letters.

It didn't deter him though. He kept on in your direction, stopping only when he was directly behind the backing of your seat.

His hands landed on your shoulders, fingers massaging the tight muscles fanning out from your neck. He leaned forward so his head hovered beside yours. You could hear each breath he took. The smell of that cigar lingered around his form even if he hadn't lit up tonight.

"C'mon, babydoll. You've been working so hard. A little break won't hurt you," he murmured, lips pressing against your cheekbone.

"I have to have these done by tomorrow morning. Just give me a few minutes, and then I'll be done for the night and completely focused on you," you'd rebuffed him gently.

But that didn't satisfy Logan. When he wanted you, he got you. He proceeded with his tender touches and luring pecks. You remained focused on your work though. He figured he should vary his approach.

"Just let me make you feel good then, honey. Give you some extra motivation," he whispered. His dedicated hands drifted to your waist, squeezing in a way that teased the idea of lifting you up and putting you on his lap. As good as it would've felt to be full of him, you knew you had to get this done.

"You're so bad," you said with a smile, head falling back a little as his mouth moved to your neck, "You act like you haven't gotten any in decades."

"Is that your way of telling me you're getting tired of me?" he teased.

"No. I'm just saying you're insatiable. It's getting to the point where I don't think you could live without me," you responded with a tone matching his in arrogance.

His eyebrow raised, and he pulled back a little to laugh. "That so?"

"Mhm," you nodded. Your sweet eyes stared him down, begging him to disagree.

Looking back, he wishes he could travel through time again to slap any further words out of his mouth. He should've just agreed! Should've told you that you were absolutely right. That he can't live without you, can't survive this life if he doesn't get to slip inside of you at the end of each day. He should've waited the fifteen minutes it would've taken you to finish your paperwork and then gotten laid.

But he didn't do any of that. He had to keep going and dig himself into a deeper hole.

"Don't act so innocent, princess. You're just as bad as me," he'd said.

"No way," you'd huffed, smirking with amusement, "I want you a totally normal amount. You want me like every second of the day. If you could, I don't think you'd ever let me do anything. You'd probably keep me chained to the bed, yours for the taking at all times of the day.

"Like you wouldn't love that. I'm not the one pawing at you every morning, whining about how bad I need it," he taunted.

"Oh shut up, that's happened like a couple times. Every day you're right in my ear, feeling me up. You practically drag me away from what I'm doing when you wanna fuck," you fired back, "I am nowhere near as bad as you."

And then he'd spoken the three cursed words that launched him into this predicament.

"You wanna bet?"

You laughed more at that and nodded again. "Sure. Because I know I'll win."

And that unofficial vow of celibacy was why the two of you had been dancing around each other for the past week. He was starting to feel like that old love song counting the amount of time it'd been since he had you beneath him last. Fifteen hours and seven days or however it went.

You didn't make this trying time any easier for him either. That night he went to sleep with blue balls. The next morning, he woke up to you getting ready. You weren't dressed in your usual style of clothing though. Instead, you had on a dress, Logan's favorite dress of yours. You'd styled your hair real pretty too, letting it compliment your features in the best way.

As his heavy lids blinked open to consciousness, he watched you fasten a shimmering necklace over your collarbone. It sat just above the neckline of the chiffon fabric that adorned your bust.

You caught his waking eyes with your own in the reflective glass, turning to look at him with a bright smile. 

Despite his bleary vision, he could hear the light steps of you prancing over to him. The mattress dipped with your weight as you sat down and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Your fingers slid through his dark hair just the way he likes, with your nails scratching his scalp a little. Worst of all, that close, the scent of your perfume became all consuming. It hit him harder than normal. He wasn't sure if he should blame you or himself for predicting the trials of the coming days.

He hummed in acknowledgement of your presence and nuzzled into your palm.

"Hey, sleepyhead," you cooed, your voice extra soft and sweet. It was too caring to be seductive, but of course, that's where his mind went anyways.

"Hey, baby," he'd mumbled.

"I gotta go drop off that paperwork, but I'll see you later. I love you," you whispered in return before laying one more column of kisses from the tip of his nose back to his forehead.

Then you'd left, leaving him half-hard and yearning for you. A pattern that would plague him over the next week.

Each day it was some new form of torture. The day after that, you'd worked extra hard in the danger room, coming back to him at night covered in a light sheen of sweat. Your heady natural scent filled the bedroom in moments.

The following afternoon, you wanted to cuddle when you both had some free time. The fact that you draped your leg over his torso, slotting your clothed cunt right against his hip, inches away from his cock, was pure accident of course.

Over the last few days, your games have become less specific. You peppered your speech with innuendo. Looked at him with your fuck-me eyes and spoke in the tone you always used seconds before he ended up bending you over the nearest surface.

He tried to fight back, he really did. He stopped wearing a shirt in your shared room. Every time he talked to you, he made sure to rub your ass or stroke your cheek. He was so desperate he stooped to embarrassing levels of lovey-dovey when the two of you were alone. But no matter what he tried, it seemed like you'd been right. Of your pair, you had the superior restraint.

With each passing hour, his frustration grew.

Today, it reaches its zenith.

The mansion is empty because it's Sunday. All the students and other teachers are out on the trip to the observatory today. You and Logan are the only remaining residents in the school. He ended up not having to tag along with the rest of the group after volunteering to fix the sprinklers bordering the school's patio. Babysitting kids had never been his forte even with all the practice he gets at it now. Simple handiwork he could do no problem.

The two of you take the morning to sleep in. This was a rare occasion where no early meetings or classes occupied your schedules. You stay tangled up together well past sunrise.

Logan is the first to leave the warmth and comfort of your embrace. He pulls himself from the nest of pillows and blankets, stretching his limbs out as he does. He rubs the tiredness from his features before rising and heading to the wardrobe to pull on some clothes.

In addition to his normal black t-shirt and jeans, he grabs the tool belt on his way out to the lawn. He slings it around his hips before walking through the back door. Heading past the basketball court and rows of hedges, he finds the line of leaking sprinklers besides them. It would probably take him a while given that he had to first identify the source of the problem and then recalibrate all of them with the adjustment.

He sighs but gets to work. At least he'd have a distraction from the desires haunting him.

Crouching in the dewy grass next to the little faucets, he begins examining the hard plastic shells. To his surprise, scanning for breaks does attach his mind to the task and give him a brief reprieve. It's quiet outside. Besides a small chirp from a distant bird or a grunt out of him, no other sounds echo over the open space. The sun shines in the sky, but it's not beating down on him. The air tickles his skin with warmth but not to the point of being miserably humid.

All the conditions meet in the perfect middle to keep him calm. It's the most peace he's had since he agreed to this bet between the two of you.

But all that tranquility is shattered about a half hour later when he hears the patter of footsteps against the stone pathway. From around the tall thicket of green foliage, comes you. Your face breaks out into a smile the second you burst into his vision. He would look the same if not for what you'd decided to wear.

You trot over to him across the grass in a pair of tiny black shorts with lacy frills on the hems. They sway with each of your movements, highlighting the shape of your legs. A gray camisole graces your upper half; a delicate white bow sits at the center of the collar, dead center between your breasts. The fit of the garment displays the contour of your chest just right. He feels like he's gonna start drooling before you make it near.

Despite his reaction, the outfit wasn't that provocative. It wasn't like you'd strutted out in lingerie. But he was so pent up that a flash of your ankle in the proper lighting could probably get him hard.

Bounding up to him, you wrap his body in a tight hug. Every curve of your form presses up against him.

"Look at you, working so hard," you praise playfully with a kiss to his cheek.

He laughs it off, returning the hug in an attempt to be normal, so you wouldn't see how vulnerable he was right now, how this was the perfect opportunity to strike. He couldn't let you know that in this moment, he could easily become the prey.

"Were you missing me already?" he asks, rubbing his free hand up and down your spine.

"Mhm. Woke up and you were gone," you reply. You nuzzle the crook of his neck, planting a few electric kisses on his skin.

"I didn't wanna wake you. You're pretty cute when you're sleeping," he mutters.

"Well now I'm gonna be cute out here with you," you say and pull back. You peck his lips one more time before plopping down in the grass behind him.

He glances back at you to see what that means. All you're doing is sitting there. Your legs extend out in front of you, straightened for his eyes to rake over. You lean back with your palms against the moist greenery below you.

"You don't got anything better to do with your day off?" he asks.

That earns him a small pout. "If you want me to leave, I will. I just wanna spend time with you."

He can tell by your tone that your intentions aren't so innocent. You're leading him into allowing your presence. But denying his girlfriend has never been one of the wolverine's strengths so of course, he acquiesces.

"Relax. I'm not telling you to go anywhere," he says as he turns back to his work, "I just don't think this will be that interesting to you."

"Watching you do anything is interesting to me," you joke back.

He rolls his eyes and gets back to work.

At first, things are smooth as before. He continues messing with the small, bendy pipes. You're quiet behind him. Almost too quiet, but he lets it go for now since he thinks he's found the source of the malfunction.

It doesn't take long to patch up. The more difficult part is going to each individual head and fixing the tightness. His fingers twist the little knobs to the correct settings. He then turns to you when he's finally done.

The sight of you feels like a gust of fresh air filling his lungs. You're laid out where you were before, but you've reclined across the ground. One of your arms is sprawled outwards, soaking up the sunlight while the other lazily covers your eyes. Your shadow outlines your figure against the emerald blades below you.

You look luscious and ripe, like a precious fruit ready to be picked and devoured. In any other circumstance, that's exactly what he'd do. He'd spread you out further for him and take you apart piece by piece. He wanted your nectar running down his chin with each savoring lap of his tongue. He craved the feeling of your heat wrapped around him, your walls massaging his shaft during every punishing thrust.

Imagining it now only gets the blood pumping down South to his hardening length.

He runs a hand over his hair and sighs. Why didn't he do that now? What was the point of this stupid fucking contest? It's not like there was anything on the line. The only stake was his pride, which to be honest, he'd already compromised for you multiple times over the course of your relationship.

Unbuckling the leather from his waist, he discards the tool belt. Next he peels his shirt from his body and tosses it to the side.

He makes his way to you on the grass. He drops to his knees and leans forward. His muscular frame cages you in against the ground. Starting at your navel, he drags his nose up your body. He coasts over the valley between your breasts and past your collar bone. His soft exhales breeze across your throat before he finally reaches your cheek. With a gentle pull, he clears your arm from your face.

Your eyes flutter to adjust to the sunlight beaming down on them again. They take in the vision of him so close to you and the way he gazes down with adoration.

"Hey, pretty girl," he says, his voice much softer than it'd been before, "You falling asleep on me?"

His thumb rubs over your jawline while the other strokes the crown of your head. A smile blooms across your lips. You can't help it with how he's behaving.

"No... well, maybe a little. I think you were right. Sprinklers are pretty boring," you say.

He grins and leans in to kiss your lips. With the exchange he hopes to communicate everything he doesn't want to say. I give up. You win.

You reach up and cup his scruffy cheeks. Your tongue swipes against his lips, sensing his longing for intimacy. He allows you in, and you deepen the connection. A long breath oozes from your nostrils.

He presses you down against the ground further as your hands slide over the little white streaks in his hair. Your fingers embed themselves in his locks. You feel his hands sliding down your body. They stop at your hips and give the plush flesh a squeeze.

It's obvious what he wants, but in case there was any doubt, his digits then hook around the top of your shorts and give them a tug.

A giggle bubbles up out of you against his mouth. You pull back to look at him with smug eyes.

"Is that your way of admitting I was right?" you ask.

He grumbles and ducks his head down to start kissing your neck. "Don't get cocky or I'll change my mind."

That makes you laugh more. You yank on his hair and pull him back up to look at you. 

"No you won't," you tease and brush your noses together. Looking into his eyes again, you can see how bad he wants this. "Just say it."

"Say what?"

"Say you're giving in. And that I win. And that you can't live without me."

He gives you a blank stare. Silently, he contemplates if there's any way around this. He wonders if there's a way he can avoid utter humiliation.

"C'mon, baby. Throw an old dog a bone," he grumbles.

Giggling, you shake your head. "Nuh uh. I wanna hear you say it."

He sighs and rolls over, pulling you on top of him. You straddle his hips with learned ease. Your smile glows from this angle. The sunlight above cascades over your frame and only further accentuates your body in your tight clothes. He rubs his hands up and down your sides. His dick is already at half-mast under the denim that covers his lower body. Your heat rests right on top of it, teasing him through the barriers of cloth. It dangles what he could have if he gives you what you want right before him.

The words that challenged you and created this trap for himself came out so easy. Why couldn't these be the same?

To coax him along, you grind down the slightest bit. The pressure's so light and gentle, a mere graze of your mound on the outline of his growing bulge. He hisses at the feeling.

"Just admit it," you say, planting your palms on his chest, "Just say I was right and you were wrong."

He watches you above him, knowing you're not going to drop this. If he wanted this self-invoked dry spell to end, he'd have to make it happen.

You roll your hips down with more force, impatient to hear him comply with your request. A small whimper leaks out of you. He can tell from that sound alone that you're getting worked up. That arousal is beginning to collect between your thighs.

The thought of it makes his need for you almost biological. His hands clamp around your waist and press you down harder. He rocks his up a little to meet your own movements.

"I need you so bad, princess," he sighs, his eyes shutting as he takes in the dull pleasure of you on top of him.

"Then you can say what I told you," you tease.

"What was it again?" he asks as he continues dragging your covered pussy back and forth along his now fully hard shaft.

"Say you're giving in. That I win. And that you can't live without me," you remind him, visibly proud of your victory.

With a sigh, he repeats, "I'm giving in. You win. I can't live without you."

You smile and laugh as if it was the best thing you'd ever heard. Your head falls back with glee before coming up so you can see his face again.

"Actually, can you say that again? I'm gonna grab my phone. That way I can film it this time. I just wanna have a record-" you continue to tease, but you're cut off by your own squeal when he grabs you and flips you back over onto your back. He keeps you quiet by smashing his lips against yours as your back thuds against the grass.

This kiss burns hotter than the last one. His mouth moves with bruising passion as he pulls your shorts down your legs for real. You help him by kicking them loose. His hands roam around over your smooth skin.

He glances down and finds what he thought he felt. No panties.

Eyes flitting back up to you, he shakes his head. "You were gonna give in anyways," he accuses.

"Yeah, but you gave in first," you giggle.

A small growl rumbles in his chest, but he still leans in to pull your tank top up. He brings it across your stomach, letting your breasts fall free as he bunches the material above them. He cups the plump flesh, taking a look at the beauty he holds in his palms. You watch him in the fleeting interval in which you're forced to separate.

"So... since I win, what do I get?" you continue to gloat.

"My dick inside you," he answers as his fingers yank his zipper open and shove down his pants in a similar fashion to your shorts.

"But I'm gonna get that anyways. I think I should get a real prize," you say, aiming to stoke the flames higher.

Your hips get hauled closer across the grass, so fast that you're in danger of having green smeared across your skin.

"I don't think you'll be complaining in a few minutes, ya little brat," he mumbles.

His fist pumps over his cock as he lines it up between your legs. The leaky tip smears some precum over your folds before he slides inside. He groans as he sinks in, cherishing the feeling after the week of its absence.

You're quick to adjust to the stretch. With a sharp breath, your back arches off the grass. He had already snapped back and slammed in again. You knew he wouldn't be patient after being deprived of this. Watching him above you, your eyes study how his chest puffs in and out with harsh breaths. His strong arms extend down on either side of your head, his fists holding clumps of grass between them. 

It's a gorgeous view, but you know it can't beat the feeling.

"Closer..." you whine and grab at his shoulders, pulling him down so he's right on you and smothering your body against the turf, "Missed you, old man."

"How many times have I told you to quit it with that?" he asks as his pelvis begins setting a rhythm.

"Enough to know that I'm never gonna," you say. It's the last thing you can get out before moans shatter your plans to speak.

His warm flesh pounds against yours over and over. Your body rocks with the bounce of him on top of you. It feels so good. The world feels bright again, like you'd transitioned from an existence of black and white to living in color. It was so open out here but also so empty. Like you and him were the only two people on earth.

Your voice tapers off. Words become second to whimpers of pleasure. His hands grope the swell of your ass before returning to your sides for steady leverage.

"We'll have to work on that then," he grunts, "If you're not gonna stop, I'll just have to make sure you can't speak at all."

You preen at the idea, clutching at his muscular shoulders and back. He pants right next to your ear. Each stroke drives deep into you, brushing a spot that had ached for him to touch it again.

"Never wanna go that long again," you babble around whines.

"Me neither, baby. Think you were right. Not being able to feel this pretty little pussy every day almost killed me," he says.

A rush of euphoria flows through you upon hearing that. Your moans become more breathy, more full of need for him. You grab one of his wrists and tug his hand off your hip, pushing it in between your legs.

He knows what you want. His fingers apply some pressure and rub at your swollen bundle of nerves. Immediately, he's rewarded with a whine out of you and a buck from your hips.

"Impatient," he huffs between a set of deep thrusts.

"I won," you retort, "I get to do what I want."

Even in the heat of the moment, he chuckles at your petulant tone. His hips keep rutting against you on the grass. He's sure his next task of yard-work will be covering the mysterious indents in the soil out here.

"I needa cum, Logan," you whine several seconds later, "So close."

"Yeah? You need it, sweetheart? Need to let it out after keeping it from me for so long?"

Your head bobs up and down in an enthusiastic nod. "Please, please, please."

"Well, it's like you said. You won. So I think you can finish when you're ready."

"Mmmm- o- ok..." you whimper out.

Your hips roll up and down to reciprocate the fast pace of his own. He's battering right up against that special spot inside you that makes your mind blank and your eyes gloss up.

With a handful of whimpers, you cum. Your face scrunches as your cunt tightens around him. His fingers keep up the same rhythm on your clit, swirling around the little bud through your pleasure high.

"That's my girl," he praises, "Let it all out for daddy."

Your body seizes up at that command. Every cell of your being somehow knows to obey. You stumble over words and let them leave your lips half formed.

He keeps driving into you as you're coming down, chasing his own release. You're well into the territory of overstimulation now, all parts of you fizzling like a lit sparkler.  Your thighs quiver against his sides violently. They lock around his waist when you finally feel him slam in and drain himself.

A loud groan erupts from him. He makes no effort to restrain it given that only the two of you are here to hear it. He fucks it into you, ricocheting himself against your center a couple more times and letting every last drop pour into your dripping hole.

When he feels sated, at least for the moment, he reluctantly pulls out. He takes a couple deep breaths as he watches a bit of his cum ooze out of you. It didn't matter though. That wouldn't be the last load you took today.

His body topples over next to yours on the natural ground. You both lie there for a few moments catching your breath before you roll onto your side to look at him.

You just stare for a few moments. Your eyes roam along the shape of his face to the slope of his jaw and the curve of his chest. Leaning in, you kiss the space below his ear.

He responds to the touch by curling his arm around your waist and pulling you to his side.

His head turns to meet your loving gaze.

"I think we have some more time to make up for," he says.

You respond with an eager nod and hop up to your feet. Both of you pull on the basics of the clothes you'd been wearing before and rush back into the mansion, giggling as you stumble through the halls like a couple of lovesick teenagers.

The door to your room stays shut for the rest of the day. You spend the remaining hours you have enmeshed in each other; intertwined with him enough to recover from the lack you'd put yourself through.

Logan doesn't venture beyond the barrier of your shared sanctuary until the sun has gone down and darkness coats the halls of the mansion.  He walks quietly, taking his steps carefully to ensure none of the wooden planks beneath him creak.

All he had to do was go downstairs and grab you some water. In and out. Five minutes. But as he rounds the turn into the room, Scott's already there, looking through the fridge. He freezes and stands there awkwardly in his black tank top and loose sweatpants.

Having heard the sounds of his footsteps, the other man glances over at him. 

"There you are. Didn't see you around when I got back," he says simply.

Logan shrugs, trying to play it casual. He walks across the room toward the cupboard that holds the glasses. The other man's eyes follow him. He can feel that even through the scarlet shades on his face.

"Haven't seen your other half either," Scott continues.

Logan can tell from the tone of his voice where this is going. 

"Don't call her that," he scoffs, forever downplaying his attachment to you, "She's tired. She's upstairs sleeping."

"On her day off? I wonder what would have her so drained," Scott replies. His tone is flat in contrast to the little smirk on his face.

"Don't start," Logan says. He goes to the fridge to fill your cup with water. The trickle of the fluid is the only sound in the room until Scott keeps going.

"I didn't say anything," he says, raising his hands in surrender, "Only that this is the best mood you've been in all week."

"A couple hours without you around does wonders for me," Logan grumbles, wishing the liquid would pour a little faster.

"I'm sure. A couple hours with no one else around. Just the two of you after you've both been stiff the whole week," he taunts, "It's ok to admit you're whipped."

Finally, the cup is full. Logan takes it and turns away, holding one finger up as he walks from the kitchen.

"See you tomorrow, Scott."

"Yeah. Tell her if she's feeling sore, she can skip the early meeting," he says with a little laugh.

[mrsimpurity]

period sex with logan

cw: smut (nsfw), p in v, mentions of blood

a/n: this is a little self-indulgent, forgive me <3

“lo, are you sure? it’s gonna be messy.” you ask, nervously fiddling with the hem of your t-shirt. you had no idea that a complaint to your boyfriend about your period cramps would lead to him proposing something like this.

“hey, i told you it’s alright. just wanna make my baby feel good.” logan reassures, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. he grabs the waistband of your shorts and gently takes them off, positioning himself between your legs. you watch him with adoring eyes, unable to comprehend just how much love this man must have for you to not feel grossed out by this. logan senses your stiffness and stops himself, reaching for your hand and running a thumb across your knuckles.

“you don’t have to feel weird about this. i promise you, it’s fine. and it’ll help my girl feel better, yeah?” logan puts his palm on your tummy, rubbing soothing circles. he places one last kiss on your lips and you smile against his mouth, melting at the comforting nature of his words.

logan finally takes his cock out of his briefs and stretches his hand out towards your face. you look up at him through your eyelashes as he smirks, watching you spit in his palm. he wraps the hand around the base of his length and gives himself a few pumps before he spreads your legs, your knees on either side of his frame. he teases, rubbing the tip of his cock on your clit, and you let out a soft whimper at the friction. logan chuckles quietly, slowly nudging his head inside your pussy. he goes easy on you, gradually sinking his cock inside you until he bottoms out. 

his thrusts start out gentle, the blood smearing on his girth but allowing for easier movement. your moans get louder as he picks up the pace. your hand reaches for your tits, pulling your t-shirt up to play with your nipples. logan pulls out completely and slams his cock back inside you, his length covered in your blood and arousal as the head of his cock hits that spongy spot inside you with each of his visceral thrusts.

“fuck, lo, right there.” you whine out, desperate for more contact as your fingers pinch and tease at your nipples, tits bouncing from the vigor logan’s rolling his hips into you with. his hand moves underneath your head to hold you by the nape. logan slams his lips on yours, his movements never faltering as his cock thrusts inside your pussy. you moan into the kiss, his fingers reaching down to rub your clit. your walls clench around him and you shut your eyes as your head falls back, further basking in this moment of pleasure. logan places a few sloppy kisses on the column of your throat, thrusting inside you at a brutal pace.

“close, logan. ‘m so close.” you moan out, panting into his mouth as his thrusts get faster and harder. you reach for him, tightly wrapping your arms around his frame, pulling his body even closer to yours as you cum around his cock. 

“that’s it, doll.” logan murmurs reassuringly with a gentle tease to your swollen nub, listening to your delicious whimpers. his release comes soon after as your gummy walls clench around him, your moaning in his ear driving him crazy. with a grunt, he cums inside you, his seed coating the inside of your pussy. you hold onto him as the two of you ride out your high, your breathing fast and eyes drowsy. logan’s lips find yours again, his tongue entering your mouth with his cock still buried inside you. you break the kiss with a bite to his lower lip, giggling as you stare into his eyes with appreciation. logan doesn’t break eye contact, only listens to your desperate sigh as he slowly pulls out of you, his cock covered in cum and blood.

but he doesn’t complain. he simply nudges you to raise your arms, taking your t-shirt off in one swift motion, and gently picks you up from the bed. 

“let’s clean you up, baby.” logan says as he places a kiss to the crown of your head, the sound of his voice muffled by your hair. then he leads the two of you into the bathroom. 

and he still doesn’t complain, even when you doze off in the bathtub, still enveloped in his warm, big arms, his loving voice doing what it does best - lull you to sleep.

[babygorewhore]

Logan Howlett SFW and NSFW headcanons

This will hopefully hold everyone over until I post my fics for Kinktober!

Warnings! Oral! Male and Fem receiving! Male masturbation! Cum eating! Age gap! Ass slapping! Implications of free use! Body writing! Brief and vague mentions of face slapping, scratching, other forms of inflicting pain! Bondage mention!

Logan is a horrible texter. He literally will respond with a thumbs up, liking the message or simply says “Ok.”

Logan has no social media, not even Facebook. But he is willing to take a selfie with you for your own Instagram. Sometimes, if he’s feeling nosy, he will look at other people’s on your account.

He wears glasses when he reads at night. You often gift him books and he appreciates it. It’s one of the things that calms his mind.

Logan loves spending time with you and physical touch. Those are how he shows his love. He’s not one for words but he adores wrapping his arms around you. Resting his head against yours and simply being in the moment.

He’s no stranger to a bad temper but I do believe he’d hate for you to ever see it.

Logan is very protective and he hates the idea of you ever getting hurt. Often slinging a hand low on your waist or hip in public.

NSFW

He’s a fucking freak. He loves receiving pain, mark him up, scratch him, slap him. He loves it. Logan also melts if you play with his hair.

Logan is a fucking brat tamer. You can fuck around and push his buttons for a while. But once he has enough? He will put you in your place.

He loves eating pussy. Had a rough day? He’s spreading your legs. Tired? Tongue fucks your cunt to relax him. Has a few minutes to spare? He has you on the counter with his head buried.

Logan would write above your cunt, “mine.”

He smacks your ass a lot. As you’re walking away. As he pushes you on your hands and knees. Or when you’re being mouthy.

Last but not least. Logan would jerk himself off while you’re knelt in front of him, tongue out and then make you lick it clean. With your hands tied :)

Tagging @xxbimbobunnyxx @marchsfreakshow @taintandviolent @starkeysprincess @userchai @justafangirls-blog @cxrrodedcoffin @nemesyaaa @oceanblvd111

Dividers by @saradika

[a-leg-without-fear]

Because of You (pt.2)🩸🌧️

here's part 2, babes!!!! this one is BEEFY so i hope it's not too boring :)

Ship: Worst!Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader🩸

Rating: 18+

Wordcount: 7.7k

Warnings: spoilers for Deadpool and Wolverine, cursing, mentions of violence, mentions of death, grief, alcohol abuse, Wade Wilson is in this, so is Remy LeBeau, suggestive language, mentions of main character death, mentions of child experimentation, ANGST, multiverse shenanigans, self-doubt, kissing

Series: Because of You

The room Logan had woken up in was strange, to say the least. He was clearly underground. Thin windows were dug high into stone walls with an enormous engraving of a woman decorating the ceiling. Shaded lamps lit up the areas not caught in the sunlight from the windows. Random junk, weapons, and blessed alcohol lay strewn about the room.

After he’d spotted the bottles of whiskey, nothing else mattered.

He had never needed a drink more in his life. Stumbling around with Wade, the idiot in red, was shortening his neverending lifespan. Logan was constantly under attack, constantly stressed out of his mind, and constantly annoyed by Wade’s endless chatter. It was like God had finally decided to plop him in hell where he belonged.

Logan stood under one of the windows. A small alcove carved into the rock, with a kitchenette sitting on the stone floor and decorated with various foods and cooking implements. One of his gloved hands leaned on the wall of the alcove while the other lifted the liquor bottle to his lips. Bitter, biting whiskey flowed into his mouth. Sweet relief.

It was nice and quiet. Wade was unconscious on the only bed in the room. Either knocked out or put to sleep, Logan didn’t care. He was just enjoying the silence that had been vacant from his life for the past two fucking days. It had been an unending stream of quips and jokes ever since that red fucker had barged into his life.

The bronze alcohol swirled in the Jim Beam bottle. Specks of dust and whatever else floated around in this cave sloshed around the bottom. Like always, Logan’s thoughts drifted to you. How you’d playfully scold him for drinking directly from the bottle. How you’d grab him a glass, grumbling the whole time about sanitation, then fill the cup with ice and pour his drink for him. 

Lead pooled in his stomach at the memory. Heavy, nearly crushing in its weight. Logan screwed his eyes shut at the sensation.

He would give anything to have you there with him.

That was why he’d committed to helping Wade in the first place. The red idiot had promised that the TVA would be able to bring you back. That they’d fix Logan’s timeline and make things right. That he’d have you in his arms again, your scent filling his sinuses and your warmth burrowing into his chest.

But, of course, Wade was fucking lying. He had no clue if the TVA could fix Logan’s mistakes. The “Merc with the Mouth” had made an empty promise just so Logan would help him.

Logan grit his teeth then knocked back another swig. Fucking “educated wish.” If Wade could actually die, Logan would’ve killed him for saying that.

“Thor!” Wade gasped from behind him. Logan rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, begging a god he didn’t believe in for patience to deal with this red idiot. He glanced over his shoulder at Wade.

Deadpool was, thankfully, still fully clothed. His red suit entirely covered his disgusting skin and even worse smile. The merc’s eyes, white from the mask he wore, darted around the room. Logan scoffed and shifted his gaze back to the stone wall in front of him.

“Where are we?” Wade asked. Logan shrugged.

“No clue. But I like it here,” he replied, raising the bottle to his lips to take another gulp.

A scuffle from the main entrance way of the room made both men snap their heads in the same direction. Wade scrambled out of the bed, drawing a katana, while Logan used the brief moment to down another swig. If he was gonna fight, he’d need all the alcohol in him he could get.

Katana and sais collided with a sharp clang, sparks flying, as Wade’s sword met two outstretched, three-pronged weapons. The red-suit wearing menace was thrown to the ground by the owner of the sais. A woman, wearing dark reds, with long brown hair and green eyes. She leveled a weapon at Wade’s face.

She stepped away as she stowed her sais in the holsters on her hips. Wade jumped to his feet, briefly dusting off his ass, as he watched the woman step away. Logan continued to chug whiskey like this was the last time he could. For all he knew, it was.

Another person stepped through the entryway. Darker skin, sunglasses, black combat armor, scowl framed by a white-patched beard. This man seemed dangerous. Like a caged animal, just waiting for an opportunity to strike. Logan straightened out to pay better attention to the growing amount of people in the room.

The last person to come through the door was another man. Lighter skin than the previous, with brown hair caged in a black neck piece that covered the sides of his head. The guy wore a brown coat and shining purple combat armor. Cards passed between his dexterous fingers.

Logan watched as the three newcomers settled into the space. The man in black fiddled with some blades hanging on the wall, the woman flipped a sai in her hand, and the man with the brown coat messed with his deck of cards. Logan couldn’t help but chuckle at the trio. Did they think they were something special? The way they walked in, one-by-one and each with their own gimmick, made a sardonic smile quirk at the edges of Logan’s lips.

“Okay,” Wade began, stowing his katana with a flourish, “Look at you… All. You must be the others. Perfect! So, just to refresh…” he said as he looked to the woman, “You are Wonder-” “Elektra,” the woman replied with a grimace.

“Elektra, yes. Who could forget. And you!” Wade continued while shifting his gaze to the man in black, “I was not expecting to see you here! I thought you’d be penetrated by six inches of cold-hard-steel by now.”

The man quirked an eyebrow at the merc from under his sunglasses, “The fuck are you talking about?”

A beat passed.

“Ya know, a ‘Blade,’ like your name? Forget it,” Wade answered. Logan chuckled under his breath, taking another swig.

“I don’t like you,” the man in black, Blade, said.

“Never did!” Wade returned. He pivoted to the man with the brown coat, “And who’s this… Succulent reminder of my own inadequacies? Look at you! You look like the superhero version of Hawkeye!”

The man with the coat smiled, flipping the cards, then said in a heavy accent, “My name is Remy LeBeau. Le Diable Blanc. But you can call me ‘The Gambit.’”

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen Sling Blade. Hit me again,” Wade responded, gesturing for Remy to continue. Remy smirked at him.

“They call me ‘The Gambit.’”

“Are you sure you didn’t just really, really want them to but it never quite worked out?” Wade asked. Remy ignored the question, shifting his attention to Logan taking another swig of whiskey. Logan cocked an eyebrow at him.

“C’est boude y ya. You know, we never had a Wolverine up in he’e. But I can tell you now, it’s just a common courtesy to ask before you drink up all o’ my liquor,” Remy said with an intense look about his brown eyes.

Logan scoffed, raising the bottle to his lips again, and sneered, “Then it’s a good thing I don’t give a fuck.”

A moment hung between them, filled with tension so thick it’d take Logan’s claws to cut it. Remy laughed quietly while shaking his head.

“Couyon zouave,” he murmured. In a flash, bright violet illuminated his eyes and the card clutched in his hand. He flicked the card at Logan. The Wolverine barely had time to react before the card collided with the whiskey bottle, making it explode in a spray of liquor and glass, leaving just the neck clutched in Logan’s hand.

“Fuck!” Logan cursed, blinking away droplets of whiskey that had splashed in his eyes. He glanced down at the broken bottle. His glare trailed from the broken glass, then to a rack of unopened whiskey bottles hanging on the alcove’s wall. He smirked as he tossed away the broken bottle, keeping his eyes connected with Remy’s, the glass shattering somewhere to his left.

“So embarrassing!” Wade hissed at Logan. The Wolverine ignored him, opting to grab a fresh bottle from the rack.

“Boo boo boo,” Logan sang mockingly. He twisted off the cap and took another long swig.

Logan tuned out the tense conversation between the new trio and Wade. Why should he care? Wade had lied about the TVA fixing Logan’s shit, so none of this mattered. He had already resigned himself to sitting in this cave, bottle of whiskey in his hands, living out the rest of his lonely days in the Void. It was what he deserved.

The liquor lightly burned his throat as he gulped down more whiskey. A dull fog was settling over the edges of his mind. With any luck, he’d be blacked out in an hour or two. The flashes of you that constantly plagued his mind would be subdued, his nightmares would be blissfully absent, and he’d finally be able to rest.

“Who-Who brought us here?” Wade asked loudly to the trio. Logan perked up, also curious about the answer. Last thing he remembered before waking up in the cave was passing out in the van.

“That would be me,” a voice said from a doorway across the cave from Logan. He shifted his gaze to the shadow approaching the room. Feminine, wearing a jean vest and fingerless gloves, with long dark hair and a green backpack slung over her shoulders. She looked between Logan and Wade, “Don’t make me regret it.”

“Shit… Logan, that’s her. That’s X23. She’s the one I told you about,” Wade said to Logan. The Wolverine traced the new girl’s features. Heavy brow bone, hazel eyes, pointed nose, permanent scowl across her lips. Huh.

One last set of footsteps came from the same doorway as X23. Quick, sharp clips of heavy boots along the concrete floors. The person that stepped up next to X23 stole the air from Logan’s lungs.

You.

There you were. Dressed in combat leathers and with a scar across your lip. Hair pulled back away from your face, knife with a blood-filled pommel tucked against your waist, intense eyes immediately meeting his. A small frown pulled at the edges of your lips.

Logan whispered your name under his lips. It was like the floor had been yanked out from under him. He was reeling. And not from the liquor, as he hadn’t had nearly enough to warrant the swirls of emotion clouding his brain.

How?

How were you here? You were dead. Logan saw you die. He was there with you, holding you, comforting you, until your breath rattled for the last time. His head was spinning.

“Oh. My. God! It’s her! Your girlfriend! Holy shit, I thought she would’ve died after the events of Logan 2017!” Wade squealed. The idiot skipped around the pool of water in the center of the room to grab one of your hands in both of his, “Can I just say what an honor it is to finally meet you. I tried earlier in the movie, but you and Lo-Lo were… Preoccupied, to say the least.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Let go of me,” you growled, snatching your hand from Wade’s. He held up his hands in surrender while he backed away slowly.

“Got it. Understood. Not a touchy person,” he said. He sheepishly returned to where he stood before you’d entered the room, “So… How’d you all get stuck in the void?”

Blade sighed, “There was a knock at the door, then the TVA shipped me here.”

“Me too,” Elektra added.

“Maybe I was born here, it’s hard to know fo’ sure,” Remy said, cards passing from one hand to the other.

“The TVA decided our universe was dying. And I never even got a chance to fight for it,” Blade continued gruffly.

Logan’s hyper-focused gaze shifted from you to X23, who was taking calculated steps around the pool toward him. Her hazel eyes trailed up and down his slouched form. He took another hefty drink. What the fuck is happening?

“People like us don’t go quietly. TVA knows that, so they took us out,” you explained, making Logan’s gaze snap back to you. You sounded exactly the same. Your inflection, your accent, the tone of your voice. Even the way you folded your arms over your chest as you spoke was the same.

Wade kissed his first finger then pointed at the group, “The answer is yes. I’m in.”

“In what?” Blade asked tersely. 

“A team! Me, you, you and me! All of us together! Let’s get the fuck out of this place,” Wade said. Logan scoffed.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s a fucking liar,” he exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at the merc.

“It was an educated wish!” Wade yelled back.

“Ha!” Logan laughed loudly without humor, diving back into the whiskey. 

“Look,” Wade began, taking a calming breath, “We’ve been inside Cassandra’s lair. The only way out of the Void is through her. She can get us home! She told us.”

Everyone in the room’s attention was fixed on Wade. Blade rose to his feet, Remy’s cards stilled in his hands, Elektra set her jaw as she analyzed Wade’s form, you and Laura took a few steps closer to the merc.

“You’ve been inside? And you made it out alive?” Blade asked incredulously.

“Bullshit! Nobody’s ever done that,” Elektra replied. Her hands fell on the handles of her sais.

“We did,” Wade said proudly.

“Everytime one o’ us has gone up against her… They die,” Remy said, walking further into the room, “The Punisher, the Quicksilver, the Daredevil.”

“Daredevil?” Wade asked, cutting Remy off, and placed a hand over his heart, “Which one? The one with the nice ass, or the one that kills people?”

“They don’t all kill people?” Elektra questioned. Wade looked back and forth between her and a spot on the wall.

“I mean… C’mon guys. Daredevil is the Number One Catholic in all of Marvel. His whole season three arc was a constant back and forth of if he’d actually go through with his first kill. Which, by the way, is rookie numbers if you ask me-”

“It was the Daredevil I know,” Elektra answered, ending Wade’s rambling about things no one in the room quite understood.

“Well, I’m sorry for your loss, then,” Wade said as he clasped his hands together in front of him.

“It’s fine,” Elektra replied with a shrug.

“Ok…” Wade murmured, looking down at his feet. A few moments of silence hung in the cave like mist on a cool morning.

“Even that sweet angel, Johnny Storm. He up an’ gone missing, what, two days ago?” Remy lamented quietly. Blade and Elektra met his mournful look with their own.

“Oh, that’s so sad. Whoever this ‘Johnny’ fella is, I’m sure he’s thriving,” Wade said in a soothing manner. Logan couldn’t help but chuckle in response. Oh yeah, thriving alright. Wade cleared his throat, “Look, there’s strength in numbers! Alright? Us, you guys, we can put Cassandra over our knee and force her to let us out of the Void!” he continued. Blade scoffed at the merc, sitting back down on a crate. Wade was floundering at the disinterest shown by the group, “I know what it means to feel self doubt.”

“I don’t feel that at all,” Elektra said.

“I’m good,” Blade added.

“Gnawing at your gut like a coked-up tapeworm?” Wade pressed, gesturing to his stomach in a wide circle.

“It’s like you’re holding up a mirror to my soul,” Remy said solemnly. Logan bit back another laugh.

Wade approached the trio, “You guys may not be able to save your universes… But you can avenge them! It’s what Johnny woulda wanted!”

That was the wrong thing to say.

“Wait. You knew Johnny?” Elektra asked. Tension spread throughout the room. Every eye fell to the idiot in red. Logan couldn’t help but laugh at the mess the merc had made for himself.

“Oh, yeah. Dickhead here talked him into a team-up and Johnny came down with a little case of the ‘deads,’” Logan explained, sneering at Wade. The merc snapped his head back at Logan.

“No, no. We don’t know that! It was just a flesh wound. He may have survived!” Wade said in an attempt at calming the situation. Logan laughed again, lifting the bottle to his lips.

“If he survived that, he is praying for death,” Logan returned. He took another big gulp of the quickly depleting whiskey.

“Thank you, Doctor Wolverine!” Wade groused at him.

“Spill it!” Blade demanded.

“What’d you do to Johnny, huh? Talk, or I’mma start dealin’,” Remy said, raising a card while his eyes glowed. Wade waved his hands in the air, desperation leaking into his voice.

“Okay, okay. Hey, hey, hey! Look, he ran his fatass mouth about Cassandra! Then she zip-zapped his skin, leaving his organs to splash crudely onto the ground while the soil greedily drank his blood! It was horrible! He was like a brother to me!” he said quickly, providing a very filtered version of what had actually happened, “Look, he died before he could make a difference. But… But, maybe you couldn’t save your worlds… But Jesus Christ, you can save mine!”

“I don’t give a shit about your world. But, if these two made it out of there alive, maybe, together, we can get back in and take her down,” Elektra said, turning to the rest of the group. Remy shook his head.

“Where I come from… We call that ‘suicide’, cher,” he retorted. Elektra sighed as she shifted from foot to foot.

“Maybe if we can block her psychic powers, we could get a leg up. I know it! Now, I know Magneto’s dead… But I’d venture a guess that his helmet is lying around here somewhere,” Wade said, a smile practically leaking through his mask.

“Cassandra melted that helmet,” you replied grimly.

“Fuck!” Wade cursed.

“After she killed him,” Blade added.

“FUCK!” Wade yelled, cradling his head in his hands.

“She don’t play,” Blade said while shaking his head.

“She knows that helmet was the only way to protect anyone from her powers. The only other helmet that strong is Juggernaut’s, but he works for Cassandra,” Elektra explained with an air of indifference.

“Juggernaut’s helmet! That’s it!” Wade said, enthusiasm leaking back into his voice.

“Yeah, we don’t be knowin’ that lid ain’t comin’ off without that dome gonna come off wit’ it,” Remy drawled in response. Wade shifted his attention to him.

“I’m sorry, beautiful, I want this to be gentle,” Wade started, pressing his hands together in a placating manner, “Who is your dialect coach? The Minions? I feel like we’re missing critical exposition here!”

Wade’s question hung in the air, silence following the quip. Logan smirked at the group. It was nice to see other people experience the torment he’s been through for the past two days. Entertaining, even. 

Elektra paced back and forth between Remy and Blade, lower lip caught in her teeth, “I’m sick of this shit. I’m sick of hiding. Let’s face it, our worlds forgot about us.”

“Or… Never learned about us,” Remy mumbled to himself.

“The heroes we were,” Elektra continued, disregarding what the Gambit said.

“The lives we saved,” Blade said as he rose from the crate.

“Or wanted… To save,” Remy said, again to himself.

Elektra met Blade’s eyes, hidden behind his glasses, as she said, “Maybe these two are our chance. To be remembered. The way we deserve.”

Logan could feel hope bubbling in the air. It made his stomach turn. There was no way in hell this would work. These guys were just a bunch of washed-up has-beens without a home. Just like him.

His eyes drifted back to you. You were staring intently at Wade, gloved hand resting on X23’s shoulder. You seemed to believe in what the idiot was saying. That there was hope. Logan grit his teeth.

“Yes…” Wade said with an audible grin as he looked between every person in the room.

“An ending,” Elektra whispered.

Blade smiled, “Legacy.”

“Yes! YES!” Wade exclaimed, clapping his hands, “Let this man cook! This is what I’m talkin’ about! Big slow-motion fights, sad music, everybody workin’ together. Who knows if you live or die? That sorta thing! Who’s ready?”

“I was born ready,” Blade replied, flipping a long knife in his hands to the sky.

“Yes! Gambit?” Wade asked as he pointed at Remy.

“I ain’t know my daddy, but I’m sure I shot outta his dick ready,” he answered. There was a pause.

“Jesus Christ, that is graphic,” Wade said.

“Yeah, he was layin’ them buttery nuts all up in my mama an’ I shot out there an’ I said ‘What’s up, doc?’” Remy continued. Logan grimaced at how graphic this guy was. Was there no class anymore?

Wade laughed, “I’m sure Johnny must’ve loved you! X23, what’s it gonna be?”

X23 glanced at Logan, then to you, then back to Wade, “The name’s Laura. And hell yeah, I’m ready.”

“What about you, mama?” Wade asked you.

“If she’s in, I’m in,” you responded, patting Laura on the shoulder. She looked up at you with a small smile.

“Let’s fucking go,” she said, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Let’s fucking go!” Wade repeated. The energy in the room was electric. Wide smiles, hopeful glances, muscles tensing under warm skin. Static built in the room like the air before a lightning strike.

“Show ‘em that the chicken ain’t cold,” Blade said with a grin.

“Yeah!” Wade replied.

“We’re doing this,” Elektra said decidedly. Logan shook his head.

“You’re all fucking dead,” he groused. Wade turned on his heel to look at the Wolverine.

“My God, read the room.” 

~~~~

“I’m not going out there, Laura!” you hissed at your daughter.

You and her were in the room you shared. The stone walls, ceiling, and floor kept your conversation private. A queen bed sat in the corner. Rumpled, black sheets lay atop the mattress. You and Laura shared the bed. Neither of you minded, it was something the two of you had grown accustomed to when on that fateful road trip nine years ago.

“I’ve loosened him up for you! He talked about the X-Men and what happened with them. Mama, please. You need to talk to him,” Laura argued.

She sat cross-legged on the bed while you paced back and forth in front of her. A smug smile tugged at the edges of her lips, gloss reflecting in the lamplight. You chewed on your bottom lip. 

“I doubt he even knows me. I probably don’t even exist in his universe. What if he thinks I’m creepy for talking to him? Or what if I’m a mass-murderer? Shit, what if I hurt someone he cared about-” Laura yelled your name, stopping both your pacing and your rambling in their tracks. You paused in front of her. She sighed, pushing herself off the bed and running her palms down your arms.

“Even if you’re no one in his universe, he still needs someone to talk to. Someone like him. Well, more like him. You know what I mean,” she said with a small smile. You shook your head at her.

“I don’t know how much more like him you could be, kid,” you breathed, resting a hand on her jaw. Every day you were blown away at how similar Laura was to Logan. From their smile, to their terrible jokes, to their temper, to the way their eyebrows crinkled in the corners. She was his daughter, through and through.

“I’m not a bazillion years old,” Laura snarked back. You rolled your eyes.

“You’re lucky I won’t make you do push-ups for saying that,” you replied with a fond grin.

“Go talk to him, mama. If not for your sake, or his, then for mine. Please?” Laura begged, giving you the wide eyes that she knew you could never turn down.

You sighed, “Fine. Five minutes. If I don’t come back, assume he’s killed me or something.”

“Or something?” Laura questioned, wiggling her eyebrows. You shoved her away with a groan. She laughed as she landed on the bed.

“Get some sleep, kid. Love ya,” you said as you made for the doorway. You scooped up your boots that sat next to Laura’s. 

“Love you too, mama. Gane la verga!” she called after you as you stepped out of the room. 

You sighed at your daughter’s antics. Thank God she was past the moody teenager phase. That was a nightmare. The constant anxiety, the mood swings, the self-doubt. Only exacerbated by her mutation. Luckily, you were surrounded by dozens of other mutants at the time. What wasn’t so lucky was that the majority of them were also going through that phase at the same time.

A shudder rolled through your spine at the memory. You’d give anything to see the rest of the kids again, they were your reason for being, but you thanked whatever god would listen that most of them were through puberty. Your mind wandered to your little sheep farm as you sat on a crate to pull on your boots.

Images of the flowing grasses swept through your mind. Light breezes sending waves through the fields, buzzing cicadas droning in the surrounding woods, the occasional bleat from a sheep, smells of whatever the kids were cooking wafting through the white-wood house. 

Logan would’ve loved living there.

It was peaceful. Serene. Secret. Not once in the eight years you’d lived there had the humans discovered your school. It had helped that there wasn't an influx of new students everyday, drawing the public eye to your property. Most of the kids were the ones that had been created by Transigen. Others were some you’d picked up along the way to the farmhouse. A family made of broken pieces.

But there was always that one, Logan-shaped, missing piece. You would feel it when you’d wake up to the spot next to you cold and empty, or when you’d talk with a kid about your past and would instinctively look to Logan for his input. Only, he was never there. 

His death had left a void in your heart. You’d tried your best to fill it by surrounding yourself with love and compassion. Listening to the laughter of your kids, smelling the flowers Bobby grew in the garden, eating the food Amanda and Leah would prepare with care. The love for your kids could only go so far.

Seeing Logan, or this variant of him, had hit you like a punch to the gut. He had his eyes, his hair, his smile lines. He even had his beard trimmed in the same way. But he was young. Remarkably younger than when your Logan had passed. Only a few grays dotted along the variant’s dark beard, fewer wrinkles cracked in the corners of his eyes, and he still had that undeniable energy about him that initially drove you wild. Like a predator trapped in a room full of prey.

“Lost in thought, cher?” Remy asked as he stepped up next to you, snapping you out of your swirling mind. You smiled up at him.

“Just a little, bon ami,” you replied. You’d made it a point to learn French when you’d been thrown into the Void. If only to be able to understand the Gambit better when he went on one of his rambles.

Remy pulled a crate up in front of you and sat on the top. A single card, the ace of diamonds, flipped in his left hand, “Whatchu thinkin’ about?”

“Laura’s convinced me to talk with the big, bad, Wolverine outside,” you joked in an attempt to mask your anxiety. You tugged on the laces of your boots.

“Ah, le couyon zouave. That man’s gonna drink me outta house an’ home,” Remy mused. You chuckled at him calling Logan “silly goose.” Remy adjusted in his seat, throwing the back of his coat over the crate, “You gonna talk to him? ‘Bout what?”

You sighed and shrugged your shoulders, “No fucking clue. Maybe to make sure I’m not a serial killer in his universe.”

“Ha! I’d like to see that, cher. You’d be a killer serial-killer,” he replied with a wide grin. It was hard not to smile back. Remy just had a way of lighting up a room. If not by his charm, then by his explosive cards.

“I wonder what my serial-killer name would be,” you joked as you finished tying your shoes. Remy chuckled in response.

“Hmm, if I gotta be Le Diable Blanc, maybe you could be La Démon Rouge,” he wondered aloud. You shook your head at the word choice.

“Matt already had the whole ‘red devil’ thing going on. Wouldn’t wanna step on any crime-fighting toes,” you responded, pushing yourself to your feet. Remy stood from his seat as well. His eyes passed between both of yours.

“It ain’t just wonderin’ ‘bout your other self, is it, cher?” he asked. This guy could read you like an open book. You ground your back teeth.

“No… I guess not,” you muttered as you folded your arms across your chest. What did you expect from the looming conversation? Comfort in your grief? A drinking buddy? Or would Logan completely blow you off? 

“How ‘bout you take two bottles and loosen him up, yeah?” Remy offered with a grin. You eyed him suspiciously. Prying liquor from the Gambit was like pulling teeth from an angry leopard. He laughed at your incredulous expression, “To learn about your serial-killerness.”

You smiled at the man you considered to be a friend after half a year of knowing each other. Remy was the easiest to grow close with. Charm flowed from him like sunlight through an open window. Out of the people you’d chosen to ally yourself with, Remy was the one you could stomach spending time with.

“I appreciate it, bon ami. I really do,” you thanked with a wide smile. He clapped a hand on your upper back.

“Of course, you pauvre bȇte. Lord knows you ain’t had much action in a while, huh?” he quipped, making you cough as you choked on some spit. He patted your back as he said, “I swear, if that fils de putain don’t gobble you up, I may jus’ do it myself.”

“Thank you,” you wheezed between coughs. What else were you supposed to say to something like that? Remy’s lack of a filter always had you doubled over. Whether in shock or from laughing, it was a toss-up.

“Now, go talk up that rougarou, huh? Give yourself an unforgettable night before your untimely demise,” Remy said with finality, giving your shoulder a little push past him. You stumbled a bit before you managed to catch yourself.

Ignoring the growing heat across your face and neck, you thanked Remy again and grabbed two bottles of whiskey from the rack. The amber liquid sloshed inside the unopened bottles. You approached the stone doorway that opened into the great outdoors. Smoke particles drifted in on the gentle breeze. After another smell, you figured that there must be a campfire not far from the entrance.

Steeling your nerves, you stepped out of the cave. Grass and moss clung to the outside of the cave like tight clothing. Your boots squished in the rain-soaked mud. Deep footprints from Laura and Logan dug into the dirt. The trail led away from the cave, to the left, and to a crackling light about a quarter mile away.

You could just barely make out a figure sitting on a log by the campfire. Elbows leaning on his knees, yellow suit hugging his body, brown hair glowing like a sunset in the firelight. Logan.

The trilling of bugs filled your ears as you approached. Loud drones, often followed by quieter ones, echoed from the tree branches and around your anxiety-ridden form. You usually found solace in the sounds of nature. Enjoying the smells that followed rain, appreciating the sounds of different birds and bugs, gazing lovingly at flowers and different types of trees.

All the constant droning did was increase your cortisol levels. 

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you reached the log ring. Four large logs sat in a square around a burning campfire. Smoke curled from the fire and into the night air. Long shadows chased each other the further they danced away from the light.

“I said I ain’t lookin’ for company,” Logan growled under his breath. You froze in place. This is a mistake. This is a mistake. This is a mistake.

“Need a refill?” you squeaked despite the raging thoughts inside your head.

Logan spun on the log he was perched on. His hazel eyes, practically emerald in the firelight, were wide as they connected with yours. Confusion etched its way across his furrowed brow.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” he asked. The empty bottle clutched in his hands reflected the light like fireflies trapped in the glass. You swallowed a knot the size of a baseball.

“Thought you could use a drinking buddy. Seeings as we’re gonna die tomorrow,” you explained, raising the bottles so he could see them better. He stared at you for a few moments. It was nearly impossible to read his expression. And, unfortunately, you were out of practice.

Logan huffed, a mask of indifference settling over his face once more, as he turned back to the fire, “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” you replied quickly. His eyes traced over your face warily. You squared your shoulders as you met his glare, “I could use a drink with someone my age.”

Logan laughed at that, the sound fast and harsh. His head hung low as he shook it back and forth. A hopeful grin pulled at the edges of your lips.

“Grab some log,” he sighed after a few moments. You did your best to hide the wave of enthusiasm that threatened to break your cool demeanor. The bark of the log dug into your palm, leaving indents in the flesh, as you sat to Logan’s left. 

Warmth washed over your front from the crackling fire. Comforting, like a heated blanket during a blizzard. You held out a bottle to him, the liquid sending bent light across his scowling face.

Nothing happened for a few moments. Logan continued to glare at the offered bottle as it filled the space between the two of you. Apprehension started gnawing at your gut.

“It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re worried about,” you quipped in an attempt to lighten the mood. Logan smirked, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

His gloved hand wrapped around the base of the bottle, taking the whiskey from your outstretched hand. Thick fingers worked the lid open and chucked it into the crackling fire. A log split down near the embers.

“So, what’s your story?” Logan asked after a beat, raising the bottle to his lips. The question caught you by surprise. You worked on your response as you opened your bottle.

“Laura and I ended up here about a year ago. Or, you know, the equivalent,” you began. Bitter liquor filled your mouth as you took a sip. The whiskey flowed down your throat in a sharp-edged stream. You grimaced at the taste, “Jesus, that’s strong.”

“Not a fan of hard liquor?” Logan asked, almost teasingly. You cleared your throat to ease the sting.

“It’s not that. Just haven’t had a drink in… Shit, nine years?” you explained as the whiskey settled in your stomach. Logan hummed in response.

“How come?” he pressed. You cocked an eyebrow at him. He didn’t care to elaborate on why he was asking so many questions, opting to take another long swig instead. You blew a puff of air out through pursed lips.

“In my world, you… Uh, well, you died. Didn’t want to drink without you,” you said, your gaze fixed on the bottle’s opening, “We were on the run from this company called Transigen. They had samples of a shit ton of the X-Men’s DNA, and used the samples to make their own mutants. Grew the kids in a lab. Not even bothering to give them names,” you bit out gruffly. Recounting Laura’s past always left a bad taste in your mouth. You downed another swig, wincing slightly, then said, “A nurse got Laura out of there, along with a bunch of other kids. They all got separated, though. Laura and the nurse ended up contacting Logan for help. Logan, or uh, I guess you, was a limo-driver at the time. The nurse wanted us to take Laura to this location in North Dakota.”

“And I said yes?” Logan asked suspiciously, “Doesn’t sound like me.”

You laughed lightly, “I was the one to convince you. I mean, she was your daughter. Couldn’t just turn her down, right?”

“I dunno,” he muttered under his breath. You didn’t get a chance to press further before he was taking another sip. You chewed on your bottom lip.

“Charles was the main advocate for helping Laura. Him and I managed to wear Logan down enough for that grump to help. So, the four of us piled in the limo in El Paso and made for North Dakota. The trip was… It wasn’t smooth. We lost Charles along the way,” you said, grief beginning to bubble up your throat. You blinked away the tears pricking behind your eyelids, “Transigen had made an exact clone of Logan that they used to hunt us down. That clone killed Charles.”

The loss of your mentor, your longest friend, still washed over you like churning waves in a storm. Charles Xavier was the first person to show you an ounce of kindness. He was the one to house you, to help you figure out your mutation, to introduce you to the X-Men. To the Wolverine.

“I’m sorry,” Logan mumbled. His eyes were still fixed on his bottle, “Losing Chuck was hard. Real hard. I know how it feels.”

“Thanks,” you breathed in response. 

Logan gave you a curt nod as he drank from his bottle. You spun the neck of your bottle between your fingers.

“After Logan’s clone attacked and Charles died, Logan was pretty messed up. See, his adamantium skeleton had been slowly poisoning his blood ever since it was put in him. Leeching metal into his veins and robbing him of his healing mutation. Even I couldn’t patch him up, and that’s my specialty,” you explained with a brief, humorless laugh, “We still managed to make it to North Dakota. Laura took over driving for a bit while I worked on stitching Logan up. Seeing her, only eleven, driving better than he did made me glad he was unconscious.”

That last remark made Logan throw you an irritated glare. You chuckled in response, his reaction so fucking similar to how your Logan would react. Eyebrows furrowed, nose scrunched, scowl pulling on his lips. 

“I’m kidding,” you said in an attempt to ease the annoyed Wolverine.

“Uh-huh,” he huffed. You could just barely see an upward tick on the edge of his scowl.

“God, where was I… We made it to North Dakota. Logan was on the mend after I’d managed to stitch up several stab wounds. Laura brought us to this ranger station looking out over the border between Canada and North Dakota. A shit ton of the kids from Transigen were there. Holed up, hiding from those assholes who wanted them back. The kids told us they were planning to cross the border to escape Transigen. I wanted to help them, to make sure the crossing went well, but Logan was still too injured.”

Bile started to burn at the back of your throat. Watching the color drain from his face, your partner for thirty years, was one of the worst experiences of your long life. Feeling utterly helpless as the energy faded from the once immortal Wolverine.

“The next morning, the kids tried to cross into Canada. But Transigen had found them. They were chasing those poor kids through the woods, hunting them down and either killing or restraining them. Logan and I just barely made it there to prevent any other kids from getting hurt. He would slice up the Transigen cronies while I’d escort the kids away. Quite the asshole-fighting team,” you recounted with a frown. Now comes the hard part, “The clone was released into the woods after us. It managed to grab a hold of Logan before I could do anything. It… It killed him. Stabbed a fucking tree through his chest. And I didn’t even get a chance to stop it.”

Hot trails of tears started leaking down your heated cheeks. Shaky breaths rattled inside your lungs. You wiped away the moisture gathering under your eyes. God, it was hard to talk about what’d happened.

A large hand rested on your shoulder. The palm warm, strong, gloved. You looked up through wet eyelashes. 

Logan looked at you with an understanding you couldn’t quite place. Like the same kind of grief that had you in a chokehold had its claws in him, too. Like he knew exactly what you were going through. You sniffed back a sob. 

“I can guess the rest, doll,” he said softly. His fingers squeezed gently at your shoulder. Your breath caught behind your lips.

Doll.

That’s what your Logan had called you.

“Did-Did I exist in your universe, Logan?” you asked, desperate to shift the conversation away from your grief. Logan inhaled sharply, eyes darting away from yours.

“Uh… Yeah. You did. You, uh, died too,” he responded quietly. The hand not on your shoulder, still gripping the whiskey, lifted the bottle to his lips, “I held you as you died.”

A heavy silence settled over the two of you. Lead-lined heartache tugged at your chest and made it hard to breathe. Logan downed another swig.

You lifted a slightly trembling hand up to the one on your shoulder. Your fingers traced gently over the blue material, the fabric rough under your calluses, then you laced your digits with his. Logan froze where he sat.

“Is this okay?” you asked softly, afraid to break the calm quiet around the two of you. A charged moment passed.

“Yeah,” Logan replied huskily. His fingers adjusted to hold your hand tighter against his palm. Your heart started to kick up behind your ribs.

The two of you sat like that for a few minutes. Quiet, the night air only disturbed by the droning bugs or the crackling fire, Logan’s fingers laced with yours. It felt… Good. Right. Like some of the weight that had piled on these past nine years was growing a little lighter.

“Laura was out here earlier,” Logan said, interrupting the silence. You looked at him from the corner of your eye. He sighed as he took another drink, “Tried to convince me to help out tomorrow. That I’m actually worth a damn.”

The harsh words caught you off guard. Where is this coming from?

“You are worth a damn, Logan. In every universe,” you replied. You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. He shook his head, frown deepening across his lips.

“No. No, you don’t understand. After you died, I…” he muttered then sighed, hanging his head low. You gave him a few quiet moments to collect his thoughts. It seemed the weight of the universe was piled on his broad shoulders, “After I lost you, I started drinking. Every second I was awake, I was drinking. I didn’t want to think, or remember, or feel. I just wanted to be numb.”

He exhaled a shaky breath. His hazel eyes screwed shut as memories seemed to flash in his mind. You rubbed soothing circles into the back of his gloved hand.

“Everyone in that fucking mansion died because of me. Because I was too fucking drunk to help when the humans came. I…” Logan trailed off. He avoided your gaze as he took another long gulp of liquor. He swallowed noisily, then said, “I ain’t worth shit, doll.”

You took a few moments to absorb his words. The self-pity, the agony, the remorse. You bit your lip as you tried to construct what you’d say. Talking with an upset Logan was difficult, to say the least. One word out of place and he’d shut down.

“Have you ever helped someone, Logan?” you asked, shifting your gaze from the dancing flames to his hunched form. He cocked an eyebrow at you. You bit your lip, then continued, “I mean, really helped someone. Like, you risked your own safety to help out someone you didn’t even know. Whether it be helping an old lady crossing the street, getting a little kid’s cat out of a tree, or even saving someone’s life. Have you helped anyone out like that?”

Logan was quiet for a few moments. He swirled the amber liquor, the bottle now half-full. He cleared his throat, “I have.”

“And how did you feel afterwards?” you pressed.

“I dunno. Good, I guess,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze. You shifted on the log so you were facing him.

“Then you are worth something. Even if it was something as small as holding open the door for someone, you improved that person’s life. You made a positive impact. You could have shaped the course of that person’s whole existence with that one, simple action. And, if I know you like I think I do, you’ve done way more than just holding open the door for someone. You’re worth far more than you know, Lo.”

It seemed your spiel had left Logan speechless. He stared at you, wide-eyed, as your words settled into the night air around you. The silence between you stretched on for so long, you were beginning to think you might have said the wrong thing.

“What did you just call me?” he breathed. The hand holding yours tightened its grip. Anxiety started to leak into your mind.

“Uh… Lo?” you answered apprehensively. Did he not like the nickname?

Without warning, the hand holding yours shifted to cradling your jaw. He tugged you towards him, liquor bottle forgotten on the forest floor, as Logan crashed his lips into yours.

SMUT NEXT CHAPTER!!!! I REPEAT, SMUT NEXT CHAPTER!!!!

leg's taglist: @chronicallybubbly @agustdpeach @fandomsunited @bontensbabygirl @quinnlyyy

[missredherring]

Fisting with Wolverine

Logan Howlett/Wolverine x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 675

Contents: Fisting. Brief mentions of canon-typical violence and blood. A sprinkling of angst because it's Wolverine.

A/N: It's what it says on the tin, folks. I have nothing to say for myself.

This is loose-fit, lightly edited, and not beta read.

The first time you bring it up he says no immediately. 

“Ok, why not?”

He looks at you like you’re stupid.

When you just continue looking at him he raises a hand between you, makes a fist, and slowly extends his claws. 

You nod. “Fair point. You know they have these rubber caps you can put on claws so they don’t scratch–”

Logan huffs, claws retracting as he turns to leave. 

“Wait, I’m sorry,” you take his hand in yours and hold it between you like he had. “Look,” you say as you bring his fingers together, fore and pinky fingers under his middle fingers, and then tucking his thumb into the cradle they made. “This is also a fist. Think about it.”

You kiss his hand and leave him to brood.

When he agrees to try it with you it’s on the stipulation that you snag an empty room in the infirmary.

And isn’t that a fun conversation to have with Jean.

You do enjoy watching her squirm when you explain that you and Logan want to try a sex act that he feels might be dangerous, so he’d like to have easy access to the infirmary if necessary, but don’t worry, you trust him and aren’t worried yourself. 

The first three fingers go in easy, as usual, and the fourth is exciting.

Logan’s forehead is sweaty where he’s pressing it against yours, his eyes trained on your pussy and the way it stretches around his fingers.

He tucks his thumb under, just as you had done when you’d first shown him, and holds his breath as it’s gobbled up with a moan. 

You turn feral with all of his fingers inside of you, and he knows feral. Eyes rolling, chest heaving, mouth opening in soundless words as your hips work themselves on his fingers.

He’s getting excited now, some of the worry ebbing away and replaced by desire as he takes in your enthusiastic response. 

But with everything so slippery and wet between your legs, it happens so fast: your hips thrust down when his hand thrusts up and his knuckles disappear inside of you. 

Logan feels like he’s been gut-punched. 

The hot wetness around his hand is familiar, as is the way the body under him is writhing. 

You moan his name and it’s another cross he has to bear.

His muscles clench, his hand pulls back, and he prepares himself to see red red red.

But you grab at his wrist and plead with him, begging him to stay–

And that makes sense, he thinks. Removing the claws will make you bleed out faster, and of course he wouldn’t leave you like this, what kind of monster do you think he is–

“It feels so good. Oh, god, Logan. Fuck me, please- move your hand- I’m- fuck–”

He looks down at the mass of hands between you, and there’s not a speck of red in sight. It’s not blood that’s dripping from his wrist, but your arousal and lube and cum from the several orgasms you’ve already had.

He cradles your face in his other hand and forces eye contact between you, studying every detail, every micro-expression, that passes over your features. 

“Tell me, honey, you’re what?” Are you alright? I’m not hurting you, am I? Please, god, tell me I’m not hurting you like everyone else I lay these hands on.

“I’m gonna kick your ass if you don’t make me come on your fist, Logan.”

His laugh wobbles from of his mouth, pushed out by a sob. He kisses you until you’re writhing again with impatience and lust and he finally takes the cue to move his hand.

Slowly, so slowly. The same inch, in and out, and then he has you howling as he tries rotating his wrist this way and that, massaging the big joint at the base of his thumb into your g-spot. 

You’re squeezing his fingers so hard as you come; maybe he’s the one who’s going to get hurt and not the other way around.

Tagging a few friends who might be interested: @joelsgreys @tonysopranosrobe @guiltyasdave @moonlitbirdie @bitchwitch1981

@perotovar @covetyou

[rebelliousstories]

WHAM!

Relationship: Wade Wilson/ Deadpool x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Innuendos, Brief Adult Content, Mentions of Drug Use

Word Count: 1,013

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: A simple night with some good food and better music.

“Baby, is that the takeout for tonight?”

“Yes ma’am. I’ve got the goods. It’s gonna cost you though.”

Wade rounded the corner and set the bags down on the counter, before spinning his girlfriend around by the hips. They had the apartment all to themselves that evening, thanks to Logan taking Blind Al to his apartment for the night. And the couple was going to make the most of it.

“What’s it going to cost me, Mr. Pool?” She teased, wrapping her arms around his neck. They began to sway gently to invisible music that only drifted in their touch.

“I think a kiss to start,” came his request. Looking to be deep in thought about it, he took it upon himself to surge forward and press his lips against hers. Both of them began to sink into the embrace that took over their bodies. However, the microwave beeped and brought them back into the world.

“Move, mister. Gotta get the popcorn out.” As she did, her boyfriend let out a loud gasp as she dumped the contents of the bag into a bowl.

“Is that the limited edition salt and vinegar popcorn? And are you going to put the caramel on the side so we can enjoy that as a post dinner snack with the movie?” He rattled off, clapping his hands together while watching like a parrot over her shoulder.

“Yes it is. And it will be perfectly cooled down for your preference by the time we’re done eating.” She moved on from the popcorn, and grabbed some forks and spoons for the takeout.

The couple moved to the table in the dining room, and began their meal. A usual takeout night was pizza or wings, but tonight was special. Wade had gotten the favorite pasta from that Italian joint down the road that they always went to. Light conversation flowed through the air as they continued to eat. Even with all of his wrinkly, dimpled, bold headedness, she still loved to look at him. It had been a challenging few years, but they made it work.

“You know what this needs?” Wade suddenly stood, and went over to the boom box that was tucked away into the corner of the room.

“No, no, Wade. Please don’t,” her begging did nothing but encourage him. He stuck a tape in and turned dramatically.

“Oh, yes baby, come on.” His hands grabbed hers, and placed them on top of his shoulders, while his went to her waist. The music flowed through the apartment, and wrapped around them as they not quite danced, but rather swayed together.

“Is that Wham?”

“Gotta say it right. It’s ’WHAM!’,” Wade dropped his voice to a near whisper, “the album gave them their exclamation point.”

“Whatever you say, honey.” She stood on her toes, and pressed a kiss to his lips. It was certainly different than kissing someone without a mutation like his. But there was no one else in the world she would rather kiss. The rough outline of his lips, that were constantly slathered in chapstick to make it more pleasing for her, molded so perfectly with hers. Firm muscles under her hands, and dimpled skin underneath the tips of her fingers. He was the first one to pull away as the song trailed off.

“Movie time?” His voice was excited at the prospect of continuing their night.

“Are you saying that because you want to spend time with me in a horizontal position, or because you want the popcorn?” She teased.

“Oh I always love spending time with you horizontally. But I actually really want to watch the film.” Wade’s flirting was nothing new for her. In fact, it was a welcome part of her day and dialogue with him. She could automatically tell if something was wrong depending on if he did not make an innuendo or adult joke to her.

“Whatever you say big man. I’m bringing my spaghetti though. That stuff is so good.”

They grabbed their respect foods, and made their way to the couch. Plopping down, she watched as her lover set up the film on their brand new blu-ray player that was a gift from the TVA. Wade could have asked for anything, but he was a simple man at heart. He just wanted to be able to watch Golden Girls in perfect imaging for years to come. However, a new film filled the slot as the man made his way to the couch to sit next to his girlfriend.

“Really,” came her deadpan delivery; complete with expression to match.

“Don’t knock it till you try it.” However, whether Wade was saying that about his popcorn that was now being dipped in caramel or the movie he had selected, she was not sure.

“It’s a ‘My Little Pony’ film.” All the different characters made themselves right at home on the screen before them while he turned to face her.

“Okay, Grouchy Bear. Just watch it, will you? They really teach you a lot about magic, friendship, and how to recognize red flags in the people in your life.” Wade went on to defend, but she dropped her face into her hands. She laughed lightly while peaking at him through her fingers.

“Alright. Just hit play.”

At her defeat, Wilson happily followed the order and tucked himself in. She put her food to the side after a couple more bites because she would much rather be doing things other than eating. While the food found a place on their coffee table, she found her spot tucked underneath her boyfriend’s arm so that she was snuggled into his side.

“It is a pretty good movie so far.” She whispered, not too sure if he had heard what she said.

“I know.” Wade responded, pressing a kiss to her hair. This was right where the both of them wanted to be. Just them two alone for some quality time. And paying absolutely no attention to the fact that Logan was yelling at Blind Al downstairs for offering to do cocaine with Laura.

[writeforfandoms]

Born for Greatness 8

Find the series masterlist

Well here we are! This is the last official chapter of the story. I do have one short bonus chapter written that is Price and Logan, and I’m open to doing more! I may try to revisit this pack again. If you have ideas/requests, feel free to let me know!

In which we finally get answers. All of us. 

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, pack cuddles, the boys are too cute, brief mention of drugs (from last chapter), I finally get to make the joke

John Price x f!reader

Word count: 3.1k

Four days after the forced shift incident, you had been gently but firmly shooed out of the investigation. Which was fine by you - you were not an investigator. You’d handed everything over to John and wiped your hands clean of the mess. 

But it had put some things into perspective for you. 

“Finally made up your mind?” Logan dropped down next to you, leaning back to join you laying on the grass.

“Mmhm.” You smiled up at the sky, oddly peaceful despite the butterflies in your tummy. 

“And?” Logan nudged you, clearly not patient enough to wait you out this time. 

You breathed in, slow and deep. You hadn’t quite told John your plans yet, but he’d been busy trying to figure out who’d sent the letter. So. You’d update him as soon as he came up for air. 

“I’ve got a moving company lined up to take care of my apartment,” you told him, still looking up at the clouds. “I was gonna ask you to supervise. You’ll know what’s important and what can get shoved in storage.”

“Storage.” Logan snorted. “Send it to my place, I’ve got room.” 

“Have I told you lately that you’re the best?” 

“Don’t push it, kid.” 

You laughed, quiet but sincere. “I figured you’ll have to send me a few more things, but we can figure that out when you’re at the apartment. I still have no idea what all is damaged.”

“Not botherin’ you?” Logan glanced at you, one eyebrow raised.

“It’s just stuff.” You shrugged. “I keep the irreplaceable things with me.”

“Smart kid.” Logan chuckled. “And the pack?” 

You hesitated for a moment. You hadn’t said the words out loud yet, despite knowing what you wanted. You swallowed and tipped your head to look at him. “I’m staying here.” 

Logan chuckled. “Atta girl.” 

“Oh shut up.” But you were grinning, relaxing under his clear approval. 

“Figured that out, have you?”

“Eh.” You wiggled one hand back and forth in a so-so motion. “I know I want to stay. They want me to stay. We haven’t actually discussed the details of it, but… I trust they’ll figure it out.” 

Logan smiled. “Well. That’s a change from your normal.” 

“It is.” You swallowed, glancing over at him. “Figured I’d actually listen to you for once.”

He snorted. “Had to happen eventually.”

The two of you lapsed into silence for a few minutes, both enjoying the gentle warmth of the sunshine. 

“This doesn’t mean I won’t see you anymore, or anything,” you suddenly pointed out. Because that was something you’d thought about before. 

“Course not,” Logan agreed. “Else I’d come kidnap you.”

You snorted. He would, too, if he felt he had to. “Figured when they’re gone doing their thing, I can fly out and stay with you, at least some of the time.” 

“That would be good.” He spoke slowly, but he couldn’t hide the emotion in his voice. 

“What?” You rolled onto your side, alarmed, looking him over quickly.

But Logan smiled and shook his head. “Not a bad thing,” he muttered, waving you off. “Just. You finally stopped running.” 

You warmed and ducked your head, rolling back onto your back. “Yeah. Guess I did.” You side-eyed him. “But if you throw me into the pond again, I’ll get Ghost to throw you in for me.” 

“Fair,” Logan allowed. The two of you lapsed into quiet again, comfortable and easy. 

At least until Logan stretched. “When is the moving company set to start?”

“They estimated in three days, but I told them I’d get back to them for sure after I talked to you.” 

He grunted. “That’s fine. Better go book a ticket.” 

“You’re sure you don’t mind doing this for me?”

“Kid, it’s going through your crap. How hard can it be?” Logan smirked, getting to his feet and holding a hand down to you. “I’ll just annoy the crap outta you until you give me all the answers.”

You laughed, taking his hand and letting him haul you up. “You’re an ass.”

“I’d say you volunteered, but you didn’t.” He smirked at you, easy and amused. 

You both turned when you heard a woof, and Soap attempted to tackle you. Attempted, because you stepped out of the way. His paws hit the ground and he huffed at you.

“Nuh uh,” you scolded gently. “No tackling.” 

“You’ll have your hands full with that one,” Logan muttered, grinning like the little shit he clearly was. “Payback.” 

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes, and only realized a moment too late what he’d done. Soap jumped up on his hind legs, front paws balanced against your stomach, tail wagging about a mile a minute. “Uh. You didn’t hear anything, Soap. I have to talk to John first.”

He barked and ran off a few steps before running back to circle you and run away again. 

“I think I’m being herded,” you told Logan, voice dry.

“You better go before he starts nipping,” Logan agreed, just as dry. “I’ll find you later.”

You nodded and hesitated a moment before you darted in to hug him, tight. Just for a moment. Then you backed off and walked away. 

Soap boofed at you, tail still wagging, high-stepping through the grass.

“Oh hush. You menace.” 

Soap just wagged his tail before running ahead of you. You opened the door into the building for him, and he trotted straight to John’s office and sat. 

“Alright, thanks. Now shoo.”

His ears lowered and he hunched a little, looking up at you with big sad eyes.

“No, I don’t care. Do not give me those eyes. This is a private conversation and you’re not invited.” 

Soap huffed but slunk off down the corridor. Shaking your head, you knocked on the door. 

“Come in,” John called. 

He was seated behind his desk, paperwork spread in front of him, though he was looking at you. His lips twitched in a soft little smile. 

“You busy?” You closed the door gently behind you.

“Not for you.” He pushed back from his desk, though he let you decide where you wanted to be. You settled on the couch, because at the very least you wanted to be comfortable for this discussion. 

“So. Never got to answer your question the other day.”

John joined you on the couch, though he did leave a bit of space between you. Likely for your comfort, because you saw him start to reach for you and pull back. “We got interrupted.”

“We did.” You took a deep breath, reaching over to take his hand. He watched you but he didn’t push, giving you time. “I was going to tell you yes. I want to stay.” 

The smile that inspired was warm and big and possibly one of your new favorite things. “Yeah?”

“Yes, John.” You couldn’t help but laugh a little, squeezing his hand. 

“I’ve got a follow up question, then.” He shifted closer to you, eyes bright. 

“Okay.” You smiled, watching him. 

“Would you allow me to court you?” He took your free hand as well, dipping his head a little to hold your gaze. “Properly.” 

You warmed under his gaze but nodded. “I’d like that very much,” you agreed, soft and almost shy. 

There was a whoop from outside the door, almost immediately muffled, followed by a thump. Then another thump. 

John sighed, his head dropping forward, even as your shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Fuckin’ muppets.” 

“They’re yours,” you pointed out, extremely unhelpfully. 

“They will be yours too, soon.” John released your hands and stood, marching over to the door and yanking it open. “Sergeants!” 

Leaving Soap to sputter through an explanation, Gaz darted around him and straight to you, nearly bowling you over in his excitement. 

“You’re a menace,” you muttered, unable to keep the affection from your tone. 

“Only a bit.” Gaz deliberately met your gaze, beaming, held it for a count of three, and then dropped his gaze. This was much more intentional than the last time he’d done it, a very clear showing that you were higher ranked in the pack than he was. And, as if that wasn’t enough, he squirmed in until he could tuck his head under your chin. 

You melted. Just a little. Sure, this was a grown-ass man who was taller than you, but he was just. Too damn cute. 

“Not at all excited, huh?” you couldn’t help but tease, turning your head to rest your cheek on top of his head. 

“Just a bit,” he muttered back, arms tight around your waist. “I’m just… You’re good for him. For us. I’m happy you’re staying.” 

You smiled, rubbing your cheek on top of his head, even though it didn’t quite work the same way as it would from a shifter. He still shivered and melted into you, totally relaxed. 

“You’re still in trouble,” John grumbled, even as his weight dropped down next to you. “Even if you are being cute.” 

“Yes sir,” Gaz muttered, grin clear in his voice. 

“Sure you wanna deal with these muppets?” John asked, curling one arm around your shoulders. 

“I think they’ll give me less of a hard time than they do you.” You couldn’t help but slant an amused smirk at him. 

“Probably right.” 

“We’ll behave,” Soap added, as he popped up on your free side and very nearly gave you a heart attack with how stealthy he’d been.

“Bells,” you grumbled, tightening your grip on Gaz. “I’m putting bells on all of you.” 

“Sounds distracting.” Ghost lounged in the doorway, smirking. 

“Hopefully.” You raised an eyebrow at him, waiting to see if he’d come closer. 

He didn’t. “Johnny, move your arse.”

Soap grumbled but got up again, tapping Gaz on the shoulder. Gaz sighed against your shoulder, squeezed you one more time, and then released you. Ghost shut the door after them.

“Now,” John murmured, a teasing little smile on his lips, “where were we…?” 

“Something about courting,” you teased right back, though you did shift to face him on the couch. 

“Mm, yes.” His hands settled on your waist, pulling you slowly but inexorably closer. “And you said yes.”

“Did I?” You feigned surprise. “Hmm. Sounds reasonable.” 

John chuckled. “Tease,” he murmured, the word soaked in soft affection. 

This time, he didn’t give you a chance to respond. He just kissed you, slow and sweet and exploratory. He pulled back, but you didn’t give him a lot of space, dipping your head to kiss the corner of his lips. His jaw. The underside of his chin. His soft groan rumbled through the air between his chest and yours, and you hummed a satisfied note. 

“You are gonna be a handful,” he murmured, hands tightening around you. 

“Only if I’m doing this right.” You smiled against his skin, pressing one last kiss to his throat. 

“What do you need from me? To help you settle in more permanently.” One big hand left your waist, rubbing up your back to settle at the nape of your neck. 

You shrugged. “Logan is going to pack up my apartment, so he’ll send me a few more things. Other than that… I don’t really need much.” 

“Think about it,” he encouraged. “And tell me what you think.”

“Alright.” You didn’t think you’d come up with much, but he was the alpha. It was his job to make sure everyone had what they needed. 

“When is Logan leaving?”

“Not sure. He had to go get tickets, said he’d update me when he had them.”

John grunted softly, leaning back and pulling you with him until you were cuddled against his chest, your cheek against his shoulder. You could definitely get used to this. 

“There’s one more thing I need to do,” you murmured into the gentle, quiet space between you two. “It won’t be the only time, but it’s tradition.”

“What’s that?” John asked softly, his nose nudging your temple. 

“Cook dinner for you. I always cook dinner for packs, usually right at the end of the job.” 

“You haven’t officially finished yet?” But John didn’t sound upset, just mildly surprised.

“The letter incident pushed back the completion of the job.”

“Hm.” John nudged your temple again. “You’ll let me know what you need?”

“Yes but only because that was a question.” 

John snorted, squeezing the back of your neck gently. “I should get back to work.”

“Five more minutes?” 

He acquiesced with a little sigh, holding you close. 

It took you until the next day to get everything taken care of. The last of the paperwork had been signed. Your final check had been deposited in your account. 

You were truly free and clear of any work. 

So, naturally, you were making more food than you needed. But with five shifters to feed, you figured that would do just about right. 

“Need any help?” 

You didn’t jump only because you’d heard Logan coming. He didn’t bother to sneak much of anywhere. 

“No, I got it.” You looked at him and then did a double take. “I thought your flight wasn’t leaving until the morning?” 

“Got a call from an old friend,” he murmured, stepping closer and setting his duffel bag down momentarily. “Gonna go visit them for the night before I head back.”

“Oh.” You couldn’t help the way your chest clenched at that. You knew you’d see him again, probably sooner than later, but still. You’d thought you’d have a little more time.

“Sorry, kid.” He stopped in front of you. “Especially sorry to miss out on this.” 

That got you to snort. “Next time.”

“Next time,” he agreed softly. He pulled you into a hug, tight and warm and familiar. You relaxed into him with a little hum, holding him tight. 

When he pulled back, you let him go. “Safe trip and all that.”

“Thanks,” he drawled, stepping back and picking up his duffel bag again. “Don’t burn anything.”

“Ass,” you grumbled as you turned back to the stove. “Say hi to Charles for me.”

“I’m not visiting him,” Logan called back, only a little annoyed.

You smirked. “Say hi to Erik for me.”

“Definitely not that asshole,” Logan shouted back from the hall. And then he was gone, leaving you to cackle to yourself. Sometimes it was just too easy to rile him up. 

You didn’t bother to plate things up in any fancy way, just laying out the selection for the pack and then stepping out of the way so you’d have a good view when they came in.

Which you did. And you took in the awed expressions with absolute glee. 

“Christ, love.” John walked over to you first, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “Trying to spoil us?”

“Maybe a little.” You shrugged, unrepentant. “Sit.” 

You let them settle first, though you kept half your attention on Ghost, figuring he’d want some privacy. 

But he surprised you, meeting your eyes for a split second before he nodded to the chair left open on John’s left. Across from him. You raised one eyebrow but moved to the chair and sat, curious. 

“Don’t need to be so cautious,” Ghost grumbled, passing a dish to John. 

“You like your privacy.” You shrugged. It wasn’t a big deal, not to you. 

He huffed something like a laugh, folding the bottom of his mask up to just above his nose. Scars gone silvery with age marked his skin in the brief glimpse you allowed yourself before you returned your gaze to his forehead. 

“You’re pack now,” was all he said before he took a bite of food. You had the pleasure of watching his eyes widen, just a little. 

Your satisfied smile didn’t go unnoticed, but John only chuckled at you and put more food on your plate. You weren’t surprised - that was very much courting behavior for a shifter. 

“Forgot to mention, love.” John glanced at you. “Figured out who sent that letter.”

“Yeah?” You tipped your head, curious. 

“Keyes.”

“That’s disappointing but not surprising. I’m sure he’s got the contacts to get that kind of drug.” You shrugged. “I trust he’s being handled?”

“Thoroughly.” John’s smirk was small but satisfied.

“Oi.” Gaz huffed at the both of you. “Stop talking shop and eat.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. Oh yeah. Life was definitely not going to be boring with this pack. 

To say that dinner was a success was putting it mildly. Most of the food was demolished. Soap and Gaz both ate too much and groaned their way to the couch to collapse. 

“Your emotional support dog abandoned you,” you drawled to Ghost.

“What?” He blinked, startled.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t seen those videos.” You perked up, a grin slowly stretching your lips. 

“What videos?” He narrowed his eyes at you. 

Holding back your evil cackles, you turned on the TV and quickly navigated to your favorite zoo. “In zoos, cheetahs are like balls of anxiety, right? So this one zoo started pairing a cheetah with an emotional support dog, letting the dog be the more dominant partner. Which allowed them to do things like take their cheetahs on walks and show off their speed and stuff, because if the dog is relaxed, the cheetah is relaxed.” You pointed at the screen where a dog and a cheetah were walking calmly together. “It’s you and Soap.” 

For a moment there was silence before Gaz burst out laughing. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” Ghost sighed, dropping his head. “I’ll remember this.” 

“Oh I know.” Far too smug, you grinned and settled on the couch, totally unsurprised when Soap immediately used your thigh as a pillow. 

“Where is this?” he asked, grinning up at you.

“The San Diego Zoo was the first to do it, but I believe the practice has been adopted by several zoos now.” You paused for dramatic effect. “And one task force.” 

Gaz rolled onto his stomach to muffle his giggling into the couch, while Soap just covered his face with one hand, laughing so hard he was actually nearly silent. 

“Stop pokin’ fun at him.” John dropped down next to you, arm settling across your shoulders. 

“He’ll get his revenge eventually.” You leaned a little into him, fingers carding idly through Soap’s hair. 

“When did you get so snarky?” Ghost grumbled even as he settled in his normal seat. 

“When this stopped being a job.” You grinned, unrepentant, even as you switched away from the zoo video and over to some sci-fi movie you’d been meaning to rewatch. “Now I wanna see how confused you all get with this.” 

“Mean.” But John was smiling as he said it, tugging you closer until you were cuddled in against his side, Soap still using your thigh as a pillow. 

You knew things wouldn’t always be this easy, this lighthearted. But for once you were prepared to work for it. For them. To keep them. The way they were clearly willing to work to keep you. And that was enough.

[bbgghost]

lot to love: chapter 4

blurb: you are the nineteen year old, younger, mutant sister of Mystique. you go to Professor X's school and have been since you were young. slow burn with wolverine ♡♡♡

a.n. thank you for all the support! this one was way shorter than the last but hopefully still good ♡ anyways remember if you have any suggestions, requests, etc, send them my way!

c.w. angst! mention of past abuse, almost being killed (this is to align with Mystiques story in the movies), age-gap obvi cos Logan is 200+ yrs old, alchohol!

masterlist | tags: @white-wolf-buckaroo

"Although the mission did not go to plan, you cannot let it discourage you." Ororo said as she grabbed your hand. "I mean, you don't even have your super hero name yet!" She exclaimed. You laughed at her comment. It was about a week after your first ever mission as part of the X-Men. It had obviously not ended very well, and in result of that, you were reluctant to attend another. "Charles really thinks that you're ready, I do to. It's what we've all been fighting for." She pleaded with you.

"Okay, okay." You stopped her from continuing. You know that it was almost fate that you had to join the X-Men. "I'll come to the next mission." You told her, albeit reluctantly. She nodded and smiled happily at you. "I'll tell Charles right away." She said before letting go of your hand and rushing down the hall.

You truly admired the way she was so patient with you. Although that last conversation didn't reflect it, she was talking the whole situation out with you the entire week. You knew you could be helpful to the team, and shapeshifting was merely just the start of your powers. After watching her walk for a bit, you decided that you should tell the good news to Logan. I mean, he has been one of you most kind supporters.

Looking for him was a little difficult, he often left the mansion without telling anyone, so that needed to be taken into account. Lucky for you he was sat outside, nursing a beer. You stepped through the open glass doors and walked towards him softly. He sensed you coming near him, and merely cocked his head slightly to take you in. You were clad in a lacey black tank top and blue shorts that stopped high on your thighs. Your feet were adorned in what he though to be the cutest pair of white socks he has ever seen. Maybe they were merely that way because they were on you. 9ol,

"Hey." You said softly. "What's up, kid?" He asked in true Logan nature. "I'm not quitting the X-Men." You said with a smile. You really hoped that he wanted you to stay, and that he didn't think it was ridiculous that your first mission had left you with mascara running down you cheeks. "Good on you." He said before taking a sip out of the beer. His eyes shifted back from you to the garden infront of him. "What? You not excited to have me back or something?" You teased him.

He laughed softly, and twisted the beer in his hand. You eyed him werely. You didn't want to admit it, but the smell of the beer was making you mildly disgusted. You wanted him to view you as someone who could handle alcohol though, so you ignored the feeling. "I'm glad you didn't let your sister get in the way of your decision." You dropped your smirk and looked out to the gardens. You shrugged and sat next to him, similarly to what he did to you the night before the mission.

"I have a shit older sibling too. So I, uh, know how it is." He said, making eye-contact with you. "Yeah?" You urged him to continue. He sat back, and draped his arm over the back of the bench. You had a brief thought cross your mind of him putting his hand on your shoulder and pulling you in, but yet again, you ignore it.

"His names Victor. We've never really gotten along well. I don't even know where he is right now." He said looking down at his lap, taking another swig of his beer. "What did he do?" You asked innocently. "You don't gotta worry about that sweetheart." He told you. You felt your heart flutter at the nickname. God you wished he would call you that again. "What did Mystique do to you?" He asked, looking into your eyes. "You know her?" You asked. "Used to." He answered. You tucked your hair behind your ears and looked to the gardens. You wonder how he got so curious about you so quickly.

"Well, before I was even born, my parents noticed she was showing signs of mutation. For a while they were trying to get rid of it, but eventually they realised they couldn't, so they tried to kill her." He nodded along as you spoke. "She ran away, I think that's when she became an X-Men. I don't really know, she wasn't ever crystal clear with stuff like that. But I was born, like when she was in her 20's and when she found out, she tried to take me away from them almost immediately." You stopped talking as you felt his hand on your knee. You almost felt caged, but it was so comforting having him so close to you.

"She...uhm..." You looked away from him, hoping it would help you concentrate. "She raised me from when I turned 13, but eventually she wanted to join Eric. I didn't, so instead I came here." He raised his eyebrows, urging you to continue. "I haven't really seen her before yesterday. But she was like a mother to me, Logan." You said, tears brewing in your eyes. You blinked them away. You wouldn't let your composure be ruined again. "God, I really thought she was going to kill me yesterday." You exclaimed.

You felt his hand move further up to your thigh. His thumb began stroking you softly, it was his own way of comforting you. "It's okay doll. You're alright."

It's all you can think about. The way he spoke to you, the way he wanted to know more about you, they way he touched you. It was driving you crazy. You're note-taking abilities were impacted too, half of your page was just love hearts and the letter 'L' or 'W', depedning on the day. You prayed yet again that the Professor didn't feel like reading your mind or checking your papers.

Either way, the start of summer exams were about to happen, and you would then officially be able to be a Professor. You had always though of being one every since you sat in your first class with Storm as your teacher. You knew you would pass, but still you remained anxious about the tests.

"The first test will be next Monday. I want all of you here at exactly 7:00 in the morning. It will be on analysing the impacts that mutations have had on the following historical figures..." You took that as a queue and began writing out more important things.

[mlmxreader]

Ready | Logan Howlett x trans!m!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Hi!! I was wondering if you could write a Logan X male reader fic :) and if it's not your thing that's fine but if you could make the reader a trans guy that would be double cool.

Bottom reader with a desperate need for praise :) Thank you so much!! ❞

: ̗̀➛ You and Logan decide that you're both ready to have sex.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ swearing, Daddy Kink, anal fingering, anal sex, lubricant, choking kink, praise kink, dom/sub, smoking, mentions of alcohol consumption

↳ WOMEN & MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

↳ brief author's note: no explicit mention of reader's genitalia is made.

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

You and Logan spoke about it early on, wanting to take sex at a slower rate; you wanted to be ready for it, which he understood, and in all honesty was also glad to hear.

It had been a while since he had had actual feelings for anybody, and when sex was also thrown into the equation, he wanted to slow it down and put on the breaks. It wasn't like Logan minded that you were trans - you were a man, and that was all that mattered.

But what he didn't want to do was put you into a situation where you were uncomfortable or unsure about what was happening.

Still, sat together on your soft with your knee against his, he couldn't help but steal quick glances at you; it was just a date, but the sweat dripping down your neck was hard for him to ignore as he swallowed thickly and sucked in a harsh breath.

"Logan?" You hummed, putting your hand on his arm. "Everything alright?"

Logan shrugged as he shook his head. "Fine."

You frowned, doing the worst thing possible and moving to sit on his lap; you forced him to draw his attention to you as you planted your hands on either side of his head.

Sweaty palms clinging to the old brown leather and making it squeak. By instinct alone, he put his hands on the sides of your thighs. Your gaze went to his lips.

"You don't seem fine..."

He was breaking as he clenched his jaw, breath picking up pace as he grunted out softly. "I'm fine. Honest."

He couldn't resist, moving one hand up to cup your jaw as he leaned in to steal a kiss; you kissed back, adjusting yourself on his lap as you moaned softly.

You wanted him, you just weren't sure how to say it properly; even when he gently moved you to lie down on the sofa, looming over you as he kissed you harshly, you weren't sure how to say it.

"Baby?"

You hummed. "Yeah?"

"Somethin' you wanna tell me?" He asked lowly.

You nodded, working up the ability to say the words you wanted to. "I... Logan, I think I'm ready."

He nodded slowly, getting off of you so he could help you remove your shirt; he wriggled around a little, mouth hovering over your nipple as his hot breath brushed against the sensitive skin.

"Can I touch you here?" He asked.

You let out a breathless agreement, moaning softly when he took your nipple into his mouth and flicked his tongue against it; he moved onto the next shortly after, using his hand to keep it stimulated as you writhed and moaned beneath him.

He moved down, hooking his fingers at the edge of your waistband. "Can you flip over for me?"

You did as he said, pulling your knees up slightly. "Don't stop, Logan..."

"I won't," he promised softly. He pulled your trousers down, exposing your ass as he licked his lips and let out a shaky breath. "Can I touch?"

You agreed eagerly, gasping out and pushing back against him when he slipped two fingers into your tight ass; pumping them in and out slowly as he used his other hand to palm at his hard cock through the thin fabric of his shorts.

"Daddy-"

He paused for a split second. "Can you call me that again?"

You let out a low growl as you pushed back against nothing, needing friction and his touch more than anything. "Please, Daddy."

"Good boy," Logan grinned, rewarding you with a soft slap against your ass before he pushed his fingers back in. He moved them in a scissor motion for a moment, trying to open you up as much as he could. "Lube?"

You let out a frustrated grunt, feeling so fucking empty. "Top drawer by the mirror."

He was gone within an instant, leaving you wishing that you had grabbed it earlier and laid it out; you waited, taking the opportunity to get your breath as you waited.

Anticipation weighing heavily on your shoulders until you felt the sofa behind you dip down.

"You ready?" He asked lowly.

You looked back at him for a moment, and smiled. "I'm ready."

He didn't say anything, pushing his shorts down and lubing up his cock before doing the same to your ass; he started to massage it into you, drawing little moans from the back of your throat as you pushed back against him and tried to get fucking anything you possibly could. Wishing he would hurry up.

"You're doing so fucking well," Logan praised, getting himself lined up. "Think you're ready to take me?"

"More than ready," you agreed.

He pressed his tip against your ass, waiting for you to tell him to keep going before he pushed in to the hilt; he stilled, giving you time to decide to keep going as well as adjusting to his size. He was so fucking big, and you were so fucking tight. He waited.

"Fuck," you let out at last. "Fuck me."

"You sure?" He grumbled.

You let out a seethe. "Please."

He waited for you to push back against him and roll your hips before he leaned over you, his mouth just behind your ear as he bucked his hips into you, slowly at first.

"You're taking my cock so well," he praised quietly, more grunting than anything else. "Doing so fucking well already."

You squirmed, trying to get as much of him as you could, pressing your back against him as you gripped his wrist and brought it to your throat; you asked, and Logan was happy to wrap his hand around your throat.

He didn't squeeze down. Just let it rest there as your sweat mixed with his.

He picked up his pace a bit, going a little bit harder and faster and grinning when you told him to keep going; you wanted to hear him praise you again, desperate for it as you grunted and growled beneath him.

"That's it," he coaxed. "You're so fucking good for me."

You begged him to go harder and faster, jerking forward with each thrust he delivered; your tongue fell from your mouth, drool leaking down onto the brown leather beneath you as you tried your best to keep up with him.

Logan praised you with every other thrust, knowing that he was only coaxing you further and further into getting what you wanted; he couldn't deny it, he was fucking enjoying himself.

The sound of skin slapping against skin was impossible to ignore, so fucking loud as it bounced off of the walls; mixing with the harsh grunting and growling and moaning.

Logan pinned you down, fucking into you so hard that you could only moan out the word "Yes" as loud as your voice would allow; he kept fucking you, even when his cum was dribbling and drizzling out with his thrusts.

He gritted his teeth when you told him you were close, doubling down his efforts as you let out a choked moan. Words began to fail.

You were so fucking close, your ass clenching around his cock as you spasmed and jerked beneath him; erratic movements of your hips as your toes curled.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you called out his name. Your legs began to shake, getting weak as you begged Logan not to let you go.

He kept hold of you, kept thrusting into you until you were ready for him to get off; he was slow, praising you gently as he helped you to lie down on your chest.

"You okay?"

You grinned as you licked your lips. "I need a cigarette."

Logan laughed softly as he nodded. "On it... you want a beer?"

You nodded back, laughing quietly. "You know me too well."

"Ain't it my job?"

༺═──────────────────────────────═༻

whilst I have your attention for the moment, I'd like to direct it to Hani's family; they are still in Gaza, and Hani is organising donations to get them evacuated somewhere safe so that they can survive the genocide. if you have even just £1 to donate, please, please consider doing so. this family is in desperate need of aid.

[skeletinmoss]

The curse of the dark Phoenix

Chapter 11: To Arms

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Virgil led Roman to what had to be the library. It was a round room with a big ceiling window, the walls lined with a ridiculous amount of books.

No memento’s or trinkets on these shelves.

Virgil had been right that his home would be in a better condition than the tower. There wasn’t any dust to be seen, and the book Virgil had called Dex was busy putting some books back in their spots.

“I was sure we’d find Logan here at the very least,” Virgil mused.

“Well, it looks like he was, at one point,” Roman pointed out.

Virgil considered that for a moment. “Star, search,” he instructed.

Roman expected the wolf to start sniffing, but instead the cosmic wolf turned into an amorphous cluster of stars and darkness, zipping around the room and then through a door. Virgil followed him, and Roman could only rush after the two. They walked through an observatorium, a sitting room, and then they found themselves back in the living room and heading outside. Where they caught them talking.

"... ask him... oh, hi Virgil!" Patton greeted.

"Hey. What are you two up to?" Virgil wondered as Stardust materialized at his side.

"Well, Logan had an idea," Patton offered.

"Yes. I was thinking that I could do to the garden what I did to the path, return it to the state it was in a past point in time. Particularly when your friend was about to break down the door, as we managed to figure out the correct date for that, or a few days later, even. See if we can track your other friend Janus as well," Logan pointed out, indicating a map he'd likely found amongst Virgil's things.

"I am aware most need a somewhat fresh trail to start with. But, if my spell is as thorough as I intend it to be, then there might be one when I'm done. At worst, you will have a lot less work to restore the garden to its former glory," Logan pointed out. Virgil nodded, feeling intrigued.

Logan lit up at getting the high mage’s approval and gestured for them to stand behind him. Roman suspected that was more so he could properly show off and less because he genuinely needed the space.

The Great Wizzard Mage sat down once again to meditate, and before Roman's eyes, weeds vanished, unkempt vegetable plants became lush and neatly organized. He saw a patch of herbs of all kinds next to a flower garden. He realized that he'd seen dried up flowers of the same species spread around the house.

Virgil mentioned that in his childhood home, there'd been the smell of flowers everywhere. So it made sense that he’d filled his house with them to make it feel like home.

"Excellent work," Virgil mused.

"Thank you. But please, save the praise for when I confirm your friends' current location," Logan insisted as he pulled out herbs that Roman could immediately tell were of the sort his friend wouldn't even have considered touching 2 days ago. Something had clearly clicked in place for Logan since inventing that spell.

"By all means," Virgil nodded, indicating Logan should continue.

Logan laid out the map, rubbed the herbs between his fingers, rubbed some on the map itself, and then made a pattern in the air, slow and steady, and pushed at the gathered magic. For a brief moment, Roman could swear he saw two silhouettes on the path towards the front door. They disappeared before he could really make sense of them though and Logan got up, studying the map with a critical frown.

"Not as precise as I had hoped, but at least we know that we are heading the right way for the temple and that your friend Janus isn't too far away," Logan mused as he handed Virgil the map. Roman glanced over Virgil’s shoulder and saw a green and yellow circle. They both covered a lot of ground. But the green one's radius included the lake. So that was a plus. The yellow one had some overlap with the green one and included large stretches of forest and four villages, possibly more depending on how old this map was.

“We know more than we did before,” Virgil agreed before turning to the group.

“I do intend to let you all look around some more and learn what you need, but I would like to provide you three with a change of clothes and some weapons first,” he offered.

“You’d be able to arm the tree of us?” Logan wondered.

Virgil smirked and walked back inside. “Come with me to the armory and we’ll find out,” he stated.

Armory?

The trio of great mages hurried after Virgil, through a door and found themselves in a large room with countless weapons of different types lining the walls.

Roman looked around in awe. His eye getting caught by a beautiful ornate sword with a golden grip and an engraved blade. “I breathe so I dream. With this blade I forge the future from the unknown.”

He knew that phrase. He’d read it in history books. “Is that a founder’s sword!?” Roman gasped in awe.

“It looks pretty, but it wasn’t ever intended for combat. Not this kind anyway,” Virgil said dismissively as he continued to walk past the racks, looking for something.

Logan had come to stand next to Roman and stared at the blade in awe, wanting but not daring to touch it. “This is a national treasure,” he breathed in shock.

Virgil stopped. “… That, makes sense. Sorry. To me it’s just sort of… The first actual sword I ever owned?” he admitted.

Roman didn’t have to check to see if his friends were as shocked as he was.

“Virgil… How old did you say you were again?” Logan wondered. Because right now Virgil’s timeline included the founding of the very kingdom almost five centuries ago.

“28, I’m pretty sure,” Virgil mused. Roman knew that Virgil wasn’t actually misinterpreting Logan’s question. He wasn’t going to answer them though. He was having way too much fun feeling how shocked Roman was every time he turned out to be older than he previously assumed. Maybe Gustav hadn’t been exaggerating that much when he mentioned a millennium in the memory.

“Are there a lot of mages who have been around as long as, or longer than, you?” Logan pressed, also guessing that Virgil wasn’t going to give him a number.

“Well… Not too many. There are two old teachers of mine that should still be around for sure. But… Sometimes high mages decide to give up immortality. For several reasons:

Because they’ve simply lost interest. As an act of defiance against a bad king, as an act of love towards someone they want to grow old and start a family with,” Virgil mused.

“But if all high mages that were around fifty years ago are in a similar situation to me, then I’d say me and my friends are among the top ten percent most experienced,” Virgil allowed.

… Roman was going to let that sink in for a bit, and Logan seemed to think something similar.

That, or he’d simply gotten distracted.

“Is this… This is the staff of the mountain wizard,” he mused as he studied the indeed striking similar design to the sketches he’d seen in his history book. The dark wooden base the tendrils of gold weaving around it and enclosing over a glass orb.

“It is,” Virgil confirmed, still bemused.

“But… Wasn’t he a badguy?” Patton asked confused.

“Exactly why I took his staff. He was abusing my niece,” he huffed. Roman could feel the hostility roll off him. He was still not over that slight. Despite putting the man in his place, Roman assumed. The mountain wizard had gone missing and no one knew what became of him.

“You had a niece?” he asked, deciding he shouldn’t focus on the implied vengeance right now.

“Many. Well. I call all the descendants from my brother and sister my niblings. I check in on them, make sure they are doing well. This particular niece admired me a lot and mister mountain wizard thought that he could easily impress her and then trap her into an abusive relationship. He was wrong,” Virgil explained off handedly.

He didn’t have any curse markings… So he hadn’t used magic… Roman looked around. What had he used though?

“In any case,” Virgil stated, picking up the staff and handing it over to Patton. “would be far better off being wielded by you,” he decided. Patton bit his lip nervously.

“The staff isn’t evil. The wizard who used it was. I think it deserves to feel what it is like to be used to protect,” Virgil stated firmly.

Patton thought for a few more moments, but then nodded and accepted the staff…

And then they all watched on in awe as the orb glowed in Patton’s signature blue with little specks of white light floating around in it, swirling playfully.

“Oh… It… It feels like children laughing…? Does that make sense?” Patton asked, completely baffled.

“It does for you. Now. For the pretty one,” Virgil mused. Roman was so impressed with how Virgil had guessed that Patton favored a staff to fight with rather than anything that could stab, that he almost missed the complement. Almost.

With a bright red face and Logan next to him now definitely aware that there was reciprocated flirting going on, he followed Virgil through the room. To the spears. Roman’s favorite along with swords.

"I think you will get along well with sky cleaver," Virgil decided, picking up a spear entirely made off black steel with engraved golden waves winding around the shaft. Right under the tip, a leather cord was wound, the loos hanging ends adorned with feathers and beads. Roman couldn't place the species of bird or the materials the beads were made off.

Feeling his curiosity, Virgil elaborated.

"My astronomy teacher discovered a shooting star and mapped its path. His calculations revealed that it would one day hit us, and the consequences of that would be unfathomable. So he made me swear to keep an eye on it and to do what was necessary to protect our world from the destruction after he was gone. So I studied and tracked and kept a close ear to the development of prophecy spells. Luckily, for a non-human event, those work a lot better since there are far less unpredictable variables. So when I knew the time was drawing near, I looked into the future to learn where and when it would strike, and I traveled across the ocean to make good on my promise. The local magic users were happy with the heads up and my help taking care of things and crafted this out of some of the remains, made it pretty with gold. The chief of the town I stayed in during this time, added these," he ran his hand past the beads and feathers. "As a symbol of their friendship. I named it Celius sky cleaver. May it strike with purpose," he offered as he held out the spear once again.

Roman very carefully accepted the weapon forged across the ocean from the remains of a shooting star.

"... Did... did you fly across the Ocean?" Logan asked, completely baffled.

"Yes. It was a Long journey and I was pretty much useless for a year after I got home," Virgil confirmed casually. He flew... across the ocean.

"That leaves us with you," Virgil pointed out. Gesturing to Logan and heading to a rack of crossbows.

Logan was immediately distracted from the fact that Virgil had traveled to unknown lands across the ocean. Rather he browsed through the options and picked up an ornately decorated crossbow. “What is this one called? It seems to be off the hand of the great crafter Similion,” Logan observed.

Virgil took the device out of his hands. “It’s called clover. Similion made it as his graduation hobby project so to speak and gifted it to me in exchange for some pointers on how to improve his next project. I had a lot of pointers,” Virgil stated, before reaching for a far smaller device and a brace.

“This, will suit you much better,” he stated.

Logan accepted the set and studied it. “I don’t recognize this sigil,” he admitted.

“That’s because she never made it big. She was a genius though, beloved by Earth. But only an apprentice when she suddenly passed away in her sleep may the Ocean carry her soul.

Her parents knew one of my pupils at the time and through him I received her finished works and blueprints. I have been looking for a promising talent who’d give her credit so she can take her rightful place in history,” Virgil stated. “This one is called Apis,” he offered, indicating the modest weapon.

Logan took all that in and nodded weightily as the weight of the story behind the weapon settled on him. He put the bracer on and attached the crossbow which glowed blue as soon as it sat secure.

“Fascinating,” he mused.

“Yeah, they all have some tricks up their sleeves should you need it,” Virgil mused as he walked on and soon retrieved a pair of twin daggers, connected to one another with a chain.

He looked at them for a long moment. Testing their weight. And eventually going through a few fighting motions. Roman could feel that just holding them put Virgil in a rather sullen mood.

Feeling his concern, or noticing that they were all looking at him worriedly, he righted himself and gave them a sad smile. “We weren’t always at peace,” he pointed out… Oh gods… How many…?

Stardust chose that moment to demand attention once more and they were all promptly distracted for a good five minutes.

“Alright, yes you are very good Star, I love you too,” Virgil smiled before getting up again along with the rest of them.

“Listen… I was an efficient fighter, but that doesn’t mean that I enjoyed doing it. I only picked these up when there was no peaceful solution,” he assured them, feeling nervous, ashamed, scared, sad…

“You were a protector,” Roman said decidedly. “Sometimes that means being a fighter,” he assured him. Virgil looked up at him, searching for truth, insisting he had blood on his hands without saying it out loud, glancing towards Patton and Logan, worrying that this would ruin the progress they had made.

Roman didn’t waver, didn’t doubt. They all had been a little afraid of him from the very start considering how powerful he was. Whether with a blade or magic, he’d always been able to overpower them. So in that sense nothing had changed.

Virgil relaxed just a little and gave him a smile, thanking him for his reassurance.

“Ahem, we are also still here. And would you even be able to use those? As stated, even if we arrive in the night, which we might not, you will likely be forced into your guide form as soon as we get close to the sunstone,” Logan stated. Virgil looked up a bit apologetic and nodded.

“Yes, but we might encounter cult members before we get that close,” he pointed out. “And I will be in human form at least for a bit of the encounter, if the crystals do their work,” he pointed out.

“Crystals?” Logan asked.

“His home is lit by moon crystals and he had some left over in stock,” Roman surmised.

“Ah,” Logan nodded in understanding.

“With all that said, I will give you a change of clothes and then we can head to the library to talk strategy before we settle in for a quick nap,” Virgil insisted.

Roman couldn't help but be a bit excited. Despite Virgil's earlier insistence of being a sensible dresser, he'd felt his pride in his work. Felt how much he enjoyed wearing something nice he put effort in to the party.

He knew Virgil had a great sense of style, not to mention wearing something Virgil made sounded exciting to him.

Virgil smiled at him and motioned for them to follow him. They passed through the room with the loom, their barely started work left untouched.

Virgil went on into another room, and they followed. This one had a little round stage, half of it surrounded by mirrors. In front of it stood a changing screen and four mannequins each prepared with a different outfit that was practical, not too loud, but obviously tailored uniquely for each of them.

"The traveling cloaks should be waiting for us at the door," Virgil stated as he collected his ensemble and headed to the changing screen first.

"They are all self-cleaning. So it won’t be as uncomfortable to travel in these," he explained as his borrowed outfit was tossed in the air and some sort of magic carried it away. Presumably to be washed.

"Much better," he mused as he appeared in a black, sleeveless tight fitting top with silver feathers embroidered along the seams of the shoulder.

It was tucked into dark pants with a silky purple sash as a belt. Roman tried not to stare too much. In his previous two outfits it hadn't shown, but Virgil was well built.

"Next," he smiled.

"These are... custom made for us," Logan observed.

"Yeah. Not by hand, though. I mean the fabric was made by me. The rest is courtesy of the house. I don't have the time to do it by hand right now," Virgil explained.

"Gosh Virgil! That's so impressive. Mine feels so soft and cozy, and I'm not even wearing it yet!" Patton gushed, playing with the sleeves of his blouse with little bunny paws along the hem.

"Hmmm." Logan mused, taking his outfit and getting changed. His outfit, too, was collected by seemingly invisible assistants.

He came out in a black undershirt and pants with a midnight blue vest. The buttons in the shape of unicorn horns. Logan was reattaching the crossbow to the brace while Patton took his turn, getting changed.

"How did you guess the exact weapons we were trained to use? I am assuming some level of weapons raining has always been mandatory, but there are a lot of options," Logan pointed out.

Virgil nodded. "You assume right... among high mages who've been around for sone time, patterns become apparent. We usually could guess which guide would unveil itself to which student. Made little bets on the ones who we weren't unanimous on. We also saw patterns in the weapon someone chose and the guide they turned out to have," Virgil explained. Patton came out and hopped on the stage to get a good look at his new shirt.

Roman, while interested in the story, didn't want to waste time and went to change as well. His pants were similar to what was made for Lo, Pat and V.

The difference was in the tunic. It reached to his knees, was a lovely red in color and golden wings embroidered on his chest similar to the decorative golden chest piece Virgil had worn when they first met. On the other side of the screen Virgil continued.

"Jackalopes are playful and rarely go for truly lethal weapons. Combined with Patton being a martial caster, and thus not afraid of direct confrontation when needed, I figured the Bo staff a good fit. Confrontational, but far less likely to cause accidental maiming.

Unicorns are for the intelligent. The strategists. So a long distance weapon is logical. Combined with the fact that you aren't built for a longbow or a short bow, a crossbow was most likely." Roman bit back a laugh. That was a polite way to say that Logan clearly had no upper body strength.

Virgil paused his story, amused at Roman's barely concealed mirth.

Roman finished changing and joined his friends. Taking a moment to admire himself in the mirrors. He felt like a noble warrior honestly, especially while holding the spear.

"The phoenix... tends to favor being up close and personal in battle. We can afford it. High mages might survive injuries but they still hurt. We aren't as incapacitated by a serious blow and as you saw, our reincarnation can be an effective weapon too," he explained. Roman could very vividly imaging Virgil forging a path through an army. Literally blazing through and leaving terribly burnt enemies in his wake. The image both beautiful and frightening in his mind. But not in a way that made him afraid of Virgil.

"Not that we know that when we choose the weapon, but phoenixes, like dragons, will tend to be at the front line. We choose weapons that are noble. That are direct. The light phoenix' bravery makes them brazen. So a sword or a spear would fit him most. I figured Roman would be the type to want a more versatile weapon. For myself I chose the daggers for their high mobility and the tight control on every swing. Less chance on friendly fire. In my mind at least..." he finished. "So. If we are all satisfied with our new clothes, I'd suggest heading to the library. In one hour we sleep," he said decidedly.

The group nodded and they followed Virgil through a door back to the library.

"Say Virgil, can I borrow this book after we do all the important things? I looked through it to see if there were any interesting creatures for me to turn into, but it only has magical creatures. It's a verry fun read though so i wanted to read more when we are less pressed for time," Patton offered gently, picking up a book from the shelve and showing it to him. Before Virgil could answer though Logan grabbed the old leather book that looked more like a journal than a proper book to Roman.

"This..." Logan gasped, flipping through a few pages with wide eyes. "Is this a, complete, handbound first draft of the beastiary of Aristofel?" he asked baffled.

"Um... yeah. We used to date..." Virgil admitted sheepishly. "He sent it to me as a thanks for my help and stuff."

Logan looked up at Virgil. "Most existing copies are damaged in some way. This is the only complete edition in existence as far as I am aware," he stated.

Virgil clearly didn’t know what to say to that.

Roman decided to step in. "Let's focus on our missions for now and then you can explore the house for more forgotten treasures whenever Virgil decides to invite you back," he suggested.

Logan nodded and gave Virgil his book back. "Yes. Apologies. I forgot myself," he said a bit embarrassed.

"That's alright, it happens. Patton if you need some inspiration for transformations into non magical creatures..." Virgil looked at his shelf and picked out a different book and handed it to Patton.

"What were you looking for Logan?" Virgil wondered.

"Ahm. I want to look into chrono magic. It is closely related to my divination and some spells I heard about might be useful in a crisis situation," he explained, nervous but determined. Who was this man and where did his extremely cautious friend go? Forbidden magic? Logan? It was a bit of a shocker even with how, bold, he’d been today.

"Hmmm..." Virgil mused before getting a deep blue book with stars on the cover. "That should help," he stated before turning to Roman.

"And now you..." he stated. Roman nodded and followed him to settle on a carpet on the floor.

"I suppose I should learn some basic martial crafts," Roman mused.

"Didn't you say that you wanted to learn more about herbology the way I taught it?" Virgil wondered. Roman nodded. "Of course, but the fight..."

Roman stopped talking as he felt Virgil's fond amusement, though there was an undertone of frustration. Oh. The holes in his education were showing once again.

"Did they teach you that all you could do was identify herbs and minerals and heal?" Virgil wondered. Roman nodded, waiting to be corrected. Virgil reached into his pouch and retrieved a yellow dusty substance. Pollen. Roman knew instantly.

And then from his hand a gorgeous fire Lilly grew, which Virgil gently tucked behind Roman’s ear.

"Roman, the spell Patton did to trap those wolves. What kind of magic did you think that was?" Virgil asked.

"I-I thought Wild keep magic but I’m guessing that's wrong," Roman concluded. Virgil nodded.

“It was herbology. We do more than just identify the gifts of nature Roman. We connect to them. When you held that stone, you weren’t divining it the way Logan would. You connected to it, heard it’s entire story, and that happened to include what it was used for. How it was used,” Virgil explained.

“Through that connection you also returned the fields to a healthy state, making undeveloped seeds catch up to their neighbors and the sick plants heal in only a moment.

Wild keepers can commune and command the plants that are living. We…” He made a flourish with his hand and laid a dried out lavender stem in Roman’s hand.

“We can call upon them even if they are long gone. They are our ally as much as we are theirs,” he insisted. “So long as we treat the plants and minerals around us with love and respect, there is no telling what favors we might yet learn they would do for us,” he added. Letting a long silence fall.

Roman could tell he was expecting him to do something, anything with the stem.

Could he revive it? Roman closed his eyes and focused. Willing his magic into the plant the way he would when he would try to draw out its mana, but this time he didn’t make it stream out and take energy with it. He strengthened the mana, connected to the plant’s innate wish to live…

He opened his eyes when he felt Virgil’s pride swell.

In his palm was a perfectly healthy lavender stem. He looked up, proud of himself and tucked the lavender behind Virgil’s ear.

“Good,” Virgil smiled, touched by the gesture. “Now, let’s teach you to be a force of nature.”

[gossipgirlgasoline]

HEYY!! big fan of this concept, returns the chaotic 2000's vibe to F1 that it so desperately needs 🤭 Your last post was so well put together! Any new gossip yet?

gossip girl here, your one and only source into the ultra-rich, scandalous lives of race car drivers of formula 1.

hello my lovies. welcome back to the world of gossip, scandals, and drama! how have you guys been? ive missed you terribly since the last time we’ve spoken. since weve last spoken, carlos sainz jr and lando norris has both won grand prixs. how exciting! how dearly ive missed carlando .. today we will dive into all the drama we’ve missed since then after my brief disclaimer !

before i start, if ur not into truly gossipy stuff— THIS IS NOT FOR YOU!! this will go into territory of wag gossip, silly rumours, and other cheesy stuff like that. you have been warned.

lets start off with an anonymous submission, alluding to a comment i made back in an update about estelle and ollie. i mentioned murmurs of flavy snd esteban being a pr couple, lets see what anon #1 has to say.

“in my humble opinion flavy and esteban seem like the least pr and most mature couple on grid. they post eachother because they’re in love and live their lives calmly without making a fuss. i mean she rarely is at gps (bc she’s a med student, but also let’s not demonize the wags for not wanting thousands of eyes and an onslaught of criticism that being present at a go brings) and they are barely photographed by the paps like charles & alex. they give off the same vibes as oscar and lily, cute imo.”

i love this take!!! i totally see where anon is coming from and agree as well. i didnt see it like this, but this is a beautiful pov. i def see why u see that him and flavy are the healthiest, and i agree, but i would also add maybe kika and pierre to the mix? taking on your point that they pos each other since theyre in love and they have nothing to lose there, i could def apply the same logic to them. plus i think they are super cute and they feel genuine to me. + carmen and george probably too.

anon #1 also added this to the end of their submission;

“with that said i wanna know what you think/know about logan’s potential girl! any ideas on what she does? who she surrounds herself with?”

for those of you who dont know, logan sargeant has been allegedly dating a chick named “riley whittall.” i think it is notable the fact that her father is chuck whittall, business man who’s net worth amasses an astonishing $600 million dollars.

i remember hearing about her all the way back in november. i totally forgot about her until a couple months ago, a tabloid i follow on instagram reported on the fact that they have been in many of the same places at the same times. for example, logan posted a bali post on 27/03/24, riley posting a dump days after logan, coincidentally in the same place, with the same filter, with the same angle.

hmmmm

HMMMM….. a quick trip to her instagram today will show you a post of her at australia, in the week of the australian grand prix with chicane wristbands, as well as a story posted earlier today of her at the grand prix.

i cannot for the life of me find the exact screenshot, but i had a friend (her family works in similar business with riley’s father) send me a message of a mutual friend of hers saying that riley was a “pick me.” the message was saying that some of her friends had tried to hit on logan but she got very defensive and start being like ‘im so small’ around him and trying to make her friends look bad. 👀

for those of you who did not see my last post, i recieved an anon submission regarding riley, let’s take a look!

“lots and lots of drama rn... riley and logan just got together and already drama brewing. basically a pretty well-known wag's best friend/someone she models with posted on her private instagram a tiktok that was seemingly demeaning riley whittall. a gossip page dmed her and got screenshots of the best friend AND said wag calling riley bratty, disrespectful, narcissistic, and the b word..”

I NEED TO FIND THESE SCREENSHOTS NOW OMFG!!!! im so nosyyy and I love new drama… this is so messy and im here for it

as for what this girl does besides vacation and thrive off a trust fund, i have no genuine idea. i think shes unemployed, living off daddy’s money but i dont blame her at all. its not like me and my friends not guilty of this 😭

on the topic of logan, i got sent in shady screenshots ahhh!!!! 🐒🐒🐒

logan being a trumpie and an anti masker doesnt surprise me at all 😂 makes so much sense, idk what people expected out of him— hes a floridian white boy, we cant ask for much😭

moving on to my favourite bit of this post and arguably the most controversial f1 couple, Magui Corciero and Lando Norris!

for background information for those who live under a rock, Magui is a Portuguese model who is most notable for dating Portuguese footballer João Felix. Their relationship and break up were rather messy and even more public. Magui is notoriously hated by JF meat riders for cheating on JF multiple times after he gave her multiple chances, leading ro their break up.

I wont get too into detail this post because the lore is so deep but for the ones who do

👀👀👀

Recently, a Portuguese tabloid uploaded photos of Magui and Lando boarding his PJ

This ‘couple’ has notorious for being problem and quite troublesome recently, the pair showing up to the Monte Carlo masters together recently

This being one of their many scandals is not surprising at all since they have been caught together lord knows how many times now😂

what’s your guys’ opinions on riley + magui and lando? let me know in my inbox and the comments!!! 😇

Speaking of messy, let’s talk about my blog 😭 im so sorry I’ve been so inconsistent with you guys, but tysm for everyone sending anons and the constant support♥️♥️♥️!!!!! And Im so sorry this post is so short I’ve. Been having a lot going on rn!!!! summer is approaching so not to worry

I love you all so so much and I want to have a new post for IMOLA regarding LOTS lissie mackintosh and Marcus armstrong drama.. (iykyk) eeeek im so excited to share with you guys… I LOVE YOU ALL!!!!!!

Remember that my inbox and dms are always open to everybody and you can dm me about anything!!! even non f1 related. Just shoot me a message and I will probably reply😇

until next time race-watchers, xoxo, gossipgirlgasoline

[agendabymooner]

9 to 5 || spin-off (f1 drivers series) - cast + playlist

Summary: Lorelei Hester ‘Lester’ Alessandro is a bassist first and Daniel Ricciardo’s partner second. But it seems like another role is added to her resume as she begins her weekend in Baku as Toto Wolff’s children’s babysitter. The Wolff kids gather the attention of all as they wreak havoc in the paddock and the hospitalities.

Content warning (not updated): family-centric content, tooth-rotting fluff, brief use of explicit language, people trying not to swear in front of children, sickness, Toto scaring half the grid, Hearth sister!OFC x Max Verstappen relationship mentioned, Hearth sister!OFC x Charles Leclerc relationship mentioned.

Note: Chances are I'm going to be publishing these by scenarios? You'll see. I think. Enjoy knowing the original characters! xx

THE ORIGINAL FIVE

Lorelei Hester 'Lester' Alessandro - the italian paddock princess

daniel ricciardo's biggest fan (on-and-off the grid). less messy as of 2023. scared of toto wolff even if she's friends with his wife. also known as Zia Lori, Tante Lori and Aunt Lolo. nanny for the weekend.

Tilly Marie Ford Wolff (née Hearth) - lady boss

the wolff mother. probably gave birth to three toto wolffs. had stolen the hearts of the grid (might do it again by proxy). current situation: at home in london due to baby adelmo's unfortunate case of croup. thank god for toto, she didn't have to spend her weekend worrying about three kids under six.

Stevie Marlene Ford Hamilton (née Hearth) - ferrari's biggest threat

actually the person who keeps encouraging charles to go off in front of the camera since no one in the team would listen to her proposal to give the drivers a proper strategy. also known as Tie Stevie. current situation: cannot attend the baku race weekend due to her own work commitments, leaving toto no choice but watch the kids over by himself.

Sylvie Edson Ford Hearth - red bull's biggest non-driving menace

gives christian horner a run for his money whenever possible (has expressed her blatant dislike for him on tv but she still "respects" him to an extent; she likes toto better). max verstappen's lady macbeth. also known as Aunnie Vie (no 't' in auntie). current situation: cannot cause minor inconvenience in the red bull garage at the moment due to her photoshoot gigs and paperworks waiting for her in her red bull headquarters office.

Aimee Yael Edmundson Hearth - the more-private hearth sister

is on the lookout to make sure that lando norris and oscar piastri doesn't say anything that can jeopardize their own careers. the only sister who doesn't like to be in front of the camera. on toto's protection list. also known as Auntie A. current situation: won't be attending the baku race weekend due to some unknown reason. something about staying in monaco with charles' mother, pascale.

FEATURED CHARACTERS

toto wolff. daniel ricciardo. lando norris. max verstappen. charles leclerc. lewis hamilton. oscar piastri. mick schumacher. logan sargeant. carlos sainz jr. fernando alonso. alex albon. george russell. sergio perez. pierre gasly. esteban ocon. yuki tsunoda.

PLAYLIST (to bop to)

9 to 5 - dolly parton. love grows (where my rosemary goes) - edison lighthouse. the adults are talking - the strokes. honey, honey - abba. be my baby - the ronettes. isn't she lovely - stevie wonder. vienna - billy joel. i love rock 'n roll - joan jett & the blackhearts. put your records on - corinne bailey rae. walking on sunshine - katrina & the waves. smooth operator - sade. hey lover - the daughters of eve.

[rowrowen]

Wolverine search 🌧️

Hello, I’m currently getting back into writing again after a short time off! I am not replacing any partners I am currently writing with, don’t yall worry. (I say that like I write with loads of individuals, literally just two right now 😭.)

Anyway, I was hoping to find someone who can write as Logan, the iconic Wolverine! It can either be new or old portrayals or a mix I’m not too fussed! I can just feel my hyper fixation one back in full swing! I’m hoping for it to be a longer term roleplay, I will mention I have a brief outline of a start but I’d love to brainstorm further and put something together!

All I do ask is, please be over the ages of 19+, no one liners, openly communicate and solely write in third person! I love to create pinboards and playlists too to fit the writing! Before I forget, I would like to be able to use my oc I had put together!

-Phantom <3

[brewsterispunkk]

diamonds and stones: prologue

pairing: clyde logan x reader

summary: the beginning of it all

warnings: brief mentions of domestic violence

a/n: im dedicating this one to @acrossthesestars :) they offered so much encouragement and support the first time i tried to get this fic off the ground 2 years ago. after some reworking and new inspiration, im trying again !

series masterlist

prologue:

You had been obsessed with Greek mythology when you were young. 

Maybe it was the timelessness of it all, the beauty, love, tragedy. The might of the gods like Zues and Poesidon, the fierceness of Athena’s wit, the firm unforgiving curve of Hera’s brow. The constellations in the deep, inky sky called out to you.

You learned to read them, pick them out in each season. Orion and his bow, Sirius, wagging his tail at you from millions of lightyears away. You liked to talk to them sometimes, when it got tough at home. When the yelling came to be too much. You’d hole up in some corner with a book reading, or you’d look out your window and wonder. Speak to the dark and wonder if maybe they could hear you.

They had endured tragedy too, after all. And though a stepfather that hit you wasn’t a nine-headed beast or a minotaur, it might as well have been. You wondered what it would be like to walk among them; in the time of the Gods. To witness Persephone tumbling forth to the underworld as the world opened up from under her, to see Hera’s rage and wrath and pain firsthand, to feel Poseidon's breeze as Aphrodite was born of the sea-foam. 

You loved them; the myths. And the fiction that followed them, books inspired by stories thought up millennia ago.

But one goddess always confused you. You always avoided her stories; the fiery goddess of warmth, of belonging. It hurt too much. The deity that controlled the two most powerful things that you could never touch; fire--the piercing, blazing, sting of it all. Beautiful to look at and just out of reach. Enchanting candles and bonfires you could never touch, lest you become another Icarus, and melt away from the heat of it. Fire, the thing only the gods could touch. And the other: Home.

Home, the word felt foreign on your tongue, bitter.

The goddess of belonging, the deity of home. Hestia smiled at you from every page she appeared on, lips curving into a wicked smirk, holding something over your head you knew you could never achieve. Never possess, never grasp. 

 It was said that Aphrodite was the goddess of love, that you knew. But it was something you didn’t believe; to you, Aphrodite was the goddess of passion. Of deep, rushing urges, flighty decisions. She was the goddess your mother's tumultuous relationship was born of. And though what she and your stepfather had was piercing and painful, there was no love to be found there. That you were sure of.

No, in your mind Hestia was the goddess of true love, not just the shallow illusion of it. Warmth, stability, belonging: these were all characteristics of love itself. Something you’d never known.

Your mother loved you; That much you knew to be true, but it was a tragic type of love. The type the poets and romantics wrote about. Your mother was Ophelia, sinking into the deep. She was Juliet with a dagger piercing her heart. She was Cordelia, dying of a heart broken by betrayal. A love from Aphrodite had made her like this. She had been all but ruined by your father, as you saw it. She loved you, fiercely, but as though she was trying to provide enough for a mother and a father.

She tore herself apart trying to conceal what was truly happening from you; the bruises, the broken glass, the old jeep missing from the drive-way. And when he did take it out on you, she tore herself apart trying to put you back together. And that was tragic. More tragic than the fates of Orpheus and Eurydice. More tragic than the birth of Dionysus. More than Echo’s love for Narcissus. 

And so the goddess of the hearth and home taunted you.

Appalachia was a beautiful place to grow up, but for a little girl living in her own head, it could get lonely too. The mountains and foothills of the blue ridges lived in your soul; That much you knew. They spoke to you, told you stories, kept you company where there was none.

Your family had made home here for generations. You were as much a part of the land as it was a part of you. Like the West Virginia license plate said, you grew up the same way: “Wild and Wonderful.” Barefoot and wild, a true daughter of the mountains.

Where there wasn’t a father, there were the wildflowers. When your mother would shut down, go quiet and for once stop pretending that everything was alright, there was the oak tree with a tire swing. Through the fights and the screaming and the slamming, there was always this. The land. The grass beneath your feet, the wind in your hair, and the mountains above your eyes. And when it was too hot to be outside, your books were always there to welcome you back to the fold; to provide escape. 

So, though your life wasn’t perfect by any means, you’d always remember your Gramma’s words. She lived miles away--to the east, in Boone County, a place you’d visited only as an infant--but she made the hours-long journey whenever your mother needed her, which was often. When she’d catch you sulking about something trivial, like a lost card game or not being allowed to have sweets before supper, she’d arch an eyebrow at you, hand on her hip and say:

“Watch your spite. Whatever attitude you put out into this world is what you gon’ get back.” 

This, you’d think. I can be content with this. And the West Virginia wind was always there to answer you with its gentle swaying, older than the trees.

-

The first thing your mind registered on the day that you ran was the cold hand on your shoulder as you bolted awake, gasping.

It was still dark outside, the sun hadn’t even begun to peek over the horizon beyond the trailer that you’d only called home for a few weeks now. Your room was bathed in darkness, and your eyes adjusted, only being able to make out the rough shapes of the objects in your room. 

You opened your mouth to scream, too scared to look beside you at who had grabbed you. You’d heard some girls in your class talking about a girl getting kidnapped only two weeks ago one county over. When her hand closed over your mouth to stop you, you visibly relaxed. You could smell the lemon perfume still splashed across her wrist, faint after what must have been a long shift at the diner. Mommy.

“Shh, shh,” She soothed, her other hand stroking your pajama-clad back, “it’s me, sweetie, it’s mama. It’s just me.”

Your little fists rubbed your eyes groggily, taking in your surroundings. You brushed your crazy bed head away from your eyes. It was dark, and the digital mermaid clock on your nightstand read 3:32 am. At the foot of your bed, there were two suitcases; ones you’d only seen when Kieth, your mom’s boyfriend, had gone away for work trips. You’d looked forward to those times; It was when the house was calmest, when you were allowed to have the windows open (Kieth didn’t like it when you’d leave the windows open; it meant people could “see too much”). Your mom would put on her old Fleetwood Mac records and tell you stories about your daddy--How they met and how they found out they were pregnant with you. 

You weren’t allowed to talk about your daddy when Kieth was home. He didn’t like it and he’d get that mean look on his face.The kind that made your mom freeze. You were scared of Kieth. Which was why you didn’t know what his suitcase was doing here instead of tucked away where it belonged. He’d be angry about that, and everyone knew what happened when he got angry.

Your mom smoothed your hair behind your ears, whispering with careful purpose, “Time to get up, sweetie. It’s time to go.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. Go? Go where? It was still nighttime, as far as your seven-year-old brain could tell, and you were tired. 

Swallowing a yawn you began, “Mommy--”

“Shh!” She whisper-yelled, hand coming over your mouth once again. In her eyes was a look you’d never seen before. Your mom was scared. Your eyes widened, not fully understanding what was going on, but understanding that something was going on, and whatever it was, it was bad. She inhaled through her nose and through her mouth, slowly lowering her hand.

“I’m gonna explain the best I can, sweetie, but you’re gonna have to be real, real quiet, ok? We gotta hurry.”

You frantically nodded, eyes drawn together in what could’ve only looked like complete terror. 

“You and I are leavin’, lovebug. I got all we need here,” she patted the suitcase, “and in the car. We’re goin’.” She explained, looking over her shoulder at the cracked door. You could hear Kieth’s loud snoring from the other room.

“Like on vacation?” You asked in a tiny voice, confused. You’d never been on vacation before; Not a real one anyway. Only weekend trips to Atlantic City with your cousins every now and then. Your mom closed her eyes for a moment before shaking her head.

“No. Not like vacation,” she sighed, reaching up to grab your cheek. “I’m sorry honey, really I am. I’m sorry it took me this long to realize we have to go. But we do.”

You wouldn’t know what she was referring to until years later, not really grasping what she was saying in a half-awake, eight-year-old brain. Years later, you’d realize she was referring to Kieth: how sorry she was that it had taken this long for her to leave him. Still, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, you nodded at her. You hadn’t realized she was crying until she reached up to wipe under her eyes, sniffling. 

She hugged you then, tight. Tighter than you think she’d ever held you before. In that moment, you’d thought that it was more for her than you. You hugged her back. 

She sighed, “c’mon, baby. Get your shoes on.”

“Where are we gonna go, mama?” 

“Gramma’s, honey. She’s got a room all ready for us.” By now she was busying herself with getting your pink tennis shoes on your feet. Standing up, you let her pull your sweatshirt over your arms. 

She looked younger like this, you thought. Like a Princess, here in the moonlight under the cover of nighttime. Here the darkness hid the dark circles and worry lines that made her look older than she actually was. She grabbed your hands.

“Okay, now we’ve gotta walk really quietly, honey. You’re gonna have to put your feet where mine were, do you think you can do that?”

You nodded, peeking around the door, half expecting Kieth to be standing there, hand raised. You silently thanked whatever god was out there that Kieth had never let you get a dog—you didn’t know if you’d have been able to take it with you. 

With careful, slow steps you creeped down the dark hallway, dodging the floorboards you knew to be creaky. 

After ten minutes of careful precision—well, as much precision as a half-asleep ten-year-old can have—you made it to the old pick-up that had belonged to your father. The gravel crunching beneath her feet, your mother lifted you up into the back seat. After jumping into the front seat herself, she took a deep shuddering breath before slowly turning the ignition, eyes squeezed shut. The gear moved into drive, and head leaned against the window, you slept soundly, without fear, for the first time in years. 

By the time you woke up, it was almost five o’clock. The sun was slowly beginning to show its rays, the sky fading from a deep indigo into a light yellow. You looked out the windows at the mountains, thankful that at least one thing felt familiar. The blue ridges always did. 

Your mother turned back, smiling at you. A real smile. It made your heart stutter a bit. 

Maybe Hestia hasn’t abandoned me, you thought, thinking back to the days when you’d curse the name of the goddess of fire. Back when you actually believed in the goddess of fire. 

“Well look who decided to wake up,” your mother smiled, her eyes crinkling. You stifled a yawn, stretching. 

“What’s going on?” You asked apprehensively. “Why did we just leave like that? Mama, when we get back he’s gonna be—“

“We aren’t going back.” 

You blanked. Not going back? What? The amount of times you’d wished for this exact scenario were too many to count. You should be happy. But what would you do? Would you live with grandma? Where were your things? You only packed one suitcase and your friend Emma had borrowed your Mulan TShirt—oh and school! Where would you go to school—

Your mother said your name. Your eyes snapped to hers in the rear view.

“It’s gonna be okay. I've got a plan, we’ll be fine.”

She paused and you turned to look at the trees passing by. She sighed before speaking again, “okay?”

“Okay.” 

“Good. Oh look!” She gasped, pointing to her right, at a bright green sign. 

Now Entering Boone County

“We’re here!” She sighed. “I haven’t been back here since your daddy…” She trailed off, but you knew what she meant. She hadn’t been back here since your daddy had died. Keith wouldn’t let her. 

Gazing out of the window at the moving trees, you only thought of what lie ahead. You’d moved enough times in your life, first for your dad’s military postings, and then because Kieth never liked to stay in one place for too long. This wasn’t new, but something about it felt that way. You’d like to stay in one place for a while after this one, you thought. As you watched the hills and farms and houses, the sun began to rise, coloring it all gold. You could get used to this. 

As you entered the town, you felt it in your chest: this was going to be home. You were sure of it. 

[tss-whumper]

*materializes into existence*

Hi :D

Inspired by your whump tss fics!

Anyway, mayhaps an idea: Whumpee is very distrustful of everyone, even after being rescued. The only person who can come close to them without them getting very tense is Caretaker. The rest of the team is... well, unsure about Whumpee at this point. Someone says something that sounds a little too much like Whumper (accidental trigger), and Caretaker is the only one who can calm Whumpee down.

Do with that what ya will.

Have fun :D

hi!! thank you so much for the support, this is an amazing idea! i think i'm going to do my heroes and villains au for this one, it's a really good fit for this particular prompt, plus, father figure janus has my WHOLE HEART he's the best caretaker.

this fic features whumpee roman, caretaker janus, and mentions of whumper patton! also, logan and virgil are there but they aren't really anything they're just chillin'. logan is just trying his best.

also the beginning kinda just offers some general exposition to the au and the dynamics so it's just short little snippets of life before the big angst bomb comes raining down.

(cw -> past parental abuse, flashbacks, panic attacks, brief physical violence)

Roman wasn't a violent dog.

But he knew why he bit.

Every night, he saw the face of his uncle, the man who raised him, the man who taught him everything about the world. And he shivered, because while he never wanted to see Patton again, he also wanted nothing more than to be enveloped in his arms one more time.

When he looked in the mirror, Roman wanted to erase himself and start over from the beginning. Permanent scars that were never going away, endless reminders of what a failure he had been. His gauntlet was the only part of him that was pristine, and even that was so out of his reach.

Janus told him that it was Patton's fault that he didn't know how to use his powers, but Roman just couldn't believe it. He was a superhero. He had to know how to use his powers no matter what. Being a kid was no excuse. Being young and impressionable was no excuse. Being starved and beaten and tortured every time he made the smallest mistake was still not an excuse.

Roman was a hero. He had to be better.

--

"Virgil, come on, how many times do I have to remind you to wipe your feet before walking in?" Logan groaned, "We're guests in this house, we should not be dirtying it."

"Sorry, Pa," Virgil mumbled, "I'll clean it up."

"Thank you," Logan said, "And have half a mind not to do it again."

Roman, who was seated on the couch as this argument occurred, squeezed his eyes shut steeling himself as he waited for the slap. Or the hit. Or a cry of pain from Virgil. But seconds passed, and there was no sound except for the spray cleaner and scrubbing the floor. The mess took all of ten seconds to clean up, if that. Roman didn't understand. When he was under punishment with Patton and had to clean floors, it felt like it took much longer.

--

Roman's face was wet with tears, but he found himself feeling scarily numb as he sat in Janus' lap, fiddling with the gemstone necklaces held loosely around his neck with common kitchen twine.

"Ro...we really need to do something about these nightmares," Janus murmured, nothing but warmth in his voice and body. Roman almost felt safe in his arms. "It's not healthy for a kid your age to be waking up screaming every night."

"I'm sorry, sir," Roman said flatly, still trapped in a hellish haze, "I'll be better. I'll do anything you want, just spare me. Please."

Janus could feel his heart shatter in two. He hugged the teenager close, starting to pet his hair gently.

"Oh, baby..." Janus whispered, "What on Earth are we gonna do with you...?"

--

"If you hate me so much, maybe you should just put me back where I came from! You didn't have to adopt me, you could have just gotten a perfect kid instead!"

It was rare for Virgil to shout, so when Roman heard it, he was shaken immediately. Out of pure self preservation, he hid himself in the blanket he had been wearing. When Logan and Virgil argued, it was difficult, and it was messy. They were both headstrong people, which often led to butting heads more than either of them, or the two people they lived with, liked.

"Virgil, don't be ridiculous, I don't hate you!" Logan retaliated, "I just want you to stop closing yourself off, it's useless to try and handle everything in the world by yourself! You're just a child, when will you get that through your head??"

"Maybe I will once you stop micromanaging me like I'm five years old!" Virgil yelled, "I'm not a baby anymore, Pa, I don't need you hovering over my shoulder! Do you know how hard it is to be known as the tattletale at school?? Do you even care?? No, you don't, because all you care about is making yourself feel helpful!"

"I could strangle you right now!"

"Fine! Do it, see if I care!"

Virgil stormed off, slamming the door to his room, causing Roman to tremble where he sat. Oh, boy. Virgil was going to get it now. Roman waited for Logan to roar, to scream at Virgil to open the door before he regretted ever raising his voice at him. The thought made Roman so nervous. Virgil was injured already. He couldn't handle being strangled too. He just couldn't.

So Roman did the heroic thing: he stepped in.

Before Logan could take another step towards Virgil's room, Roman rushed in front of him.

"Virgil didn't mean it, Virgil didn't mean that!" he insisted, his words spilling over each other.

"Were you listening in to our conversation?" Logan sputtered, his face turning a bit red, "Wh- why would you do that? That was between me and Virgil, it has nothing to do with you!"

Logan side-stepped Roman, coming closer to Virgil's room. In a panic, Roman lunged at Logan, hoping to protect Virgil from any sort of wrath.

"Get off me!" Logan exclaimed, "Roman, what are you doing??"

"Stay away from him!" Roman begged as he punched and kicked blindly, thinking of nothing except weakening Logan, protecting Virgil. Weakening Logan, protecting Virgil. It was his responsibility. "He's still healing!"

"Roman, stop!" Logan pleaded, "Please, stop it, you're hurting me!"

Roman was much younger than Logan. But he wasn't that much weaker. He was a young hero, having trained his entire life to fight people, while Logan was just a civilian. No superpowers, no training. He was a bit fragile, in fact. So it wasn't a surprise that Roman was "winning" this exchange, but the child was too blinded by panic to realize this.

"Don't touch Virgil!" Roman begged, "Don't, please, he can't handle it! He can't handle that, he's good, he's good, he'll be good!"

"Janus!" Logan started to scream, thrashing to get away from Roman, "Janus, help me!"

And just then, Roman's entire world seemed to stop.

Logan's begging and crying for help sounded so much like his own. The way his words would bounce against the wall, hitting nobody as he was forced to endure hours of torture in solitary confinement, no sound to keep him company except for his own fruitless pleading. Logan already sounded so defeated. He sounded like he was ready to die. Just like Roman had been all those times before.

Roman's breathing grew shallow and stuttered, and the second he loosened his grip, Logan scrambled out of Roman's arms, shoving him hard. As Janus raced into the room, he saw his child hyperventilating, and Logan with a scratched up face and broken glasses.

"What- what on Earth happened here?" Janus demanded, "Logan, what did you do??"

"What did I do?" Logan repeated, "Why are you asking me that?? Roman's the one that attacked me, he tried to kill me!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry- I'm sorry-!" Roman whispered, starting to grip his own hair as he curled in on himself.

"He's a little monster!"

Roman's shallow breathing turned into desperate gasps as he wheezed irregularly, his chest rising and falling largely.

"There's ice in the freezer, I'm so sorry, Lo. I'm so sorry. I should have warned you- I'll pay for your glasses."

"No need," Logan said coldly, "I need some space, if you don't mind. I'm getting tired of being attacked from all sides."

Janus opened his mouth to say something to Logan as the angry man left, but he was distracted by the sound of Roman's fight for air. When Janus looked over, the child had tears streaming down his face, his eyes large and wild, as if he was a wounded animal.

"Darling...come here," Janus whispered sitting on the floor in front of Roman and starting to pull him close.

"No, please," Roman whispered, "Please don't hurt me. I'm sorry- I didn't mean to- I- I-"

"Shh...shh, Roman, don't speak," Janus murmured, hugging Roman gently. "Breathe. I understand. I understand you. I do."

Janus saw so much of himself in those terrified brown eyes. Roman just wanted to protect somebody, and it had gone way too far. What was the poor kid to do? Of course, he had to apologize to Logan. But that would have to be at another time.

Roman shuddered, and before he could overthink anymore, he threw himself into Janus' arms, sobbing vehemently into his shoulder. Guilt washed over him like waves, and he almost wished that Patton was around to punish him. It was what he deserved for attacking somebody weaker than him. In that regard, was Roman really any different from Patton?

"I'm bad," Roman mumbled, "I'm bad, I'm a villain- I'm horrible-..."

"Shh," Janus repeated, rubbing gentle circles onto Roman's back, "Shh, darling. You're not bad. You're not a villain. You're a child. You're a child who's scared. Let yourself be scared. I'm here for you. I'm going to protect you, sweet thing. I promise."

"But what about Logan?" Roman asked, staring up at Janus with tear-stained cheeks and round eyes that broke Janus' heart.

"Logan will be okay, darling," Janus reassured, "He will be. I'm going to help him, and I'll take him to the doctor's, and I'll make sure he's doing okay. He'll understand. He will. He's got to."

"I don't know why I did that," Roman whimpered, "I don't know why I kept going, I could have stopped, he cried for help, I could have stopped!"

"I know, baby, I know," Janus soothed, "I know how it feels. I know. You made a mistake. You messed up. But you're not in trouble. You're not going to get hurt because you hurt someone else. What's the use of that? Then, everybody is hurt, and nobody is happy. Does that make sense?

"I- I- I guess so," Roman whispered, "But- Logan hates me. He hates me now, he hates me, he thinks I'm a monster-"

"He does not think that," Janus said calmly, "He was speaking while he was angry. Think about it. Do you say what you mean when you're angry? Does anybody?"

Roman shuddered. Patton did. But he didn't say so.

"It'll be okay, sweetie," Janus reassured, continuing to hold Roman as he rocked the teenager gently on the carpeted floor. "It's okay."

Janus used to be a violent dog too.

He understood why Roman bit.